One of those slightly odd situations this year in the way that dates have fallen. Specifically, Boxing Day is not the day after Christmas Day, but the day after the day after Christmas Day. This makes today “Christmas Sunday” (at a guess) or “St. Stephens Day” if you happen to live in Ireland.
Boxing day can only ever be on a weekday.
Wikipedia has this to say on the subject:

In the United Kingdom, it is a custom for tradesmen to collect “Christmas boxes” of money or presents on the first weekday after Christmas as thanks for good service throughout the year. This is mentioned in Samuel Pepys’ diary entry for 19th December 1663 and widely in Victorian literature. Another possibility is that the name derives from an old English tradition: in exchange for ensuring that wealthy landowners’ Christmases ran smoothly, servants were allowed to take the 26th off to visit their families. The employers gave each servant a box containing gifts and bonuses (and sometimes leftover food). In addition, around the 1800s, churches opened their alms boxes (boxes where people place monetary donations) and distributed the contents to the poor.

Regardless, I’ve spent the day recovering from Christmas Day. A spectacular event and no mistake. Starting off with a rare lie in. Daughter was away so Mrs G and I were under no pressure to get up and opening presents. In fact, the complete opposite. We were under strict instructions not to open any presents until daughter arrived home (scheduled for 2pm). So instead I tackled the long promised “Eggs Benedict” with eggselent results. (Guffaww -Ed)

See and download the full gallery on posterous

In the event daughter ended up arriving about 12, which worked out really well. It meant she was able to chuck her two-penneth in on the cooking front (as is her want) and open up our presents before things got too carried away.  J&W arrived around 1.30 and the meat all cooked to plan.

This year was a Turkey and Beef extravaganza with extra ‘pigs in blankets’ and a sprout leaf and bacon fry up on the side. For the Americans among you, pigs in blankets are small sausages wrapped in strips of bacon. Lush.

Much eating and drinking was done. There was cracker pulling, hat wearing, dad-joke telling (A Dad Joke is a paricularly poor joke on any level) followed by a little bit of sleeping.
Concluded with yet more drinking, and home pub quizzing as a final burst of energy before complete and utter collapse in front of “Come Fly With Me” on BBC1 which sadly turned out not to be very funny after all.
A proper Christmas Day. Superb..
Today was all about walking and movies, but let’s talk about that tomorrow. There’s still plenty of Christmas telly to catch up on. Merry St Stephens Day.

This post originally appeared here: Posterous

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