“Well, it’s settled. I shall spend this Christmas Day alone (but for my dog) Bridget Jones-style, wearing pajamas and a sad paper hat, quite possibly drunk, calling the people I love as the sprouts and potatoes rot in the larder,” writes Annabel Fenwick-Elliott.
“Like millions of others, I was abruptly shunted into Tier 4 at midnight last night. My mother and grandmother seriously considered packing their bags and high-tailing it from their homes in London across the motorway to Essex, where they’d planned to spend Christmas with me, before the clock struck 12.
“I live alone, in an isolated countryside abode, which is undoubtedly a far safer place to be over the next week for my 86-year-old grandmother, who otherwise resides in a busy retirement block in the capital.
“Ultimately, my mother decided against it, on the basis of Professor Chris Whitty’s suggestion last night that all those with similar mad-dash endeavours should ‘unpack their bags’.”