Which sadists invented board games? I bet they like immersive theatre too

Christmas Eve eve. I note consciously for the first time that I am now well into my "Goddamn Christmas again?" years, where excitement and anticipation are replaced by fatigue and dread.

- Lucy Mangan Diary

Monday

But the food is here, my mum and sister arrive tomorrow. Dad's still dead, so there's no buffer. Or indeed anyone to make sure the food turns out edible, but I'll do my best. I've got presents for the child at least. Though I'll have to warn him that he is now old enough for some of them to be deeply boring (a shirt, a jumper).

It comes to us all, lad.

I start the day with a mimosa, partly because I've always wanted to and partly because I intend to be lightly - just lightly - drunk all the way through until at least the end of Boxing Day, and possibly till 1 January, when obviously my new life of abstention, salads and shining rigour in all things will immediately begin.

Tuesday

Mimosas are great. And they work well all day - you just add less and less orange juice until by 4pm you're on the straight booze and it carries you very nicely through until bedtimes.

Mum and sister are here. It was a bad journey, in that there were other people on the road at the same time. Not many. Just some. "Where are they all going, for God's sake?" says Mum, unpacking her suitcase and throwing clothes into drawers where they neatly refold themselves under the sheer force of her will.

"Maybe to their families for Christmas," my sister suggests, rejecting my offer of a mimosa in favour of cracking open a bottle of vodka and drinking it neat.

"Well, that's daft," says Mum.

There is more vodka, I assure my sister.

Wednesday