Here is the latest news on celebrity plans for what I regret to say is now called The Holiday Season. Liz Hurley will be getting amicably separated, Kate Middleton will be enjoying her last non-Sandringham Christmas, and Simon Cowell will be jet-skiing in Barbados. Which just leaves the question on everyone’s lips: what about Laurie Graham? Well, I’ll tell you.

For the first time in my adult, roasting-pan owning life, we won’t be playing host to any relatives, guests, relatives of guests or blowthroughs with nowhere better to go. It’ll be just me and Mr F.

I therefore intend to spend the day as follows. I shall sit by the fire, dressed in my lumberjack peejays and my sheepskin slippers, and read. It might be The Master of Ballantrae, or it might be Theodore Dalrymple’s Spoilt Rotten, if Santa remembers to bring it. Perhaps I’d better make sure he does.

Anything emerging from the kitchen before 7 pm will be brought to me on a tray. A pot of tea and Eggs Benedict would be nice but I’m not going to push my luck. After sunset, and only after sunset, I will get dressed, probably in 150 watt sparkle. In this way I hope to provoke Mr F  into casting aside his goose-shit green hoody and wearing his jolliest bow tie.

Before dinner (which I will prepare without getting grease on my sequins) I shall have a sloe gin on the rocks. Maybe I’ll make that two. The menu: Blini with sour cream and salmon eggs followed by Barbary duck breasts, medium roasted, with red cabbage and garlicky Pommes Anna. I might prepare a clementine sorbet. On the other hand I might not. As we already have Roquefort, salted caramels and cherry liqueurs in the house, why would I bother? Of course, there’s always another day.

That’s the plan so far. Reuters will carry daily updates.

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