Christmas is over and I can now transfer my attention to the next seasonal tradition. This is not Boxing day sales, because I’ve never bothered with them, but turkey eating. Fortunately we will be able to give some away to Number One Son when we take him home, as it can get a bit wearing. That laves us with enough for another roast dinner, curry, stir-fry, sandwiches and, probably, a pie. Fortunately I have a high tolerance to turkey and this shouldn’t be a problem.
It does, however, bring up the subject of eating at Christmas. It’s taken me thirty years to scale it back to this level as, since being married, I always used to cram the fridge and prepare for a siege. There’s something about a family Christmas that triggers a buying spree.
Still, not to complain. As Brexit proceeds, civilisation breaks down and I become a pensioner it’s possible that I will look back on these as the halcyon days. As Christmas dinner becomes a sparrow cooked over a stub of candle to the accompaniment of memories of the days when “having the in-laws for Christmas” was a social obligation rather than a dietary choice, I will smile gently at the thought of having too much food.
I did go on to write a couple of hundred words in the spirit of Scrooge, but I think I’ll preserve the upbeat spirit of Christmas and finish off with a little padding to make 250 words. After that it will be time to eat something and head North.
Let’s face it, it’s Christmas, so it’s always time to eat something.