‘I can’t fit the turkey in the Aga’: The timeline of an upper-class Christmas
Spending a fortune on Christmas is terribly Non-U (that’s not upper class if you’re wondering) with the ultimate example being the royal family apparently only giving joke presents to each other. So how do toffs celebrate? We imagine Christmas Day at a 16th century manor house in Wiltshire…
6.01am
You creep downstairs, let the Labradors out, and retrieve the turkey from the potting shed. It’s frozen solid. Whoops. Oh well. Several hours in the Aga should dry it out nicely.
6.21am
Your mother-in-law appears in the kitchen, asks if she can make herself a cup of tea and proceeds to open every cupboard. “Oh you’ve moved the mugs here,” she says, when she finds them. ‘And where are the teab—’ ‘I’ll do it,’ you say, putting the kettle on the Aga. When you hand the mug over, she looks dubiously at its contents. “Sorry, is that too much milk?” you say. “No no, I’m sure it’ll be… lovely. Do let me know if I can do anything,” she says, before heading back upstairs.
6.28am
Is it too early for a drink?
6.29am
Probably. Strong coffee instead.
7.01am
One of the Labradors appears to have eaten several mince pies in the larder. Is the vet open on Christmas Day?
7.42am
Your father-in-law comes downstairs and says their loo is blocked. “Darling!” you shout up the stairs at your husband because your hands are covered in stuffing. “Plumbing issues, your department!”
7.59am
Stuffing done. Might as well get on with the vegetable prep. Stick on Radio 4 to listen to the King’s College Choir. Actually feel quite festive. Joy!
8.16am
A teenager drifts into the kitchen and says the Labrador’s been sick in their room.
8.46am
No answer from the vet, but the Labrador seems perkier. Perhaps he got it all out on the carpet?
8.58am
Another coffee.
9.03am
“When are we doing stockings?” asks another teenager.
9.11am
You congregate in your bedroom with all four children clutching their bulging shooting socks. You hope you put them in all the right bedrooms last night but, after quite a lot of red wine, you can’t be absolutely sure. Still, presumably even Father Christmas mixed them up occasionally?
9.13am
“Oh, are we doing stockings this year?” says your husband, when you hand him yours.
9.27am
One of your sons pulls a velvet hair scrunchie from his stocking. “Swap with your sister,” you tell him. Definitely time for a drink.
9.49am
Turkey goes into the Aga. Barely fits. Still pretty frozen. Here’s hoping you don’t kill every member of your family. Although would it be the worst thing if you lost one or two?
9.53am
Breakfast. Smoked salmon, scrambled eggs. Buck’s Fizz. “You really should buy Burford Browns,” says your sister-in-law, inspecting the carton. “These ones are pumped with antibiotics.” You quickly retrieve another bottle of champagne from the drinks fridge.
10.11am
“Can I have a volunteer to lay the dining room table?” you ask.
10.12am
“Who’s going to come to church with me?” asks your mother-in-law.
10.13am
“Anyone fancy a walk?” asks your husband.
10.14am
The teenagers decide they’d rather go for a walk than to church. “When I was small, we were always made to go to church on Christmas Day,” your mother-in-law says, looking at you pointedly. “Granny, when you were small there were dinosaurs,” says one of the teenagers. You mentally readjust the rankings of your favourite children.
11.02am
Ah, peace. The in-laws have gone to church. The teenagers and your husband have taken the Labradors to the woods. You can have a nice, quiet bath.
11.04am
No hot water. And the boiler seems to be on the blink. Next year, you will refuse to do Christmas in your dilapidated, cold, decaying house and insist that you all go away instead. Preferably somewhere the in-laws think is beneath them, which means they won’t try and come. The Maldives? The Maldives look nice.
12.03pm
Back from church and walks, everyone gathers in the drawing room to open their presents. “That’s an unusual dress,” your mother-in-law says, when you come downstairs in something you panic-bought from Ganni.
12.19pm
You open your Christmas present from your husband: a new recycling bin.
12.17pm
You lay the table, deciding it will be quicker than delegating. Where are the sodding crackers?
12.26pm
You find the crackers, chewed by either a mouse or a Labrador, at the back of the larder. No crackers.
12.32pm
“Are we having a placement?” asks your mother-in-law.
12.33pm
You ask a teenager to do a seating plan, who immediately puts all the youth down one end and the adults at the other.
12.45pm
There’s a cry from the downstairs bathroom; “Can someone get me some loo roll?”
12.52pm
Your husband reappears from the cellar, where he’s been choosing wine for the past 45 minutes.
1.02pm
Turkey out. Pigs in blankets in. Veg on. Bread sauce on. Whoops, too much red wine in the gravy. Nevermind. Festive! Must remain jolly at all time. Another glass of champagne. Why does everyone insist on making such a fuss about cooking for Christmas – it’s basically a glorified Sunday lunch.
1.14pm
OH MY GOD THE SPROUTS! Quickly put the sprouts on.
1.52pm
Your husband starts carving, being quite demonstrative about it, as if he’s on stage.
2.11pm
“Lunch time, everyone. Phones away, please.”
2.31pm
“Beautifully carved, darling,” your mother-in-law tells your husband, ignoring everything else on her plate.
2.34pm
“I much prefer turkey well-done like this,” adds your brother-in-law.
2.41pm
“Where are the crackers?” asks someone else.
2.42pm
Where is that Nurofen you included in the Ocado delivery, you wonder.
2.50pm
“Eat up everyone, 10 minutes until the King’s speech,” declares your father in law.
3.00pm
Your father-in-law makes everyone stand up in front of the television while God Save The King is played. “Bloody good speech,” he says afterwards, even though it sounded a tiny weeny bit like all the other Christmas speeches to you. Still, lovely photo of Kate and William on the table behind him. “Why do we actually need a Royal family?” asks one of the teenagers.
3.12pm
You light the Christmas pudding and carry it through to the dining room. Not one person wants any.
3.40pm
Kitchen looks like a war zone again, and Lenka isn’t coming in until the new year because she’s gone home to Warsaw for Christmas. Thank heavens for two dishwashers.
3.47pm
“Let’s play a game of charades!” you suggest. The teenagers groan.
3.49pm
One of the teenagers gives their grandmother ‘Free Willy’ as a charade.
4.00pm
Charades is over.
4.02pm
“I’m going to have a snooze, I’m exhausted,” says your sister-in-law, who has yet to put a single fork in either of the dishwashers.
4.19pm
Everyone settles down in front of the television to watch something. There is a 20-minute row about what this should be until everyone agrees on old Agatha Christie.
5.21pm
Murdered by a cup of tea spiked with poison? Well, it’s a thought, isn’t it?
5.44pm
“What’s for dinner?” asks a teenager.
6.11pm
Stilton.
6.59pm
More Stilton.
7.42pm
The other Labrador must have helped himself to several Quality Streets because there are chewed wrappers all over the kitchen floor. Briefly, you wonder whether having dogs is worth it?
9.13pm
“Next year I think we should go to my parents,” says your husband, collapsing on the sofa next to you with a glass of port. “It’s awfully hard work, this.”
9.14pm
You surreptitiously google ‘divorce solicitor wiltshire’.
9.36pm
Bit more stilton.
10.11pm
Bed with the Labradors, because they are your favourite members of the family, really.
