You reach the living room to find the rest of the family watching the Queen’s Christmas Message on the television. You loudly and drunkenly announce your status as a commited republican, and mumble something about seeing her hung at dawn on Boxing Day from Wellington Arch if you had anything to do with it.
But, maybe it’s the drink, maybe the fact your family are as one, perhaps it’s the snow falling silently outside upon England’s sacred turf on this most holy of days… whatever it is, you begin to get a little teary. As our monarch spells out her hopes for the coming year and her summary of the one just gone, your lip starts to wobble in patriotic emotion. By the time she’s wishing the nation a Merry Christmas you’ve gone completely. You stand up and launch into a rousing redition of Jerusalem while saluting her Maj just as your father enters the room to film the whole lot and stick it up on your Facebook wall.
YOUR CREDIBILITY IS IN TATTERS.
CHRISTMAS IS RUINED.