Part 2 - Ghost of Christmas Present.

24 DECEMBER 2025 - IT IS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS. 

It is the night before Christmas, and all through the house not a creature is stirring. Well, except me, wallowing like a mighty walrus, in my hot bubble-bath. I am lathered in Imperial Leather and I smell divine even if I do say so myself. I pick up my mobile phone and begin to type. The light from my screen and from the six candles placed at the foot of the bath are all that illuminate the bathroom. An Indie Christmas playlist drifts in from the speaker in the kitchen, as the hushed voice of Ellie Rowsell meanders up the stairs beseeching Santa to “put a sable under the tree.”

There is something oddly comforting about this moment. The warmth of the water, the quiet hum of the house, and the knowledge that everything that needs to be done today has already been done. Well, almost everything!

What an unexpected day it has been! Time spent with Nichola, Jane, and Lily. A visit to Dad’s brought that familiar comfort of my childhood home, quieter now without the bustle of family life - no raised voices competing to be heard, just Dad dozing in his chair. That quiet didn’t last for long though. He was soon stirred by family filling the room again: his daughter and granddaughters, and his seven-year-old great-granddaughter bringing her own energy with her. A quick stop off at Asda to pick up last minute supplies followed, and then Martin joined us at Starbucks for a long-overdue catch-up. Another hour slipped by unnoticed and conversation flowed easily, warmed by memories and mugs of hot chocolate.

Sometimes, though, the present brings the past with it.

I think back to the blog I wrote on Christmas Eve 2018. Flashback to a ground-floor flat, curtains forgotten, dignity preserved only by a white-branched Christmas tree. Laundry spilling where it liked, a red rug at a jaunty angle, while the kitchen staged its own small rebellion of spilt milk, dirty dishes and a lone garlic bulb. I was funny then I think - fluffy socks, mince pies fortified by Gaviscon, Santa thwarted by locks, bolts and an overactive imagination - but I was also restless. Still tidying. Still trying to get things finished before I could rest.

I remember that I wrote that night because it felt necessary. I was unsettled and knew that I wouldn’t sleep unless I committed the day to paper. Things had not gone as I had hoped and I have always found that doing this helps. Tonight I write for a different reason.  I write because I want to notice this version of things while I’m living it. Different, not tidier. Fuller and very much my own.

The house now feels settled, as if it knows what tomorrow is. There is a pause in the air. A rare, suspended stillness that only ever seems to arrive on Christmas Eve. The chaos and camaraderie of the day has given way to a quiet anticipation, and for once, I am not rushing around.

Tonight isn’t loud or glittering. It isn’t perfect or staged. It’s candlelight and music drifting through doorways. It’s text messages sharing seasons greetings, people I care about showing up in small but meaningful ways. It is the luxury of stopping, if only for a moment, and letting myself feel it all.

As I soak here, toes wrinkled, music playing, flames flickering, my thoughts drift to what comes next.

Claire, Martin and Jura will arrive in time for Christmas dinner. They will bring conversation, the clatter of plates and the clicking of glasses. With luck the food will be edible (50/50 chance) and later, Jane, Martin, Keiron and Cash will join our small party and there will be quizzes, banter and laughter. There will also be chaos as Jura and Cash renew their friendship - doggy pawprints will litter the floor as they run in from the garden joyfully oblivious to their dirty feet. It will be a lovely day filled with friendship and laughter and memories will be made.

Boxing Day will follow. Breakfast will be a shared occasion of  porridge for Claire, a sausage butty for Martin both served with a strong cuppa and a smile. Later, Dad, Maureen, Sheila and Colin will join me for a gentler celebration. Calmer, more sedate, an unhurried meal, exchanging memories of Christmas days from long ago and I will listen and learn about who they were before I was born.

There are absences too, felt most strongly at this time of year. A quiet nod to Mum, whose presence lingers in ways both small and profound - in traditions remembered, in moments where I catch myself thinking what she would have said, how she would have smiled. Thoughts will inevitably shift to others I have loved and lost, but who I carry with me still, woven into the person I am and into how I love now.

I look ahead to the days unfolding - the plans already made, the ones still loose and waiting to be shaped. Walks, meals, conversations, rest. Time to do things properly, slowly. Time to enjoy life.

Because this life, here tonight in 2025, feels good. It feels earned. I am grateful beyond words for where I am, for those who surround me, and for the quiet joy that I am feeling at this moment.

My bath water has cooled now.  The flames on the candles are dying down and as the music fades I put down my phone, knowing that these words are enough to hold this moment.

This is where I am this Christmas Eve - warm, hopeful, remembering, and quietly content. It is from here that I want to reach out to you and wish you a very happy Christmas, one that is filled with warmth, with laughter and with moments that make your heart glow.

Merry Christmas reader.