YOUR parents are dreading trying to make conversation with you over the dinner table this Christmas, they have admitted.
The couple, who cannot help but look at you and be reminded of the joyful Christmases when you were a child, will suffer through a few hours of stilted, desultory conversation before breathing a sigh of relief when you leave.
Your mother said: “Honestly we dread it. The first 20 minutes are fine. After that it seems like time’s stopped passing.
“There’s always these interminable stories about friends we’ve never heard of going to countries nobody would ever want to visit, and try as I can to listen I just tune out.
“And all the bloody fussing about everything – is it vegetarian? Is it organic? – drives us up the wall. They can’t do anything without it being a huge production.
“We try to get nice presents, like a box-set of Vera, and they turn their noses up as if it’s rubbish while we get the direst crap. What was it last year? A Roomba? Well it’s still in the box.
“The moment that door closes behind them and we can start drinking is the highlight of Christmas for us. No, the year.”
