Around 3pm on Boxing Day, every year, I wonder at what point in my life I turned into a pain in the arse. Perhaps I didn't turn - perhaps it's always been this way.
I love Christmas. I like getting dressed in my warmest clothes, wrapping presents and toasting the festivities with big glasses of mulled wine. I love Christmas particularly in Somerset - all long walks, roaring fires and good food. But as soon as it's over (like the minute the clock strikes 12) I go into a very early January sulk. Nothing's good anymore - and quite frankly, if Quality Street and mince pies aren't readily available, at any point in the day, what's the sodding point?
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2 years ago