The dregs of Christmas

No-one wants to be reminded of Christmas in January. I have to admit that this Christmas was a great deal better than last year’s, which is not a time anyone wants to be remember, but still it’s just so last year, isn’t it? I was brought up in a household where Christmas did not officially end until January 6^th and the decorations were never taken down until then. I don’t think we were particularly bothered about how disappointed those wise men would be if they finally arrived on the 6^th, all ready to have their Epiphany, only to find that the rest of the world had forgotten about Christmas entirely and was busy organising a new fitness regime and planning a summer holiday. My mother just loved Christmas and my brothers and I were all in favour because we got a present for each of the Twelve Days of Christmas. We were just sorry that those wise men didn’t dawdle a little more on their journey.

My adult self, however, is quite relieved to take down the decorations, vacuum up the pine needles and see order restored. The only problem is that I see vestiges of Christmas everywhere and I worry that it’s going to haunt me for the entire year. Naturally, I expect to find chunks of turkey lurking in the freezer every time I open the door and stray pine needles on the carpet until June, but I would rather not see a Christmas pudding every time I open the pantry door. I don’t even like Christmas pudding and I think it’s just there to mock me. Sadly, it’s good until 2023 so I have no excuse to chuck it in the food waste bin or feed it to some unsuspecting birds. Actually, that would be cruel – I bet the poor things would never be able to fly again with that stodgy weight in their tiny stomachs.

I won’t even mention the extra cushioning I still have around my middle (to be honest, every single mince pie was worth it), but I keep coming across festive programmes that I recorded, thinking that we’d watch them as soon as we had time, which we never did. They just look so unappealing once Christmas is over and all those adverts for piles of food look positively disgusting. How could we have been so greedy? The new improved versions of ourselves, eating only plant-based meals and running every morning, just stare in horror.

The problem is that I’ve just come across a half-eaten chocolate orange and I’ve resolved to eliminate all food waste this year. I’ve thought about this carefully and not only does the orange contain cocoa, which is full of iron and antioxidants (whatever they are), it also contains orange oil and surely that’s a good source of vitamin C? I obviously have no choice but to eat it. It isn’t often that a dilemma is so easily and responsibly resolved and I think I’ve just had an Epiphany of my own.