A Breath Of Fresh Air

I needed a quick break before lost the last of my festive spirit!

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I 'M standing in my kitchen on Christmas morning holding a knife.

"Daphne," my husband Ed calls from the lounge. "You should come and watch this.

"Samantha is on telly.

She's cooking her special Christmas gravy." I grip my knife tighter and let the carrots have it.

"Sorry," I whisper to them as I wield my weapon.

"It's not your fault." However, if we want to eat this Christmas dinner any time soon, one of us needs to actually cook it.

I would love to watch the sumptuous Samantha, the latest TV chef, cooking a perfect festive feast in her luxury kitchen with her team of assistants.

But I have a real Christmas dinner to conjure up here in my tiny, cramped kitchen on my own.

Oblivious to the fate awaiting the rest of the carrots, my husband continues to shout through his helpful advice.

"Have you considered preparing all the Christmas veg in advance and freezing it?" I bite my lip. There's no answer to that ridiculous. question.

I worked right up until Christmas Eve. It's a miracle I even managed to buy any festive food.

I used to love Christmas.

It was my favourite time of year.

Yet somehow, the holiday has lost its magic.

Ed has the TV planner all worked out. It's going to be wall-to-wall television.

Then there's my social media-obsessed daughters.

I don't care if our new Christmas tree, with its colour-co-ordinated decorations, got hundreds of likes. There was nothing wrong with our old tree.

And let's not forget my mother! Nothing I do at Christmas is good enough. How can I match all those rose-tinted Christmases from the past? Finally, there's Ed's father, Dennis.

He arrived with a goose.

He thought we could have it as well as the turkey! Is it any wonder things are going wrong? The potato pan has boiled over, I've burned the stuffing, and the bread sauce is rather lumpy.