5.05am – Get woken up by exuberant excitable children. Unfortunately it is not possible to adopt the usual technique of putting cartoons on and ignoring whilst muttering ‘FML FML FML’ because goddam Christmas guilt suggests you be a willing participant in stocking opening. Try and resist puking into own mouth due to the tired.
6.15am – Stuff face with handfuls of Quality Street for energy.
6.30am – Caffeination – I don’t know if it’s a word but it should be.
7am onwards – Continue stuffing face with Quality Street and downing coffee until someone (not me, because the Daily Mail readers already think I am an offensive alcoholic) suggests it would be a good idea to crack open the Bucks Fizz.
10.30am – Hunt for survivors in the wreckage.
1pm – Some people go to the pub for a pint. Try and be in that group. The sous chef in particular could do with a break.
2pm – Lunch is ready!
2.02pm – Everyone sits down to enjoy a large, leisurely feast.
2.04pm – The children have finished eating.
2.06pm – The children are fighting.
2.46pm – The children are STILL fighting.
3pm – Right that’s it. They say Christmas is for kids but they’ve had their fun, it was magical and all but the magic is now looking a bit thin on the ground. Come to think of it the magic has well and truly flown out of the fucking window.
[For clarification that strange purple ghost is meant to represent the magical spirit of Christmas, I thought it was obvious but my husband advised otherwise and said it was weird]
3.30pm – Chuck gold coins at the small people and insist they keep at least one metre away from all adult humans.
4pm – Suggest cocktails, make each round with decreasing skill and increasing alcohol.
5pm – Your age level has now been reduced to that of a 5 year old. Adults are boring. Hang out with the kids again.
7pm – Pack small people off to bed and watch depressing soaps. Get out a board game to lighten the mood! Make promise to self not to get all ridiculously competitive about inconsequential things. Fail.
8pm onwards – Put the world to rights, do some angry washing up, argue about politics, eat oven snacks, point out other people’s character flaws and wander around carrying a pyramid of Fererro Rochers whilst encouraging guests to role play The Ambassadors Reception (Note: if they refuse they should not be invited into your home again).
11.37pm – Fall asleep in front of the TV with a breaded mozzarella stick stuck to your face and your hand submerged in a tub of Quality Street. You is beautiful. You is amazing. You is the winner of Christmas!
**************P.S. I have a new book OUT NOW! You can nab it on Amazon here or in your lovely local bookshop :)