Emma Thompson

‘My husband would prefer to be placed into a medically induced coma until early January, whereas I start pushing cloves into oranges just after Guy Fawkes night…’

If only we could spend Christmas alone – or with the friends we actually like, all would be well… Unfortunately, we have all been forced into spending it with our parents, siblings and other associations who may well not suit us for more than ten minutes at a time.

Part of the problem is to do with expectations. For instance, my husband Greg [ Wise] would prefer to be placed into a medically induced coma from 15 December until early January, whereas I start pushing cloves into oranges just after Guy Fawkes night. Somehow, the two of us have made it through 23 Christmases thus far. Here is how:

1996 Greg in steep depression. I try to raise his spirits by suggesting we cook the turkey in bondage gear. We try it, but get grumpy as bits of leather keep dragging through the onion sauce.

1997 Greg less depressed as we are in Scotland with my Ma and her best friend, Mildew, who used to be married to someone who was in Colditz. It is frozen and beautiful. I give Greg a posh army knife, which he immediately uses to slice open his hand. 1998 A booze-free year as I prepare for IVF after an ectopic pregnancy. Greg depressed, so I leave beer and pies near the Christmas tree, hoping to lure him nearer. It’s like living with a hedgehog.

1999 Our baby daughter, Gaia, wrapped in a blue blanket, is three weeks old. We dress her up as Pontius Pilate and laugh immoderately. I sit inside the wreckage of my body and gloat over my tiny human, never happier. 2000 The miracle of Gaia continues as she impersonates an elf in the snow. Greg moves closer in as he doesn’t want to miss a minute of her face as she looks at the tree and the lights, and makes incoherent noises of interest and approval. Perhaps this signals a change in his attitude to the festive season? 2001 Greg’s parents are divorced so they take turns to spend Christmas with us. His mother is clearly not a big fan of the thing. But she does turn out a good class of biscuit. 2002 Actually, so does his father. He is happy to help in the kitchen, but he is not relaxing. I begin to understand my husband’s resistance to all the relentless cheer. 2003 A person called Tindy [their son, who they adopted when he was 16] has joined the family. He has never experienced a Christmas like ours before. He stares at us as if we are all quite mad.

2004 The smoking ban has inspired Greg to build his own pub in one of the old barns back in Scotland. Greg injures himself with a hammer and Tindy discovers the joys and unfortunate consequences of sweet Christmas liqueurs. Greg’s finger is mashed to pieces. 2005 Greg injures the same finger again while building a sauna. All the instructions were in Finnish. Now his bad finger points slightly to the left all the time. 2006 A true freeze this year means we have to break the ice on the river to get in for a daily wash. Someone cycles down it. Gaia and Tindy whoop and holler and even Greg is so consistently cheerful that I pray this happens every year.

2007 A rare Christmas in London with our gay mates whose warmth and generosity blow the last of Tindy’s traditional and inherited homophobia out of the window. He eats an entire box of chocolates before dinner as we have forgotten to warn him of the addictive power of refined sugar. He and Gaia holding hands is the gift of the year.

2008 Greg’s father has died. We raise many glasses. Greg injures himself making a memorial bench. 2009 Greg’s mother has died. We raise many glasses. Greg injures himself making a memorial bench. 2010 No one has died. We all celebrate wildly except Greg. He has nothing to build. 2011 Returning from taking Gaia and Aunty Bobs (Greg’s sister, Clare) to the Galapagos, we plant as many trees as we can to offset the carbon. I decide to cook a three-bird roast. Two of the birds arrive at the table almost perfectly raw.

2012 Frozen solid everywhere in Scotland. We struggle to stay warm and to keep the paths open so we can get to each other. Upon their return to London, our friends tell us it was like staying at a labour camp. 2013 Frozen solid again. Greg fashions a snow plough out of the quad bike and a piece of old roofing. Our friends have gone to Portofino.

2014 Clare not at all well so we spend Christmas in London. Lots of visits to a bedecked Macmillan Centre. The best of Christmas spirit, that is to say, a generous and loving but anxious atmosphere, is very strong. 2015 Huge family affair with Clare and her best mate, our neighbours and all the family. We cook 12 feasts for 12 nights in a row. By the end, even I hate Christmas. 2016 Clare has died. Our first Christmas without her. We plant her many wonderful trees and water them with beer, wine and tears.

2017 Gaia breaks her special ‘I-never-miss-with-thisone’ pool cue. Greg, under the influence of Highlander Ale, immediately tries to mend it. It splinters and takes a massive chunk out of his nose.

2018 The entire family convenes up in the glen – our beloved nephews, my sister, mother, Tindy, his new wife, our neighbours, their new dog, a lot of new. Greg cuts himself unwrapping a gift. Now, I begin to fear for his survival.

Emma, 60, is an Oscarwinning actor, writer and producer, best known for Love, Actually, Sense and Sensibility and Saving Mr. Banks