22/12/2013 20:31 GMT | Updated 21/02/2014 05:59 GMT


You feeling Christmassy? You excited for the time off, the overeating, the family fun and the presents? You love this time of year? All the film watching, Roses munching, Baileys drinking fun you can have eh?

Well not me. Dare I say it, but I don't LOVE Christmas. I don't even like it that much. I am indifferent to Christmas.

Yeah, I enjoy the break, I quite like the snow when it happens, and it's nice to have a week full of parties, but to me, Christmas goes by without me really much giving it much thought.

(NB: This will get grim before it picks up. Stay with me.)

I haven't had a "family Christmas" since I was 12. From the age of 13 I worked whenever I could on Christmas day, one year taking a whopping £4.22 an hour ( that was double pay.) Last year, I dragged my boyfriend off to Thailand for the Christmas period. We ate a subway on a hangover in Phuket on Christmas morning and it was one of the best Christmases I have ever had.

In all honesty, I don't remember Christmas growing up too much. I mean, of course I have some vague memories from when I was young, but like a lot of people with some type of childhood trauma (trauma sounds too strong, it wasn't THAT bad), I block things out. I've lost years of December memories. I do remember Christmas eves being quite fun for seeing my mates, but the actual Christmas days have all gone by without much notice.

But this year, were mixing it up. My boyfriend now has two beautiful Nieces and I I wanted him to be around for them at Christmas. As much as I was hovering over the flights to India on STA, I decided against it and I told myself I would "do Christmas." Dodgy jumper and all.

This meant, inviting my brother and mother over to my boyfriend's parents' house. On Christmas day. To meet. For the first time.

Now, if any of you read my blogs (by the way, do say hi if you do - loiters), you may realise that my lovely messed up family have been somewhat dysfunctional during my time on this earth. To explain this in short hand. Brother went to jail, dad left, mum drank, brother died, I moved to London. That should sum up the first 18 years. So, naturally I am nervous about the 25th December, bringing my two lovely weirdos to the home of my boyfriend's wonderful parents for the first time, its daunting, but were doing it.

It's got me thinking. Christmas isn't about presents, or turkey or even overeating (my favourite hobby), but about family, and that's why it's happening for me this year, because somewhere down the line, I got my family back, even if it is two molded together to make one, and that's why, for me this year, Christmas is back.

And I'm going to love every single minute. After all, I have about 17 years to make up for.