Carol Forster column

Merry Christmas.
Merry Christmas.
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Well, that time has arrived again when we all celebrate with our loved ones and eat, drink and be merry.

As anyone who knows me well will tell you, I’m not really the partying kind and can find enforced jollity a bit trying to say the least.

This is odd given that I have a name which defines those songs we sing every year at Midnight mass.

At least I enjoy that.

I love to sing and can even proudly tell you that I sing in tune which is probably why Mrs. Jones doesn’t grimace at me when I do my harmony to ‘O come all ye faithful’ (though she’d probably love to really.)

However, there are a few things I really do love about an English Christmas.

Crucially, I love the food.

No surprises there.

I also enjoy giving presents, though I’m sure they all get recycled and will probably arrive back to me at some point.

You know when those hideous pink and purple striped socks look ever so familiar, that they’ve done the full circle ‘home’ again.

Then I enjoy decorating the tree and so does the family cat who tries to eat the baubles every year after deftly swiping them to the floor.

I’m also a Christmas card enthusiast.

However, I’m not a huge fan of that whale- like feeling you get at the post Christmas pudding stage of the dining experience – you know the one where you feel you could be used as a life-saving dinghy should such an emergency arise.

‘Sorry dear, I’m having a Boa Constrictor moment.’

I find the best thing to do at this point is hastily make a ‘New Year’s Resolutions’ list which includes such good intentions that even our columnist Ryan Donohue would be proud.

I should add that these are usually put into practice for about three days into the new year to be followed swiftly by the usual lethargic approach.

Given that I’m back to Italy on January 3, I’ll be far too busy to do my sit-ups.

That’s my excuse anyway.

Happy Christmas everyone.