A hungover husband, still too drunk from his Christmas party the day before to drive, vomiting on a grass verge on the M3 while my son pissed himself laughing in the back of the car; my Mum’s obsession with Sky+ and rewinding EVERYTHING a good three or four times (“I’m sure John’s hair is higher than Edward’s – let’s have another look” – yes, she can tell Jedward apart); the kids trashing someone else’s house for a change; it being ok to drink at 11am because nobody’s an alcoholic at Christmas; my dad’s weird fixation with Olly Murs (“he’s a poor man’s Robbie Williams, and I like that”); being woken up at 4am by my mum’s creepy array of Jim-Henson-esque, all-singing, all-dancing Christmas stuffed toys because their batteries are going and rather than stopping them from working, that just means they break into a group rendition of Jingle Bells sporadically throughout the day/night; my camp Auntie Margaret and her comedy phrases (“I’m telling you now, she had teeth like a castle’s wall); buying tacky prizes from the charity shop for Christmas day bingo but having to pretend to the woman behind the counter that actually you’re really into that china dog wearing a clown’s hat; my campaign for the reinstatement of the apostrophe in Baileys (it’s a fucking POSSESSIVE NOUN); having a stand-off with the Waitrose guy with the reduced sticker-gun: who’d fold first, him with his cut-price labels or us with no turkey on Christmas Eve and 14 people coming for dinner? (we won – £20 off, get IN); this pissed conversation between my husband and his mate’s mum in the pub: Drunk Mum: How’s your auntie, the one with cancer? Husband: She’s dead DM: (said in an ‘I thought so’ tone) Is she? To be honest I thought she was near the end when I last saw her a few years’ back; a fridge crammed full of M&S buffet sexiness, none of which we’ve had to buy; champagne cocktails; deciding Christmas Eve is the perfect time for me to get my eyebrows dyed for the first time ever and coming out of the salon looking like they’ve been drawn on with grey chalk; my mum taking me to see the new road layout in Poynton (‘”what a waste of bloody money”); wrestling a 6ft dancing Santa into the garage to a backdrop of my son shouting “too scary mummy; too scary”; supergluing my fingers together as I try to fix a tea-light holder my kids have smashed; concocting an elaborate story about my son’s non-existent twin sister to get eye drops for my younger daughter’s conjunctivitis; a Greggs cheese and bean melt
Call it festive spirit; call it 100mg-a-day of Lustral – I am embracing it all.
Happy Christmas y’all. Thanks for reading so far x