So there I am standing in front of my open fridge door the other day and the Christmas ham I got from work is talking to me.

It’s positively shouting at me: “Unwrap me! Eat
me!”

Now ordinarily, I would pile into the sumptuous-looking delicacy all guns blazing. It would be fair to say I’m rather partial to the odd bit of ham on the bone. Even more so when my boss has stumped up for it as part of a much-appreciated Christmas bonus. More on that later.

Anyway. This year I can’t touch the damn thing. Here’s why.

Apparently, and I say that because I don’t remember it at all, somewhere back before Santa had gone through his list to see who among us had been naughty or nice, the family were sitting round the table discussing a little Christmas break.

The Boomerang Child and Builder Boy, complete with toddler Poppy, mentioned they had secured a caravan for a few nights somewhere or other. It would be their last little holiday together as a three-person family before they are joined by another sprog in April.

All together now: Aaaahhh.

Now I don’t know about your family but in ours this means Mrs P and the Boomerang Child were required to spend the next few months working out what food the trio would take on this little trip.

And that’s where my ham came in.

As I say, I don’t remember saying it — and that may have been because I had a couple or three gins on board — but apparently, I said they could have the ham I would most likely get from the boss at Christmas.

By all accounts they said it was a fine gesture, but I didn’t have to do that. But no, I was firm. They could have it.

Besides, going without the amount of ham I usually consume one Christmas-New Year — think breakfast, lunch, dinner, snacks, pre-snack snacks etc — wouldn’t hurt my waistline and/or general health would it.

So, with that, the ham issue went right out of my head, until Christmas when I rolled out of bed and told Mrs P I was going to have ham and eggs for breakfast.

That’s about when I was reminded of my promise. And no, I couldn’t just cut a “little bit” off before I gave it to them. Once you open it it’s got to be eaten. Really? I didn’t know that. Insert evil grin here.

So. Here I am staring into the top shelf of my fridge where my ham is now lounging seductively against the eggs. Thankfully, the kids are due any moment to take it away on their little break and end my torment.

A quick aside. Yes, I could have gone to a crowded supermarket and bought another ham to satisfy my craving. I decided against it because of the Covid risks.

Eventually, I’ve closed the fridge and settled down with a cuppa in my favourite chair.

I’m trying not to think about the ham situation but it’s fair to say I’m feeling a little sorry for myself.

Now that I think about it, I’ve not done too well over this Christmas break.

Firstly, I’ve given my ham away. Secondly, I got a nice little Christmas bonus and gave half to Mrs P, as you do. Or, maybe you don’t. Interesting that one. I figure we are a team, and you share the win bonus.

What do you do? Answers on a postcard please.

So, with my little half-share of the bonus — not a massive amount you understand but enough for a drink with the lads — I went and had, well, a drink with the lads, or at least that was the plan. On the way there I happened across another mate who’d lost his wallet and was out of emergency cash just as he headed off to the airport for Christmas with family down south.

Long story short. I gave him my share of my cash bonus. He’ll pay me back once he returns and gets sorted. No worries.

Then we had the afore-written-about new Christmas game where you get to choose a Christmas gift and you can pinch someone else’s if you want.

That’s what I did.

However, the crestfallen look on the face of the Builder Boy when I took “his” gift — a small seedling growing kit — was gut-wrenching. Apparently, he wanted to plant it with Poppy and then show his little girl how things grow.

Again. All together now: Aaaaahhhh

Enough said. I couldn’t deprive a fledgling dad of that opportunity so I waited till everyone had gone and then gave it to him with the proviso he must do the dad and daughter thing. He was chuffed.

Thankfully, Mrs P came through, as she usually does, with some much-needed golf stuff for Christmas plus, drum roll please, a pair of undies which, I assume, were purchased using the last of the limit we apply to ourselves for expenditure on Christmas gifts.

And they were posh too. All in their own cardboard wrappy thing from China. Unfortunately, they were about three sizes too big.

So, to recap. This Christmas-New Year I’ve ended up hamless, cashless, presentless and undieless.

Luckily, I do enjoy the love of a good woman and after a laugh — still the best medicine — she offered to take me out for a walk.

We might even find a quite little place where she’d buy me a coffee, she said.

And, if I played my cards right, she might even buy me a ham sandwich too.