Up before noon. No sense in rushing. Knock back some coffee. Prepare turkey (soften some onions, celery, sage in butter) throw in turkey, place in slow cooker with a gallon of stock and wine, season and forget. I'll remember it some time this evening when the rest of the stuff has to go in the oven. Scramble some eggs and smoked salmon (cheese for me, raw fish is an abomination). Round of mimosas x2. Back on coffee. I can't believe this house doesn't feature a bottle of Harvey's Bristol Cream.
(Sympathies in advance for anyone who has to eat carp. You could just skip it and eat the mud from the bottom of your garden pond.)
Now hiding from the in-laws. They're in crossword mode. I fucking hate crosswords. Cranking out some tunes and drawing a karate kitteh (LMC is roundhousing a festively baublized Bad Cat that's fallen off the Christmas tree of nightmares) for the wife's belated Christmas card. Need to send a few festive emails to people I really should email more, but I'm a bloke, so you know. And compile a playlist for the kitchen later. Tunes, booze, and brussel sprouts. It's not quite sex, drugs, and rock and roll, but I've arrived at the age where you take what you can get.
Merry toots.