Not terrible dramas, just kitchen ones mostly, though the whole thing can be a little exhausting. I like the calm of Christmas Eve best, everything wrapped and ready and a few wines with the family. I mean, I had a lovely time of it of course, once my health picked up and I could go for drinks and buy books for friends and wrap gifts in ribbons. But things never feel as 'just right' as I plan for. I made the Momofuku 'crack pie' for Christmas day, but failed miserably. After spending two days (biscuit prep for the base on Christmas Eve, filling on Christmas Day) and having it set poorly, the butter conversions obviously wrong, I had a bit of a cry. Or quite a cry. I'd double-checked everything, but knew as I was folding it through that it wasn't quite right.
It was my contribution to our family dinner but by 3 PM, all signs pointing towards a wreck of a pie, I had to pull myself together and used the leftover eggwhites for an emergency pavlova. Which turned out very nicely, two perfectly crisp bases which I sandwiched with thick cream and a bucket-load of fresh strawberries and blueberries. But I was nonetheless disappointed and emotional. Not to mention confused and mildly angry. As my cousin Lucy kindly pointed out, at least I'm the kind of person who can make an emergency pavlova, which I guess is something.
No qualms with the gift my father gave me though. We do a draw each year, and it's always a good year when he's buying for you, or in this case, making. We have a limit which he thoroughly disregards, making me two 18C gold fine bangles. They're delicate and just the right amount of clink as I walk or turn on the tap or, as of late, drink a glass of wine. I absolutely love them. Spoilt rotten, no question.