Kidnapped.

"They", collectively, were determined I wasn't about to sulk away my first lonely Christmas. If it wasn't "them" who got me, it was "THEM".
I'll not go into gory detail, suffice it to say I ended up In a Niece's Pad, sitting down to a three course meal you would pay through the nose for in any commercial hostelry.
Ten chairs, large enough for grown-up bums plus a highchair,
King prawns in "Marie Rose" topped by smoked salmon, with salad. Turkey for man & beast, Taties boiled and roast, don't remember/didn't count number of veggies, I just know we had a share of "Brussels" from our garden.
As if we weren't stuffed to the Gunnles and "Down by the head" with scran, there now appeared choice of Christmas pud, Sticky toffee pud AND trifle.
Talk about "store-fed".
Thoroughly took my mind off my woes and probably added several centimetres to my girth.
I almost forgot the young un. Apparently this is a part of the annual ritual.