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We Are Family.


Today will be the first time I’ve spent Christmas Day with both of my parents since the early 90s.

It’s more by accident than design that it’s been so long. We don’t despise each other. We’re not an estranged family being reunited à la Surprise Surprise, which is good, because Christmas is hard enough without having to put up with either Holly Willoughby or Cilla Black. What if Cilla sang? She’d start quietly, as ever; lulling you into a false sense of security until that full-on Scouse foghorn comes out. If Holly was there, she’d bring her friend Fearne Cotton, and I can’t be dealing with that.

My early Christmas memories are probably the same as most children of the 80s. They’re a sea of paper chains and chintzy tinsel (good band name), over-decorated Christmas trees, paper hats and playing with my presents. It seems like a lifetime ago now, which is fair enough, as for me, it sort of is.

Today is a moment of note. It’ll be a nice way to round off a year that’s had both high and low points. It won’t be the same as my childhood Christmases - I’m too old to play with a Big Yellow Teapot - but it will be nice. My mum is bound to get too competitive over a board game. Of that there’s no doubt. It’s also my first Christmas with a wife. That’s far too grown up for my liking, but I like it nevertheless.

Happy Crimbo Everybody. The question is, who doesn’t ‘Crimbo’ have an H in it when ‘Christmas’ does? Bloody alphabet. 

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