Watch Happy Feet.. with Half Litre Of Honeycomb Crunch

Dec 30 2007 Alison Craig

Self control can only go so far. At this rate I'll be walking like one of the penguins

MONDAY

Get home to spot a large cardboard box teetering on the kitchen windowsill - two floors up. "It's the turkey," says Dave, "and there's no room in the fridge." I flip open the window and prod it with my finger. Worryingly, it moves easily. "Well you better check our insurance then - if that falls on to someone's head you'll be doing porridge not turkey next year," I declare dramatically.

Christmas Eve we are on our best behaviour apart from Flora - half haggis, half Womble dog - who, after staring at the turkey on the windowsill for hours, gives up and raids the presents under the tree. Amazingly she finds a hairy squeaky squirrel toy Dave bought for a joke and savages it. How did she know it was for her? Did she read the label? I am puzzled by this apparent surge of intelligence. It turns out Dave stuffed dog biscuits in the squirrel's pouch to wind her up this morning. Oh well, managed to wind me up tonight. I grit my teeth as I collect all the shredded paper and squirrel fur and Flora resumes staring at the turkey. Is this normal?

TUESDAY

Merry Christmas! Would all have slept until 9am had it not been for Flora who finds squirrel fur and biscuits do not agree with her delicate constitution. We are woken by her barking to be taken out - in dressing gown, in frost. Merry Christmas, I whisper under my breath, as my knees knock together and I squint at my watch - 6am.

Have asked a few folk in for a festive drink which culminates in 25 people at midday. The turkey, when it is eventually brought in from the cold, looks a bit small. It has to feed 12 and we're not having a starter. My decision is don't give the guests any food as there is not enough to go round. So happily hand out booze while withholding all sausages and crisps. Now I know what it feels like to be a grippy old slapper.

We eat at 2.30pm. The turkey is lovely and Dave has excelled - he did the lot. By tea time dad has played the banjo, me the piano, mum is giggling in the corner, we have shared dreadful jokes, Louis has broken his remote control helicopter and Dave is lunging at the damson gin - a gift from his pal Shaun MacDonald. All slumped by 8pm, bed by 11pm including Flora who was rewarded with some turkey after her 12-hour staring vigil.

WEDNESDAY

Dynamite was also worried about not having enough food because her Dave kept inviting more and more people to spend Christmas with them. Worried about the size of the turkey, she phoned Mrs Harvey, her mother-in-law - well, she will be if her and Dave get married - and explained there were another four coming and would the turkey go round? "We're having chicken so I can easily get another one," said Mrs H.

"Chicken!" exclaimed Dynamite, indignant, "but it's Christmas!" It turns out they have had chicken for the past 10 years and Diane, bless her culinary socks, has never noticed.

Her day did not improve after lunch when foam and bubbles spewed from the dishwasher. She grabbed the phone to call a plumber as Dave confessed he had used Persil Automatic because he couldn't find the dishwasher tablets. We arrange to meet for a drink tomorrow - we both need it.

THURSDAY

Meet the girls to do our present swapping in the Circle Cafe. All four of us arrive clutching sparkly gifts. In the blue corner are Anne Hunter and Fiona McHardy, the arch wrappers - beautiful, glamorous parcels with tassels and sprigs hanging off them.

In the red corner there's Dynamite and myself who are more of the 'roll it up in a ball and hold it together with Sellotape' school of wrapping.

There is the expected poking fun at our parcels at which point Dynamite claims to have an excuse. She had rushed in on Christmas Eve with Anne's present - a top from John Lewis - and settling down to wrap it, unrolled the paper on the ground and plopped the top on it. As she cut the paper she thought briefly it felt awfully thick only to find that she was in fact cutting through the top. Sick of herself she decided to walk away from it and take a deep breath so she unusually decided to face the ironing. After wrestling with the board she plugged the iron in and promptly fused the entire flat.

So Dynamite is given a pardon for her shocking wrapping as it was done in the dark. I, on the other hand, have no excuse and am thus left as the butt of all the jokes - no change there then.

FRIDAY

No guesses what happened last night - there was nothing we could do to avoid it. We all spend Christmas apart and when we get together it is light blue touch paper and retire. Suffice to say bananas, yoghurt and Resolve are on the diet sheet today.

SATURDAY

Stay in and watch Happy Feet - I have self-control when I want. The fact I eat a half litre of Mackies Honeycomb crunch ice cream at the same time illustrates I do have to work on my self-control. At this rate I'll end up walking like one of the film's penguins!