The village is divided this evening on whether or not today is the day you can eat and booze like Falstaff on a bender without being accused of self-harm.
“It feels like Christmas,” said villager Jane Hough. “And after yesterday’s office do I certainly hate myself enough to eat twelve mine pies and an uncooked Christmas pudding – Dan, you’re a bastard and you know why – but I’ve still got work on Monday. I say work, it’s more looking for work now.”
As homes are increasingly full of massive amounts of festive stodge and crunchy, cheesy things that most people eat not as nibbles at parties but by the packet load while lying supine front of Netflix it remains unclear when it’s socially acceptable to put on one’s stretchiest trousers and dig in.
Bishop Stanislaus McNamee, the Roman Catholic Bishop of Dunstable, told us that it was perfectly fine to begin gently letting oneself go for Christmas now. “Oh why the hell not?” he said. “Have you seen the news recently? If Baileys and York Fruits for breakfast takes the edge off then so be it.”
He then went off to his private chapel to pray, again, that 2017 behaves itself a lot better than this year has.