Having always been Christmas Day church goers, we were quite disappointed when my mother moved to her new village two years ago to discover that hardly anyone turned up for the morning service, which makes carolling rather flat. So we switched to Midnight Mass the night before, and now have the whole day to ourselves.
I took the dogs out for a brisk walk first thing. Not sure that Billy entirely appreciated being made to wear his antlers.
After all the torrential rain, the air was crisp and the skies blue, not that Posetta Baddog appreciated it, sprinting for home, the moment my back was turned.
We kicked off presents before lunch with my last bottle from Domaine Chandon in California, a sparkling Pinot: they don’t export the sparking reds and roses, so I saved it for Christmas.
P Bad got a new bone
and Billy had a bag of treats
My sister is known for being particularly grumpy at times, so I wet myself when I found this sweater in Topshop. I’m quite impressed that she wore it all day.
I was given some wonderful things: books, a pretty glass bonbon dish from my cousin, cooking stuff, pictures, candleholders from my father, some wonderful old claret from my mother and a Nick Munro pepper mill that I had wanted for ages.
Then we popped open the exceedingly good Bollinger Special Cuvee.
As we were only three, lunch this year was a Gressingham duck.
Someone was in pole position, waiting for duck to drop from the sky.
I’m always in charge of potatoes. Even if I do say so myself, I make epic roast potatoes. Super crispy outside, and melting within.
We spent quite a while laying the table: it’s such a pleasure to be able to use all the old family glass and silver.
We happily spent the rest of the day in onesies, watching telly in front of the fire.
Although there was nearly internecine warfare when I discovered that my sister, home since Saturday, had eaten nearly all the Quality Street. Little bugger.
I’m afraid we didn’t dress up at all this year: I wore boyfriend jeans and my Boden star print top which felt quite festive (most worn of the season, and astonishingly in the sale here.)
Even Tiggy came in from the cold: she hates the dogs so tends to sleep elsewhere, even though it is warmer in front of the fire in the sitting room.
My mother and I happily drank this glorious 30 year sherry from Gonzalez Byass.
Boxing Day continued along a similar theme of dog walking, sherry drinking, Scrabble playing, and eating.
Someone also thought they deserved a piece of my mother’s glorious homemade, and deliciously boozy, Christmas Cake. (Not happening, as grapes, and therefore raisins, sultanas and currants are poisonous to dogs.)
I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas too xx