Christmas Eve is my favourite day around the festive period. It is packed full of tradition and anticipation. It starts with a dog walk, to try to calm down our furry friend who knows that something is happening but can't quite work out what it is. He goes off his food and paces around the house on high alert. It's things like that that make me believe Santa is real. Even the dog is on guard to protect us from a man in a red suit who might break in by sliding down the chimney and leave presents on the sofa.
Then, I make mince pies and finish my Christmas Cake, with carols and Michael Buble crooning in the background. I'm pleased with this year's cake.
That is followed by a mamouth present wrapping session while watching a Christmas film. This year it was a Muppet Christmas Carol. And then I go to the allotment to dig up the vegetables before the Carols by candlelight service at the Church. I'm not a very religious person but I do love the symbolism of the light of one candle being spread around the whole congregation and it is fantastic to belt out a Christmas carol or two (complete with descant verses) without any pressure of performance.
The second party of the festive party crawl then begins. By the time we get to New Years Eve we will all be so sick of each other we will be desperate for the clock to reach midnight so that we can all go home. The highlights of tonight's party were watching Santa on Norad. We were all glued to it, wondering about the strange routes he was taking, whether the presents were delivered to everyone (even if they weren't Christian) and what happens about those on the naughty list. Last night's party was more eventful. The children were playing hide and seek and one may have been traumatised for life when the host decided she would pop into her en-suite bathroom for a quick wee. (He was hiding in the shower.)
Now is the part of the evening I love the most. Baileys and mince pie for Santa a carrot for the reindeer and everyone in bed, excitedly waiting to see what he puts in our stockings.
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