A Season of Sparkle, Shenanigans, and Slight Overindulgence
Let’s be honest—Christmas always has a way of sneaking up on us, doesn’t it? One minute you’re moaning about how early the mince pies have hit the supermarket shelves, and the next you’re elbow-deep in wrapping paper (#Ad), wondering how on earth your lounge ended up looking like Santa’s sleigh collided with a glitter factory. And just like that, Christmas is in the rear-view mirror and New Year’s creeping round the corner like a nosy neighbour.
This year, the Cleary household embraced the season with our usual mix of merriment, mild chaos, and the occasional squabble over who nicked the last roast potato.
So, grab a cuppa (or a cheeky Bailey’s—we’re not judging), get cosy, and allow me to regale you with tales of our festive frolics, from excited children and turkey-related triumphs to charades victories and birthday bashes.
Christmas Eve – Where The Mayhem Begins
Santa’s Little Helpers (And One Slightly Knackered Worker)
Now, let’s start with Christmas Eve, shall we? Unlike most people who are already knee-deep in Quality Street and clinking glasses by mid-afternoon, yours truly was clocking in a shift at work. Yes, on Christmas blooming Eve! I’d run out of holiday days, so there I was, toiling away while visions of pigs in blankets danced in my head.
By the time I got home, the house had transformed into a sort of festive madhouse. The youngest was practically vibrating with excitement—if we’d had a chimney, I swear he would’ve tried to shimmy up it. Visitors were streaming through the front door like it was a revolving one, all bringing good cheer (and, thankfully, wine). The decibel level was somewhere between ‘school disco’ and ‘rock concert’.
Eventually, though, the excitement simmered down a smidge. We left out a proper dram of Glenmorangie (#Ad) for Father Christmas—none of that milk malarkey in our house—and the obligatory carrot for Rudolph, who apparently doesn’t get festive tipples. Then we all tried our best to get a bit of kip before the big day began.
The Dawn Raid – Christmas Day Begins (Whether You’re Ready or Not)
The 5:30 Wake-Up Call No One Asked For
At the crack of dawn (or rather, well before it), we were jolted awake by young Joshua at 05:30. Poor lad said he felt sick—but between you and me, I think it was more ‘excited belly’ than ‘dodgy belly’. Nice try, mate, but we weren’t falling for it. He was sent back to bed with a pat on the head and the promise of presents if he could just stay horizontal for another hour.
Then I was up again at 06:15, bleary-eyed but on a mission. The oven needed firing up for the turkey, and those roasties weren’t going to peel themselves. A quick shuffle around the kitchen later and I even managed to sneak back under the duvet for a couple more blissful hours. Small victories.
But peace was short-lived. Michele’s parents (Ronnie & Brenda) gave us a buzz to check whether the jolly man in red had been—spoiler alert: he had! Once the call ended, the house was officially awake.
Unwrapping the Mayhem
Gifts, Grandkids, and a Slightly Sleep-Deprived Santa
The two youngest boys did the initial present exchange—a whirlwind of paper, squeals, and “where’s the batteries?”—before the rest of the clan began to descend. First came my daughter, her partner, and the newest (and by far cutest) member of the family—baby Harry, my four-month-old grandson. He mainly observed the chaos with the wide-eyed bemusement of someone who wasn’t quite sure why we were all so loud.
Not long after, my eldest son Drew joined the festivities. Sadly, his partner was off at her own family Christmas, so we missed her this year—cue the sad face. But we made do with the rest of us, and the house was soon bustling with that perfect mix of love, laughter, and total mayhem.
Feast Mode Activated
The Turkey Triumph (And the Champagne Floweth)
Come midday, it was all hands on deck in the kitchen. The turkey, resplendent and golden, was lifted ceremoniously from the oven like a crown jewel. We served up the full works—roast potatoes crispy enough to wake the ancestors, veg galore, stuffing that could bring a tear to your eye, and of course, those controversial Brussels sprouts (which, yes, I like. Judge away).
Our in-laws joined the spread, bringing with them good cheer and a healthy thirst. Champagne (#Ad) corks popped, red wine flowed (#Ad), and beers were cracked open like we were auditioning for a festive drinks advert. A toast was made, glasses clinked, and the meal began—only interrupted by the occasional scramble for more gravy.
After the final mouthfuls were devoured and belts quietly unbuckled under the table, my in-laws toddled off to my brother-in-law’s place. The rest of us sunk into the sofa in that glorious post-dinner haze—half asleep, half wondering if we could manage dessert (spoiler: we could).
Let the Games Begin
Charades, Chuckles and a Bit of Cheating (Probably)
With the food coma slowly lifting, it was time for the evening’s entertainment—charades. Now, I’m not one to brag (well, maybe a little), but I do believe I emerged victorious. Drew came a close second, but let’s be honest—it’s all about the flair, and I had flair in spades. There was mime, there was drama, there was a lot of gesturing that made absolutely no sense.
Once the competitive spirit had calmed down, we curled up for the obligatory dose of festive telly. ‘The Royle Family’ (#Ad) made its annual appearance, and we all settled in for that peculiar blend of nostalgia and belly laughs.
Boxing Day – Double Celebrations
From Birthdays to Brunch (and Back Again)
Now, in our family, Christmas doesn’t end on the 25th. Oh no—Boxing Day marks an entirely different kind of celebration: my mothers birthday. So, once we’d had a lazy morning filled with cuddles from baby Harry and a strong coffee or three, we headed over to Altrincham (#Ad) for a birthday lunch.
My mum & dad were there, as well as my brother and his lively bunch. After filling up on good grub and birthday cake, we migrated to Mum’s house for the evening do—a proper party complete with bubbly, nibbles, and at least one dodgy party hat.
Mum was thoroughly spoiled, as she should be, and it made Boxing Day feel every bit as special as Christmas.
The Days That Followed – Slippers, Snacks and Socialising
Lounging Like Pros
After two days of non-stop activity, we took full advantage of that sacred time between Christmas and New Year known as… absolutely nothing. We embraced the lull. Pyjamas (#Ad) were worn far longer than appropriate. Leftovers were consumed with wild abandon. Time lost all meaning.
It was glorious.
One Last Hurrah at the Brays
Just when we thought we’d properly nested into the sofa, the Bray household threw open their doors for a post-Christmas bash. Off we went, festive jumpers (#Ad) and all, to toast what was left of the season. The wine was flowing, the snacks were plentiful, and the laughs kept coming.
There’s something magical about catching up with friends in that in-between time—no one knows what day it is, everyone’s a bit soft round the edges from cheese and trifle, and nobody bats an eye if you turn up with a Tupperware of sausage rolls.
And Now… The Great January Slog
Back to Reality (Sort Of)
And just like that, the festive glow started to fade. The decorations didn’t come down straight away (we’re not savages), but the fridge began to look depressingly normal and someone inevitably mentioned the D-word: diet.
With the final Quality Street accounted for and the fairy lights starting to feel more like clutter than charm, reality crept back in. January means back to work, back to bills, and back to pretending we’re going to be more organised next Christmas. (We won’t.)
But, as always, we ended the year with full bellies, full hearts, and a couple of new jumpers we didn’t know we needed.
And now? It’s time to begin the long, slow process of saving up for the next round. Only 11 months to go!
