Today, I get to post off the menu choices for the entire family for Christmas Day.

Yes I know, the Scrooge of the family somehow gets to do the organisation of Christmas Day. Bizarre, but true. And it’s been this way now for three damn years.

In some ways I don’t mind, to be honest. It’s epically demoralising getting the sodding menus in August/September, and then dealing with who’s coming, who’s not, what’s going on, where we’ll be going, and getting back everyone’s menu choices.  It also appeases the control-freak side of my nature, because it means I’ve got it sorted, I know what’s going on, and I know it’s all done.

This year it involves both Herself’s family and mine, which is a new one. My lot are coming up and staying with us over the Festering Season. Fortunately my father and brother are pretty much as Scrooge-esque as me, which’ll help. But still, it’s going to be fairly fraught. (More cynical souls than I would say that the Festering Season was always thus)

For now though, at least it’s all organised. I can go back to being a grumpy old Christmas-loathing bastard – not that that’s a change : just because I’ve organised the sodding day doesn’t mean I don’t still fucking hate it.

Next year, someone else can do it.