Last year both Lara, and brother Sebastion, then 7 ¾, both climbed into my four-poster with me around 4 a.m. I did my best to keep them from opening their presents before 6.00, but after much wriggling and sighing, I gave in  around 5.30. This year they have strict orders from their Mum – daughter Chloe -  they were not disturb me before 6.00 and then to wait for her to join us before opening their bulging stockings. After that excitement it was down for breakfast before getting ready for church. In the old days we would always stop off at the W-P’s for a glass of champagne after church before returning home — the WP’s house being adjacent to the church. However this year they were away so it was home to our own champagne and  an early lunch (or is it dinner on Christmas day?).

The meal, beautifully cooked by ‘my lovely’ was utterly traditional. The centrepiece a golden turkey, roasted to perfection, with ham. chestnut stuffing, miniature sausages, cranberry sauce and various exotic chutneys – which came with Tom Grant’s generous F & M hamper  – roast potatoes and all the trimmings. The table was a picture with the flames of the tall red candles reflected in the crystal glasses and silver candlesticks. Each grandchild had a dear little papier-mâché gilded angel in its place setting and brightly coloured crackers, scattered between bowls of nuts crystallised fruits, topped off the  festive scene.

This was our 45^th Christmas Day, most of which have been  spent here at  home  with the family and have never varied. The end of lunch always heralds the Queen’s speech at three o’clock, most recently on television, which we faithfully watch every year. This is the prelude to the arrival of Father Christmas – this year, as most, more recently since I gave up, son Miles, who then distributed a seemingly gross number of presents to all and sundry. Am I only person to remember when I was young it was usually one ‘big’ present and  two or three smaller ones. Be that as it may, the young today undoubtedly are over indulged, at least, that’s the opinion of a stuffy 75 year old.

By the time the presents had been  distributed, ripped open and scattered around the sitting room floor and sack loads, of hopefully bio-degradable wrapping paper had been collected up,  it was time for tea and Christmas cake. No sooner had this been washed down with some tea we reached the witching hour, when the ‘sun was over the yardarm’ and it was respectable to have a drink. Again, traditionally champagne before a light supper of smoked salmon and scrambled eggs, a tropical fruit salad and an excellent cheeseboard. I did open some rather excellent 30-year-old Port to go with the cheese but this was really a special treat. I only have two decent bottles of port left, a ’73 and ’63, the latter being kept to celebrate our 50^th wedding anniversary – will I make it? Frankly, I have my doubts.

Replete, and with the two youngest in bed, we rounded off the evening, as we have always done, with some game or other, this time it was Articulate. I think son Miles and I came last, fractionally behind my 11 -year-old grandson and sister-in-law Kimberly; but then who cares. There would have been a time, when my lack of acuity would have worried me, but no longer. And so to bed, a happy bunny after a very lovely unchanging, unchanged Christmas day. (After reading how I had described our Christmas  in such detail, I was very tempted to delete the reference to all the good things that we had to eat and drink, it all sounded so boastful but because that is what  it was, and to say differently would be dishonest, I decided to leave it. However, having done so, I am intensely aware of how very fortunate my family and I am, compared with many other millions of people throughout the world.  It was for this reason that I included the Christmas Blessing to my readers.

The family are on their way and should be here shortly in time for tea. In past years we have always held a small party for our village friends but with so many of them now visiting their own children or their other in-laws we decided against it this year.

The Christmas tree lights are on, the log fire is blazing and all it needs now is for the  family to arrive.

Regretfully I can no longer wrap  presents so  ‘my lovely‘ has to wrap her own and indeed write the cards that go with them but using my own words. Although I can no longer write legibly and therefore can no longer jot down notes during  the night, as I have done for more years than I care to remember, I found an excellent substitute in a dictaphone on which I have had glued some pimple material to enable me to operate the switch.