I am getting stir crazy. I don't want to do battle in the shopping mall but I am definitely thinking of excuses to get out of the house - a walk to the pub or park or a gentle wander down to Waitrose for some fresh salad stuff is on the cards any minute now. My body is screaming out for anything not covered in icing, double cream or gravy, at this point I wouldn't give a stuff if I never saw another mince-pie, and I've just completed my favourite recipe for leftover turkey which involves opening the bin and throwing the bloody thing in it.
We've still got half a baby Stilton, an appallingly odoriferous Brie, two tons of chocolate and a tree with no needles left on it. Oh, and half a sherry log. And a ham. With Nigella Bloody Lawson's spiced peaches, which were very nice actually once I'd got some jars, but right now even the smell of cinnamon is enough to make me gag.
The foods which seemed to be so vital and jostling for pole position on my "must have or your Christmas catering will be rubbish" list are now lying wilted and tired, unopened at the bottom of my decimated fridge, pointing withered fingers at me and laughing mockingly. I am trying not to think about the money I've needlessly spent but cannot stop myself feeling bad about such a terrible waste of food. Remind me next year not to be so silly. Yes I know we should be eating it all up, but frankly I couldn't face another sausage roll to save my life.
Meanwhile, I've got nothing for dinner.
I could kill a curry.