All that fuss and it’s over so fast. Months of planning, hours of cooking and within a few days Christmas fades from the memory quicker than the name of this year’s X Factor winner.
To be fair we had a pretty good time of it. Daughter #2 cried actual tears of joy when she opened a surprise present of tickets to see Chicago (the musical, not the crappy 1980s power ballad merchants) and daughter #1 went all retro with a powder blue record player, the kind your mum bought with Green Shield Stamps in the 1960s.
Admittedly she pulled a funny face and asked me if it was broken when she played Bastille’s album on it for the first time and it didn’t sound like a £1,000 stereo or a Bose Bluetooth speaker.
But her ears soon got used to it and now she loves it. Welcome to the expense and inconvenience of vinyl, young lady. You’ll love it.
Even our puppy Walter wasn’t left out (yeah, I know, buying Christmas presents for animals) when he got a plastic ball you fill with treats that he pushes around the floor with his nose in the hope food falls out of a little hole. Kept him busy for minutes, that did.
Even yours truly did well. The boss bought me an impressive set of brightly coloured kitchen knives that look like a Fisher-Price My First Knife Set with blades so sharp I didn’t feel a thing as I accidentally sliced open my right thumb pulling one out of its packet on Christmas morning.
It didn’t bleed for about 10 seconds. And then it wouldn’t stop. And then it started hurting. And then I had to go and admit to everyone what I’d just done.
And as if to join in, the nastier of our two cats got into the Christmas spirit by trying to blind our puppy with a sly swipe of his claws while I was serving up the Boxing Day curry.
I love animals and have raised our cats since they were kittens found abandoned under a shed in Heysham six years ago, but if I’d got my hands on Marleyboo in the seconds after he mugged Walter I’d have stamped him flat. We haven’t spoken since.
Anyway, Happy New Year.