I do not believe in fairies at the bottom of the garden, the Easter bunny, or hyper-commercialisation (except in the case of haute couture). I retch at the sight of bears clutching crimson hearts, and I do not want a ‘personalised card’ from Moonpig – either make me a card, or write me a card, what is ‘personal’ about a computer generated signature?
Earlier this Century I made grumpy and ungrateful boyfriend a five course meal with decadence befitting Daedalus himself. The menu included lamb (which I hate), oysters (which I love, though can be tricksy little buggars to open), caviar (which I physically couldn’t open due to my weak girl-hands) and a cake (which I somehow managed to completely ruin). It wasn’t in the instructions; but the preparation process also included shattering a Le Creuset dish on the hob (which should be impossible), narrowly avoiding taking my eye out with a shard of ceramic.
This year, it’s all about the simple things.