Stuff the turkey

Up at eleven and no need to disguise the raging hangover, although Gran’s eggnog did used to be the best hair of the dog. Open presents immediately (all two of them, a diary from my bank manager and free makeover vouchers from the gym. My family childishly refused to give me mine beforehand) and throw the paper around with abandonment. Then lunch. Those microwave turkey dinners for one are a wonder of modern science. Then television. A choice of Sound of Music – I can see my mum holding her tissues at the ready or . . . It’s a Wonderful Life. Oh, what the hell. What’s one more time round the block with Jimmy Stewart and the Andrex extra-strength?

That said, I will never regret saying no to a family Christmas. It was the first time I’d felt grown up in front of my parents since I was allowed to choose my own wallpaper. This year is no different, although I have persuaded Mum and Dad (as they now allow me to call them again) to give me my presents on Christmas Eve. I will, however, be going out to a restaurant with friends on the big day as the microwave dinner was perhaps too reminiscent of my mum’s plastic pudding.