So I’m writing this at the Taint time of the year. You know the bit I mean. It taint Christmas and it taint New Year. It’s the bit in between, where you are in a chocolate and cheese induced coma and almost wishing you were back at work. But not quite.

What team do you fall into? Team Grinch, where the wrapping paper barely has time to hit the floor before the decorations are all packed away, or are you Team Elf, and will squeeze every last drop out of Christmas until January 5th?

Last year we were home with my Mum for Christmas, and I was beyond excited! I ADORE Christmas, so Mum’s house looked like Santa’s grotto. But not a grotty grotto. She lives in Emsworth for goodness sake.

I had bought so many presents, food, clothing and, to be honest, a fair serving of shite in the shape of santa mugs, reindeer plates and other tat in an attempt to make it the perfect day.

With the TV bombarding you from every angle with “buy it now, it’s Black Friday”, to “buy it now, it’s your last chance before Christmas”, it’s almost impossible to ignore. Before you know it you are swept along and up to your arse in wrapping paper with  enough food to last another pandemic.

Mum and I went to Church whilst Lee walked the dogs. I make a mean roast, so I spent hours cooking that, with the inevitable 10 side dishes, 3 different types of meat and 2 types of gravy. And, if I do say so myself, it was great.

All the presents were great. Mum and Lee had asked me to buy my own, citing my apparent difficulty to buy for, so 2 jigsaws later I was chuffed to bits, albeit unsurprised.

And by the evening Mum had got cross because the remote control battery had died, I had got cross because no one seemed to appreciate the huge amount of effort I had put into creating the “perfect day” for everyone and Lee had got cross because I made him clean the dog puke up after they both got into the fridge and ate half a field of livestock each.

And the next day the sales began and the TV adverts had changed from “if you don’t buy all of this for your children you are a terrible parent” to “go on, treat yourself, it’s in the sales”.

This year Mum is home and we are away.  She decided she  wasn’t decorating the house as it was only her and Hoover that would be looking at them, and after a couple of weeks she was sick of them anyway. So she’s very happily living her best life her own way. She spent 2 nights with my brother and sister in law for Christmas, and couldn’t have been happier. Haven’t checked in with Phil and Ruth how their Christmas went yet.

This year we were back in Puerto de Mogán, in Gran Canaria. We have one little tree (ahem, John Lewis if you don’t mind) up in the saloon and some fairy lights in the cockpit.

There were no presents, because we didn’t need anything and don’t have room on the boat for “stuff”. We took the boy for a long walk, saw some friends, went for a swim and then in the afternoon went out for lunch. The meal was lovely and we were surrounded by friends who all got totally smashed and had a ball. We met up with our old pal Bud and his little girl Rags for an evening dog walk, enjoyed a cocktail and then went to bed virtually sober and absurdly early. And we had a great day.

The next day I made chicken, chips and salad and with no Christmas food or booze on the boat, life returned to normal very quickly.

I know I’m fortunate to be in the sun over Christmas, and many would love to escape the miserable depths of the UK winter. I, however, do rather miss eating chocolate for breakfast and nothing on earth shows love like a Bayliss and Harding gift set in cinnamon orange.

Next year Mum’s house will be resplendent in all it’s glittery glory. I might downscale to just 5 side dishes, I might not. I will be watching back to back BBC dramas and removing pieces of jigsaw Mum has jammed into the wrong place. Because it’s home. And it’s Christmas.

#teamelf