Is it so wrong to put a Santa hat on a shriveled pumpkin? I did it anyway and pulled on my elf onesie. It must have had an incident in the dryer, because it only reached my calves and the H on the front was half dangling off.

But who cared? Not me. It was November 14, my Christmas playlist was on, and everything was going to plan. Freezing ankles weren’t going to get in the way of tradition (unless the tradition was woolly socks).

I sat on the edge of my bed and reached underneath. Bingo. I pulled out the battered shoebox, blew off the dust, and peeled back the tape.

I loved this moment. Every. Single. Year.

And there it was, waiting for me. A Christmas card, some paper folded inside. I snapped off a piece of chocolate (actually two, but they seemed so happy together, why separate them?), and opened the envelope.

Happy Christmas, Holly!

If you’re reading this, it means only one thing. It’s Chriiiiiiistmas. Well, the start of it anyway. Well done, you, on getting through the other less pointful ten months of the year. Is it snowing? I hope for the sake of all that is festive and cinnamon-scented, it is.

IN FACT. STOP. Are you sipping on something gingerbread flavoured rn? If not, SORT IT OUT before reading another word—because this is about to get biiiig.

What you’re holding in your hand is not just a Christmas card. Oh no. It’s a time traveling gift from the Best Christmas Ever. Honestly, this year was IT.

And no detail must be forgotten. EVER. (In case you’re not getting the hint, this is your reminder to make notes starting…now.) Treat this card like a priceless relic. Like the…er…Mona Lisa. But BETTER. Because she doesn’t have Malteser Reindeers.

Or maybe she does…and that’s why she’s smiling?? So lemme break it down…

OF COURSE, Carol singing was amazing. As in Carol, Mum’s friend, who NEVER lets us down at the village Christmas Eve singalong round the tree. Serious question—has she genuinely never heard of any of the songs DESPITE THEM BEING THE SAME ONES EVERY YEAR AND ALSO THE SAME ONES SINCE CHRISTMAS WAS INVENTED?? As usual, she sang the wrong words. And the wrong tunes. Iconic.

Then we all headed to ours for the legendary Christmas Eve party. After we’d stood around pretending mince pies are nice (and me telling everyone they used to be oblong, like the nativity crib), Naomi and I competitive speed-ate all the pink Quality Street without getting spotted (Mum genuinely thinks they just don’t put as many in the tin?! Bahahaha), and I herded everyone into the garden. Mum, her new boyf, the twins, my sister, Ruby, Fred—everyone.