'Twas the morning of Christmas day, 9 O'Clock to be precise. Not a peep can be heard from the Turner household. Band Aid were right when they asked, 'Do they know it's Christmas time at all?' I poke my slightly disillusioned head above and out of my quilt. He's been! Santa has been!
Traditionally I have always been the first of the Turner family to rise on Christmas morning, opting as a child to camp out on my sister's bedroom floor in order to ensure I had a partner in crime to wake up my parents with come 7 O'Clock (one year by dancing to 5,6,7,8 on their bed, Steps being the CD Santa considered appropriate that year, I'm sure 'he' regretted that later). 2012 was no different although thanks to the two Pinot Grigios consumed earlier that morning, I'd awoken later than usual without any excitable breaks in sleep but with a slightly sore head (lightweight I know) and with less inclination to bust out the boot scootin baby. 'I guess I really am growing up', I thought to myself. I no longer felt the need to hover outside my parents door, willing myself to go in and see if it was time to open presents. You see that was always my job. Despite deploying a partner in crime in the form of my older sister, it always seemed to be me carrying out the crime itself! Me the one having to barge in on my parents at half 6 to wake them up. Me the one rummaging under beds or on top of wardrobes for not very well disguised presents whilst she kept watch. There's always a dodgy dance that comes with such activities too. There's the overactive head bop when searching for presents and the tentative two-step when debating the right time to wake the parents, hovering back and forth over that one squeaky floorboard trying not to make a sound. Then once I'd built up enough courage to bravely enter, I'd be told that it's too early and I'll have to do it all again in half an hour!
Years may pass but the surge of butterflys I get when seeing the Christmas tree surrounded by sparkly wrapping paper, bows and gift bags remain. Don't get me wrong, the thought of receiving presents in the shape of cosy jumpers, shiny jewellery and tickets to the NTA Awards (erm, hello Derms O'Leary), is enough to rival Buddy the Elf, the excitement of giving gifts to others you'd agonised long and tirelessly over is what I really look forward to. God I really am growing up! Saying that however, me and my soon to be 26 year old sister, still receive stockings from Father Christmas. As usual Santa was very generous to me this year, gifts including a Snowman Pandora charm, lots of Topshop favourites and Boo the Cutest Dog in the World (if only he was real). Some less so desirable presents included 'plop' trumps which consist of, well you can guess what it consisted of, and a Tom Daley calendar, whom whilst adorable in a 'ahh look at you in your little speedos' kind of way, I cannot have pinned half-naked on my wall all year long. Sorry Mum but bloggers, look out for a Tom Daley Calendar giveaway coming soon to Charlotte's Web!!
Now after pigging out and stuffing my face all day yesterday, I have to go and polish off the mountain of profiteroles left festering in the fridge. They go off tomorrow, it'd be rude not to!
Hope you all had lovely Chrimbo festivities!
P.S Check out one of the right royal guests who made a brief appearance at dinner, well atleast when we played 'Who am I?' anyway.