This has been one of the most enjoyable Christmases I can remember. I woke up at about 7, and lay in bed listening to my music and watching the bluetits and robins fly back and forth from the window. In the distance, a gentle mist had settled over the valley like a spider’s web. No snow, but something just as beautiful for Christmas morning.

I got up, shrugged the disappointment from my face as I saw what it looked like today in the mirror and showered before sitting outside with a cup of coffee and a cigarette, watching the day grow and chase away the mist. Breakfast was smoked salmon and scrambled eggs, passing on the champagne following the festivities of the night before but still a far cry from my usual black instant coffee and scowl.

And presents! Delightful gifts! Greatly obliged to John for his beautiful sushi set, Barbara for my new scarf and my dad and his girlfriend for my Murakami book, and the Doctor Who quiz book that should keep the nerd within content until at least the new year. Thanks also to Richard for his quite insane gifts (a tin routemaster on wheels filled with jelly beans, a bottle of whisky - yay! - and a Dutch urn featuring a smiling cow), though I don’t know how to drop into conversation that this second gift from Holland again runs the risk of causing me deep emotional trauma. Just kidding. And particular thanks and my deepest affection to Mr B, who continually surprises and humbles me with how very sincerely sweet natured he is.

Dinner was just as decadent - smoked trout terrine followed by roast goose and enough Christmas cheer to pickle a 19th century Admiral. My only gripe was with the Christmas special of Doctor Who. Aside from it being totally fantastic (gurn), I can clearly now never wear my favourite grey trench coat again.

God bless us! Every single one!

Except Jim Davidson. Jim Davidson remains a cunt.