I can explain . . . why I ran away and left all the family.
The first thing was the thought of my boring in-laws coming to stay for ten days. HORRENDOUS!
Then the thought of making lunch for sixteen various inebriated relatives, some with allergies that need special food, and the expectation of the sixteen various inebriated relatives each complaining either that the turkey was too dry this year, or the sprouts too hard.
Then I thought of the disappointment of the exciting-looking parcels under the tree. How do you feign delight over a pair of oven gloves, especially when you still have the last fourteen-years’ worth stuffed in a drawer somewhere?
Then I thought about the shopping. How I must battle round the shops being elbowed this way and that – and, of course, doing my own elbowing as well – only to find that the last pack of mince pies has just been snatched by a rather large lady who got there seconds before me. The look of triumph on her face was nauseating.
I also wondered if I could make an excuse this year and not go into my randy neighbour’s house for drinks, something he insists on doing every Christmas Eve. He gets totally sozzled and tells me how he wouldn’t mind basting my goose, which usually results in a punch up between him and my beloved.
Then there was the thought of writing hundred of Christmas cards to people I haven’t seen in years and met on holiday about forty years ago, but who insist on sending a card every year so I feel obligated to return the favour.
I won’t even mention shopping for presents, something I have not even attempted to do yet. What will my children’s faces be like when they wake up on Christmas morning and see Mum hasn’t got them anything? It will be the same for my husband, in-laws and sixteen various inebriated relatives. HELP!
There is also the pressure to be Nigella-like, remaining beautiful and calm whilst the turkey is happily burning in the oven, the sprouts gone to mush, the potatoes hard as bricks and the Christmas pudding like a bullet.
I could go on forever but at the moment my bottle of sherry is running out so I need to pop out, just for a top up you understand.
So you see Santa, these are just a few of the reasons I have run away… Dear Santa, I hope you understand and can forgive me.