It’s that extra-special relaxing week where we all step out of our usual space-time continuum and stop to smell the roses. The turkey has been carved, the presents unwrapped and the champagne sunk. Our bellies more flabby, our brains with fewer cells but content. We have caught up with family members, for better or worse.

Outside, there’s a cool stillness and its time to relax at home in our sheepskin slippers and loungewear. It’s that strange time of the year when grown ups are left alone to start on 1,000-piece puzzles; or begin that novel that has always been struggling to see the light; or pop down to the charity shop to donate a pointless present or two.

I generously spray myself with a new perfume and wrap my new scarf around my shoulders and go for a late afternoon walk, cutting through the park before it gets dark. My husband joins me out in the fresh winter air, helping us to digest our lunch as the day closes.

The pressure is off and we chat about silly things on our walk. As usual, my sister-in-law remains undefeated at Scrabble and my Italian mother has drunk a fair amount of wine over the last couple of days to celebrate having her family together. I have made a seriously spicy mulled wine for everybody, and managed to sing the carol The Twelve Days of Christmas, from beginning to end, as it is a Christmas family tradition.

Soon it will be the beginning of a new year when we are given an opportunity to re-evaluate our lives; when the media bombard us with images of impossibly fit bodies and when we’re asked about our New Year’s resolutions. It’s hard to resist the hype and I quite like it when the odd person tells me “My New Year’s resolution is not to have any New Year’s resolutions!” I like the Zen attitude of letting the New Year arrive and just wash over you, of finding a little me-time, such a rare state of affairs in the crazy fast-paced world.