Whatever festive feelings I could muster, and they were limited, were largely quashed by Christmas parties. Now I can relax. The next round doesn't start for the best part of another year.

It doesn't seem that long ago that seeing cute men at a party would be a good thing. Not anymore. The cute men at this year's Christmas parties might have been interesting but I can't talk to them to find out.

I can almost hear the David Attenborough voiceover commentating "...and she approaches the man not with the desire for a pleasant social exchange but as if she has not eaten for many days and plans to devour him. The females of the pack stop what they are doing and watch her every move."

Being a divorced woman makes me a predator, apparently, and it's exhausting as you have to work the room at a number of levels. You need to check out the men very quickly, looking for safe bets. Those you might consider safe to talk to. Those not attached to a woman. You need to look sideways as that's where the women are, glancing back at you, protecting their turf. And you have to do all of this while greeting the hosts enthusiastically and getting yourself a drink.

For the above reasons, a man can't offer you a drink and a woman is more likely to want to throw it at you.

There is an additional Australian complication. We call it the "Aussie barbecue" and basically it is the phenomenon that at parties, the men are in one corner or in the backyard and the women are in another corner or huddled in the kitchen.

What this means for divorced, single women is hanging out with the women, who for the above reasons are unfriendly, and maybe never talking to a man at a party again. A shame really. I quite like men. No wonder I don't feel festive.