Last night as I returned from a semi-successful mission to the supermarket for Christmas food supplies, I was reminiscing to myself about an occasion, eight years ago, when the 23rd December became a ceremony in its own right.
Ant and I were living in Streatham at the time and couldn't wait to escape London for the seaside. We arrived in Eastbourne and spent the evening with my sister (pictured here with me on Christmas day 2006) and her boyfriend, all of us reverting to child-like giddiness about the imminent festivities. Somehow a video camera got into the mix, and before we knew it, our now legendary production of 'The Night Before The Night Before Christmas' was born.
As far as I know, the recording has yet to make it onto YouTube, so I cannot share with you the glories of this bonkers performance. But just remembering it got me thinking about how the anticipation of Christmas is really the best bit, and how rubbish it is when that build-up is eclipsed by annoying preparation traumas (e.g. not being able to get any parsnips in Sainsbury's).
So tonight I am going to stop caring whether on not I have everything I need for the family feast tomorrow. I know that I have two bottles of pink fizz and a good supply of red wine, cheese and biscuits and various chutneys - and as far as I am concerned, that is all the good stuff covered.
My little sis has gone to France with her beau and their new baby this year, to spend It with the in-laws, so sadly there'll be no chance of a sequel to 'The Night Before the Night Before Christmas'. Maybe next year.