The thing about an English Christmas is, the meal doesn’t end until you sleep. At first you think, Oh my God, I can’t do it. All the nuts and chips and chocolates for starters and then parsnip and apple soup with cream and into the dining room covered with garlands and fairy lights for roast turkey with stuffing, thick gravy and two kinds of potatoes and brussel sprouts and carrots. (The most I was allowed to introduce from the new world was string beans). Before the plates are cleared the pudding is set on fire and we’re pouring on the custard. Then for something light, chocolate mousse made with double cream and smeared with more double cream spiked with courvoiser. Tea. Just a drop of sherry to help digest and then at the telee a massive plate of cheeses with five types of crackers. Wee bit of bubbly, then Christmas cake stuffed with raisins and covered with apricot jam, marzipan and royal icing.

Ferdinand had a piece of toast with chocolates for breakfast, two pieces of potato with chocolates for lunch and then just chocolate for dinner.

It’s good to have more than you could ever believe you could have every once in a while.