27th December 2007
Christmas Eve:
Everyone arrived safely at Willow Bank, and the presents were all piled under the tree, clearly not hidden well enough, as some people (naming no names) couldn’t resist a cheeky prod or shake. Next year, we really must stash them out of sight until the big day. The weather was grim enough to suit a Dickens novel, but that didn’t stop us piling into the cars and heading to Kettering for our traditional Christmas Eve Tenpin Bowling Bash.

Nan kindly volunteered to stay home with Lucas, although we weren’t entirely sure who was looking after whom. The bowling was, as always, a riot. I’m convinced I’d have bowled at least ten more strikes had it not been for the relentless heckling from that charmingly uncouth mob known as the Palmers. Still, good fun was had by all, and we were home by midnight, just in time to pretend we were asleep before Santa arrived.

Christmas Day:
A very civilised start to the day, with no one appearing before 8.30 am, an almost unheard-of miracle. Breakfast disappeared in record time, and then we all assumed our battle stations for the annual gift-distribution ceremony, led with poise and efficiency by our very own Christmas Postwoman, Sarah.

The present pile was truly mountainous this year. Everyone did well, and Lucas seemed especially thrilled, mostly with the boxes, mind you. If this continues, he may well be made an honorary Elf and deliver the presents himself next year. Lunch was a triumph, lovingly crafted by Sue (who should receive her own Michelin star for roast potatoes alone), and tea later was equally delicious. In the evening, we all collapsed in front of the big screen to watch a DVD before pressing the pillow, everyone except Jamie and Suraj, who heroically stayed up late to squeeze in another film. The stamina of the young, eh?

Boxing Day:
Another leisurely start, followed by a daring foray through festive traffic to Peterborough for an afternoon of greyhound racing. Spirits were high, wallets slightly lighter. We ate, we drank, we cheered, and lost a series of increasingly optimistic £1 bets. At one point, Santa himself wandered over for a chat, mainly to grumble about how tight-fisted the bookies were. We nodded solemnly in agreement, pretending we hadn’t just lost £3 on a dog called “Slippery Socks”.

As we were preparing to leave, Suraj made the mistake of giving an overtired Lucas a celebratory shoulder ride. The result? One very messy moment involving the contents of Lucas’s stomach, the floor, and Suraj’s festive cheer. Suffice it to say, we departed a little later and slightly stickier than planned.

The evening was salvaged by a DVD about a culinary rat in France. It reminded me of a romantic meal Sue and I once had in Paris, although I don’t recall that particular rat wearing a chef’s hat… just scuttling across the alley beside the restaurant.