CAROLS are playing softly, their melodies floating into the kitchen where Miranda is standing at the hob, gently stirring mulled wine. From the bubbling pot, the smell of cinnamon and clove wafts thro

RIGHT. I have come to a decision,” Mel said one weekend, as she cleared away the breakfast things. “In that case, I’m off. Bye, Mum, see you later!” “Wait, Seth. Stay exactly where you are! You have n

WHEN I was little, your gran used to tell me something interesting,” I say. “She said that Boxing Day was when everybody put their Christmas tree and decorations back into their boxes, and it was all

CHRISTMAS 1962. Bitterly cold. Elvis was crooning on my dad’s wind-up radio. I was nine. Mum was cleaning rich folks’ houses right up to Christmas Eve because Dad was out of work. But he had a plan. M

I’M bored.” Ruth looked up from her magazine. How could something so crammed with TV programme listings have so little in it? “There’s nothing on, Max,” she said. Her husband turned his head. “Nothing

Aaaah, Christmas. That magical time of joy, wonder and goodwill to all mankind. But is it, really? Surely I can’t be the only person to find being rammed into confined places with extended family, lam