8.26am: So, this is Christmas.
War might be over, Mr Lennon, but the day is just getting started.
Today I have told those nice chaps at the Guardian to stop live blogging every single event that happens and have a hard-earned day off. I shall be documentating Christmas, people. Mama Burnett is working today so the Burnett family Christmas does not take place until tomorrow.
Highlights of the day in the Burnett household will include much eating (dry roasted peanuts, the world’s largest jar of pretzels from the local cash and carry and a tin of Quality Street), several films and bangers’n’mash for Christmas dinner. You wouldn’t believe how much Papa Burnett has been looking forward to the bangers’n’mash.
Join me as I chronicle the thrilling events of Christmas Day on ALBOWIEB.
9.03am: I am still the only one up in the house. I am watching Mission to Mars on the DVR. It's rubbish.
Quality Street for breakfast.
9.41am: Fast-forwarding nicely through Mission to Mars. I now realise from my vantage point on the sofa that I can see all the presents I don't get to open today. Santa wouldn't stand for this, I might send him a quick email when he gets back from Fukushima.
11.06am: I have been perusing the news. It is beyond even the slowest of slow days, with reports of trains running almost normally, the weather being cold, share prices slightly up yesterday, the royals get together for Christmas (much like hundreds of millions of other people you'd imagine) and some people having flu.
The BBC has a helpful feature outlining the impact of the rise in VAT - in its illustrated example, a soft toy priced at £9.99 will rise to a head £10.20. Best buy your teddies before the 1st January.
I do however appreciate Simon Jenkins' criticism of those who attack the government over the recent cold weather. 'Are we to congratulate ministers when the sun shines?', he asks.
Especially for Cliff at This is This, following his comment on twitter this morning, I bring to you an entertaining waste of half an hour via AOL's Autoblog. Such stylish prose, I think.
11.11am: Mission to Mars fizzled to a derisory finish a little while ago and now we are onto Master and Commander. Russell Crowe is at his manly best with a portly British accent and a face-full of sea water. "I will grind whatever grist the mill requies", he says. I've simply not a clue what he means, but it sounds good. Christmassy rating: 0/10.
1.13pm: So the Queen is on later. Except we already know what she’s going to say and what she’s wearing, thanks to the news. So we probably won’t bother with that one.
Why do the press have to do that, create news out of something we're going to see in only a few hours' time but ruin it in the process? I mean that more in relation to telly programmes than the Queen. Her thing is a bit dull.
1.20pm: The potatoes are being peeled, the sausages primed, the beans opened. Christmas lunch is go. My role will come into action in the next 20 minutes or so, whence I shall do my delicious onion gravy. Meanwhile there is a documentary about meerkats on the telly. I am very disappointed to find out they don't talks with the Russians accents.
1.27pm: It strikes me that the entire allure of this meerkat documentary is the strobe-like series of close-up shots of baby meerkats squeaking at each other. The only information of use in the past 25 minutes has been that my coffee is ready.
1.59pm: Dinner's almost ready, the meerkats are all dead.
Just joking. The potatoes aren't even boiled yet.
Investigation also shows that a fox has visited our garden for the second time this week - no-one knows what he's after, but sentries have been doubled by the back door and the hot oil is ready. It appears he has weed next to a bicycle.
3.00pm: Just finished dinner in time for Her Madge. Wahey.
3.02pm: She's just talked about what she's been reading. Last year it was Angels and Demons by Dan Brown, this year the King James bible. Cue a shot of the Queen watching some poor and/or black children reading some bible.
3.04pm: QE2 looks a bit funny reading the autocue. I think she's doing some sort of Stevie Wonder impression.
She talks about how great sports are. I wouldn't mind if they were banned if I'm honest Your Royal Highness.
3.05pm: She just said 'orften'. I'm amazed at her resilience in still speaking like that. Go, Queen.
3.06pm: This might have been better with a powerpoint.
More bible stuff about belonging and getting loads of cool shit for Christmas.
3.09pm: Her 59th annual vodcast over, the Queen is off for a slug of sherry in time for Shrek 3. She often goes on about the armed forces, but this is fairly likely to be her first foray into the controversial world of team sports.
4.35pm: Ah, Shrek. What a fabulous Christmas romp for all the family to enjoy. They could probably trot out one of those a year until happily ever after and still make plenty of money out of it. Now there's true fairytale.
The one thing that does strike me about Christmas television is that when they call it a 'timeless classic', what they basically mean is that they can trot it out year-after-year with impunity. Like Wallace and Gromit, or that ruddy Snowman.
4.54pm: The more I think about it, the more I quiver at the terrible injustice of having to wait an entire day longer to get my presents than everyone else in the country. If I were a bank that would be forty quid plus interest.
5.00pm: Dinner has been long despatched, but I bring you a picture of the feast just as Christmas Pudding is being prepared dans la cuisine. At least there will be something traditional today. Papa Burnett likes to garnish the thing with a touch of freshly-squeezed orange and some flaming brandy.
5.10pm: Settle down now. Not the Christmas o'clock news has finished and The One Ronnie is about to start - I am fetching the roasted nuts to my side and preparing to watch a legend at work.
6.07pm: I really enjoyed the Ronnie - now there was some wholesome, fun family entertainment.
Now we're onto Doctor Who - little know fact, it's the longest-running series in the UK after the 6 o'clock news.
7.11pm: I never understand Doctor Who - I already go to church on a regular basis, so watching the Doctor's Christmas special is the only thing I do religiously this time of year but not at any other. It was entertaining but fairly inexplicable.
7.23pm: This is the funny part of Christmas Day, where events have peaked and everyone is starting to feel slightly soporific. As much dinner and rich pudding (with extra cream) as possible has been forced down your gullet to the point of queasiness and yet you still feel the need to keep shovelling in Quality Street, pretzels from the giant jar and dry roasted peanuts.
Common sense goes right out of the window, which is OK because you can make a New Year's resolution to go to the gym three times in six weeks and work it all off.
8.57pm: Phew. The digestion process is such a slow burn. We didn't even have proper Christmas dinner and I've got the cold sweats.
Actually, I'm not even sure it is the food, perhaps it's the incredibly stodgy Christmas Day soap entertainment that's so hard to swallow. Eastenders is even worse than the Queen's Speech - they've played so many adverts and trailed enough in TV Quick magazine you practically know everything that's going to happen ahead of the show anyway.
Even with The One Ronnie I'd seen the best sketch on YouTube during the week.
9.56pm: Christmas Day goes on forever, doesn't it? Currently watching Bridget Jones. Weight: 10.5 stone. Cigarettes smoked: 0.
11.16pm: Bridget Jones has finished, and with her another Christmas. The massive pants will be cracked out again in a year, but in the Burnett household Christmas will only be reset for tomorrow morning. It's like Groundhog Day.
Presents opened: 0. Quality Street eaten: dozens.
Merry Christmas everyone.
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