The Big Day

Yep. It’s here.

Merry Christmas (aaaaaaaaah). Throws covers off. Grabs stocking. Rips wrapping paper to shreds.

That’s how I wake up – I assume everyone else is the same.

Then its thundering down the stairs like a herd of reindeer before opening the lounge door to a tree with presents like roots sprawling out from underneath – ah materialistic heaven.

Once the lounge looks as though a wrapping paper atomic bomb has exploded, it’s the antagonising wait till lunch.

Watching the minutes tick by as the smell of pigs in blankets wafts through the air, quickly ruined by the stench of Brussel sprouts which seems to hang about all day – I blame the old people.

And then there it is the table laden with food gold. Everyone scrambling for a seat so they don’t have to sit at the end on a bean bag and spend the rest of lunch at the height of a small child just able to peer over the table.

After stuffing ourselves so we are now 83% turkey (0.89% horse) family presents are next on the agenda – I for one have noticed as you get older the pile gets smaller. Younger cousins have mountains of gifts and my pile barely resembles a mole hill.

Following faking excitement over that awful green jumper from your Uncle (straight to the charity shop) it’s game time – this could go one of two ways and both end in an argument.

I’m sorry but if you don’t play games at Christmas, it isn’t Christmas. If you don’t get into deep family feuds over said games then it is not Christmas.

In my house the rule books of Monopoly and Trivial Pursuit are falling apart after being used repeatedly to settle disagreements which have ended in tears.

When everyone has just about digested lunch, fallen out with a member of the family who said they knew the answer to that history question in Trivial Pursuit  (Ben I will never forgive you) and figured out who they will re-gift that green jumper to, (Kathy from the office has her birthday coming up) it is time for dessert.

Classic Christmas puddings and mince pies are always at the centre of the table but I stray from tradition and eat my body weight in Quality Streets instead  – but not the blue ones, obviously.

Do you know what I mean?

 

 

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