Did I do Christmas right?
This time of year should be one of joy – but it also comes with its fair share of stresses. In her latest poem, exclusive to The Independent, Frieda Hughes tackles the ups and downs of the festive season
If I am not writing cards to every neighbour in my street,
Remembering names, adding children and sometimes forgetting
A visiting girlfriend, after decorating the tree the weekend before Christmas,
Then I am not doing it right. If I am not sending Christmas emails
To friends until 4am three days in a row in between shopping for supplies
And putting up lights, right up to Christmas Eve, then I am not doing it right.
If on Christmas Eve I am not preparing enough vegetables and meat
For eighteen people when we are only seven – calculating each cooking time
For the sake of synchronicity – because I want to live on leftovers
Until well into the New Year, then I am not doing it right.
If the meal is not forty minutes late because I stopped for two glasses
Of champagne with guests and dropped a pint of cream on the kitchen floor
So that I had to get the huskies in to manage the mess,
Then I am not doing it right. If I am not soaking baking trays,
Clearing up Christmas dishes and hand-washing glasses late into the night
With a box of chocolates by my side, then I am not doing it right.
If I am not swollen-legged, footsore and confident that I have earned
A lie-in until three hours after sun-up, then I am not doing it right.
Only when I say “yes” to a lift in an Aston Martin for a lunch overlooking
Lake Vyrnwy on Boxing Day, do I feel that Christmas is done.