The Aftermath of Christmas Day: Sleepy Heads and Disappearing Sausage Rolls...

Hey you, how you're doing the day after Christmas came and went within a turkey-flavoured, festive TV re-run blur? Does your head hurt after trawling into your bed, which is still littered with tiny shreds of reindeer-patterned wrapping paper, a lot later than your usual bedtime? Hmm, it's going to take quite a lot of Christmas spirit to prevent you from sinking lower than the bottom of a bowl bulging with creamy bread sauce which you just couldn't bear to say no to - how can a nude-lipped teenage girl, with an increasingly freaky penchant for black-as-night liquid eyeliner (in scream-inducing thick lines, too), place a smile as forced as the one you specially reserve for those ancient relatives who always give you gifts which even the most uncaring, non-jolly person wouldn't envy? Oh well, I guess that there is only so much that I can do to lift your spirits on the day after Christmas - Boxing Day, if I wish to remain loyal towards my Paris-themed calender - but it's still worth a try, right? Here goes!

Despite giving in to my hard-to-fight temptation by splashing out a decapitated head from my silky smooth Lindt milk chocolate bear (not a pleasant detail in all honesty, but still a luxurious treat nonetheless) and a creamy truffle which tasted like a slice of warm, utterly perfect heaven and of course stuffing myself to the verge of chucking up in a darkened corner (preferably not in my own room, though the kittens' newspaper-covered litter tray would've been absolutely fine) with a spectacular range of honey-roasted parsnips and juicy onions, I still mustered up the admirable courage to drag my zombie-like form out of bed before eight this morning and tuck into a sweet-as-pie apple without nausea threatening to ruin my daily 5-a-day fun - quite an astounding feat on Boxing Day, huh?

Although the majority of those who wake up with a sore headache or astonishingly bloated stomach the following morning have probably drunk one too many glasses of supermarket-brand Bucks Fizz or became untamable whilst going wild on an once-a-year-only ramage across the crumb-littered kitchen, I was still expecting to experience the eventual perils of awakening before dawn to allow the festivities - those which traditionally involve opening my stocking inside my own bed - to officially commence and put an abrupt stop to my younger brother searching around the present-piled living room with only a torch to guide his way around the Christmas tree.

Whether it was excitement building more rapidly than a block of cheaply-designed flats round the corner inside of me or an energy-lifting clementine at lunchtime keeping me going, I still have no idea how I got through the entire day without experiencing the uncontrollable desire to place my head onto a pillow and sleep through Love Actually during the star-lit evening or allow my typically snappier-than-a-crocodile's-teeth temper get the better of my sleep-deprived self - compared to last year's fiasco of only gaining a mere four or five hours before dragging bags upon bags of chocolate coins onto my bed at 6am, I did far better than what I had led myself to expect, but don't all of us, whether it is related to an unhealthy cut-back of sleep or resisting the thought of picking up another sausage roll before sitting down for the most luxurious dinner in your entire life, make a sacrifice of some sort for Christmas? However, it must be said, losing out on much-needed rest isn't always intentional, as misfortune had intended for me to learn, and pre-elation of sitting next to your brother on the sofa - who, for once in his life, is not wearing a Samsung-sponsored football kit - and watching a few holiday-themed episodes of The Simpsons on a malfunctioning DVD player is simply part of my Christmas, which makes it even more special and meaningful to me.

Anyway, I don't think that I have grinned and smiled à la a buxom-lipped Angelina Jolie (in certain ways, our bee-stung lips share quite a few resemblances, though I prefer to not say it out loud) as much in my life as I did yesterday morning while opening my presents with my family, all of whom were beyond elated with our generously-given gifts. As I get older, there is always going to be more freedom and independence given in relation to choosing my presents and gaining full control of my wishlist on a Microsoft Excel document, the privilege of which I strongly appreciate and feel immensely proud that, unlike a lot of other people, needn't be fought for, yet my heart would have to be as hard as stone if I didn't feel a pang of yearning to return to my childhood days where a surprise was lurking in almost every box - alongside waving goodbye to dressing already scantily-clad Barbie dolls with yet tighter and shorter clothing, letting go of your parents and family making a decision for yourself is something you like and don't at the same time, which particularly hits home at Christmas.

Of course, I loved every single thing which I received because I already knew what it was and would therefore avoid any disappointment of being given a present which didn't set my heart beating faster than a fast nightclub track, but it isn't quite the same, is it? To my relief, I never have to think twice of setting aside part of my Christmas budget to my parents who, with their expert eyes and equally decent tastes to rival my own, never fail to surprise and please me with a gift which I either wear or use all year round - so, I can still have the freedom to make my own decisions and be the recipient of a present which is kept under wraps until the very last moment! With a nature more inquisitive than a story-seeking journalist, it always astounds me how I never stumble upon a secret surprise before the time comes for it to be revealed; part of me usually wins over my nosiness by reminding me of my yearning to keep the surprise a perfectly concealed secret until the moment comes in its glorious, tightly-wrapped (thanks to my dad's excessive usage of cellotape) glory!

On another subject, there was one part of the day which excited me more than I expected and received a higher total of appreciation due to my ever-flourishing interest in the skill: the mighty Christmas dinner. To my surprise, some people refer to the meal as a 'lunch' which, in my opinion, strikes me as a small snack to get you through the middle of the day before lapping up a hot meal in the late afternoon or early evening - and after complaining of nausea and a bloated stomach at the end of the 'lunch', a dinner is later served in the day, which surely must be the very last thing that anybody stuffed to the verge of bursting must want! Still, traditions are probably very different in my house in comparison to anybody else's, but I wouldn't change any of it within a heartbeat because it is utterly perfect in its present form!

Staying in line with a traditional turkey, which my mum roasts in juicy streaks of salty bacon the evening before (in all honesty, there is hardly any choice: how could we roast any another vegetables and stuffing when the larger-than-most bird takes up every inch of space?), we always pile our plates high with vitamin-rich vegetables such honey-flavoured carrots, tasty sprouts - which, I'm dying to admit, is one of my favourite foods - peas, roast potatoes and parsnips, which develop a delicious flavour when roasted in sweet honey. Oh, and I may get a roasted onion or two from the turkey - otherwise known as Juice Central - or the potatoes, so I probably get more than a week's worth of vegetables in one sitting; any fruit beforehand needn't count!

Although I may heave with exhaustion or sigh heavily as I shovel a bucket load of sprouts into my mouth half an hour after gathering at the table, it doesn't dent my enjoyment of the meal which my family share together and appreciate entirely - in my eyes, it is a meal which is spoken about for months after Christmas has all but disappeared from the household and brings us closer towards one another, which, if you look beyond the John Lewis-purchased presents and over-commercialized portrayals of enjoying the festivities, is the main message of Christmas. Getting together and displaying our love for everybody who means all the world to us is the whole point of celebrating Christmas, which ought to be promoted more heavily - despite coveting a hair curling styler rather strongly this year, I've pushed the presents aside slightly to make more room for promoting my appreciation of everything else which goes into making Christmas what it spectacularly is!

Now, excuse me, as my eyes are beginning to flutter weakly and transport me to a land of disappearing sausage rolls - festive dreams, I find, seem pretty weird - I ought to return to joys of watching my kittens fight near the defrosted piece of gammon. Sales or claw-scratching fights have become a tradition of sale-starting Boxing Day, right?