The Joys of a Very Merry Christmas Eve

Yes, the day for which almost every single person has been counting the oh-so-long days towards for months and awaiting for the clock to strike midnight to officialize the incredible beginning of a 12-day long feast has nearly arrived on our sodden doorsteps! All of the homemade frangipane (an almond-scented sponge topping) mince pies are ready to be taken out of the arctic-frozen freezer at a moment's notice, whilst the stomach-rumbling delicious sausage rolls lie in wait on a cooling rack to be snatched by a pair of monster-like hands (and beautifully filed nails, though the same would obviously not apply to my messier-than-David-Luiz's-hair brother, whose strikingly long nails can be placed on a par with a growling werewolf) and devour with a relished hunger and piles upon piles of presents only need to be brought into the living room, where the immaculately decorated Christmas tree - which glitters with shiny golden tinsel and sparkles like Swarovski jewels when switched on as the final blast of weakening sunshine fades away into a starlit night - welcomes the carefully wrapped gifts and sits beside the meerkat-themed bags (even though I've now hit my teens, a computer-generated picture of a red-suited meerkat never fails to place a smirk upon my nude-tastic lips) until the best loved morning of the year awakens us from an energizing, eagerly excited slumber.

OK, if I wanted to, I would probably carry on describing my traditional Christmas until the early hours of tomorrow morning, so I might as well get on with what my heart has long desired to say - Merry Christmas! No, no, no there isn't any need to log off this site and check out your secret Wish List on Amazon for the final time purely on the basis that I declared a cringe-worthy 'Merry Christmas' to my beloved (near non-existent) readers - at the moment, my excitement has thrown me higher than a dreaded gust of wind tearing away part of my garden's fence across the slippery lawn, which currently looks far muddier than a Glastonbury concert, and I seriously don't know when I'm going to return to stable ground and gale-free Earth! So, I do apologize in advance if this entry does seem a little messier and unclear as a fake crystal ball than usual, but surely almost everybody experiences a cluttered mixture of emotions before the big day arrives?

Christmas, however great it is to wrap up in a cosy new pair of pyjamas and spend time with cherished friends and families who hopefully manage to put their problems behind them and get along together, can sometimes send you in a worry-inducing panic which provokes you to run around like a headless chicken (and by the way, a turkey weighing as much as many people put on in heavily unwanted weight during the festive season is on the table this year comme toujours) because you feel intensely inclined to perform so many actions which, in reflection, are not possible without hiring a house-load of helpers to offer you a moment or two of pure peace - even if the agenda is simply related to whether you ought to shave or use an epilator on your hairy bush otherwise known as a pair of legs on Christmas Eve or days beforehand.

Considering that a women is usually paired with the face-scrunching job of cleaning a cold, slimier-than-a-used-tissue turkey and eventually cooking in it an all-too-small oven for around four hours - unless a wacky Heston Blumenthal happens to take charge of the kitchen, destroying all of your previous notions of a traditional Christmas dinner - us girls have a belittling tendency to complete countless tasks which, if honesty must be admitted, nobody else wants to do yet still highly need to be done. For example, who gets a buzz as energy-lifting as drinking a can of Coca Cola by wrapping up seemingly millions of presents beyond your usual bedtime and working through eye-drooping exhaustion until you reach a point where you can no longer push yourself through the fatigue clouding your hazy mind?

Although I do wish that I could offer some help and do something useful for my mum whilst enduring a restless and exhausting night, there is hardly any chance of my getting through several rolls of teddy bear-patterned wrapping paper until I probably have children of my own; the same also goes for producing nose-sniffing batch upon batch of spicy mince pies and pushing a trolley loaded with plain-flavoured Doritos and basic necessities during a weekly shop at the supermarket on the weekend before Christmas. Despite having many years before the whole of my preciously regarded time is numbered before my half-closed eyes, I still feel the need to compile a list solely dedicated to completing certain tasks in order to remain as organized as I usually would be during the year, albeit an ink pen which actually works isn't always to hand - apart from telling of my daily tales and opinions on my diary and peeling a bag load of juicy carrots, I've ticked everything off my imaginary list, provoking a smile, one which tells of heartfelt relief, to light up my face. Therefore, a major disaster of flying into a huff and attempting to blame all of my problems upon my door-slamming brother has been neatly avoided and I feel free to do whatever my heart wishes to do, making this Christmas even merrier than before!

Though I may get my fair share of responsibilities as I get older and perhaps a little bit wiser (absolutely typical of a Mickey Mouse-viewing, toy tiger-hugging teenager, after all!), there is always plenty of space to be made for moments utterly dedicated to having a great and memorable time - what sort of message would be promoted if Christmas was no longer a season to let your hair down and unleash your inner euphoric spirit as the world has never seen it? Having already made a secret pact to steer clear of losing all sense of sensibility during the festivities (despite the obvious lack of energy-soaring sugar, you would be amazed how much vitality a single can of Diet Coke offers to a party-swarming mood), I cannot deny the fact that my heart soars with elation at the jubilated thought of dressing up to the nines in a new black spotted dress and coating my face in a layer of shimmery make up, a look which I specially reserve for highly important occasions which definitely includes Christmas Day as anyone would expect! One of the greatest aspects of getting older is that I appreciate the strenuous effort put into transforming your ordinary, everyday look into one which would rival a world-famous star on the Hollywood Red Carpet and how it dramatically changes the way I feel, offering a sanguine confidence with which I'm not entirely familiar yet seems absolutely right for my newly found bold mood!

Also, I can bring myself to think something else apart from opening presents, many of which I added to my wishlist back in the sweating heat of the summer, as I'm really looking forward to watching and inevitably learning how to produce a successful Christmas dinner which is still the talk of the town halfway through the very unfestive year. Within the space of less than a year, I've picked up more tips and absorbed a tremendous amount of information in relation to baking and cooking which has enabled me to understand all of the effort which goes into roasting the mouth-watering and crispier-than-a-Dorito (sorry for the example; it's just my unfortunate luck that my brother has nearly devoured most of my favourite brand of corn crisps) roast potatoes and making the turkey keep its succulent tenderness and taste deliciously moist moist during its long venture into the desert-like oven for several hours. So, alongside finding out how to operate a smartphone back to front and successfully completing a story for the first time in, well, years, my cookery skills have reached higher than I ever believed was possible and has led me to the conclusion that the Christmas Dinner is on a par with the presents. However, I may change my tune as soon as I start using my new and soon-to-be-legendary Curl Secret with twenty-four hours...

As I near the end of this entry, Christmas is unsurprisingly getting nearer and Santa Claus - in whom I abruptly stopped believing years ago as soon as it dawned upon me that if he did exist, a tiny Tiffany's diamond would somehow fit inside his sleigh, though my wish has not (yet) come true - will probably be eating his fifth meal of the day before setting out on a tiring journey across the world, eventually arriving in my town and supposedly eating the mince pies which my dad always keeps asking to eat after dinner. You and I know the answer to that one, right?

Anyway, have a very Merry Christmas and enjoy every single moment of it - from the moment I awake at 6am and carry my bear stocking onto my bed, the magic will begin and feel as fresh as it did a mere year before!