Why Xmas is not my time to veg out

THAT S that, then, for another year. As the Queen might have said in her Christmas address, One is replete . The turkey put up a great fight, suffering a fair amount of mauling in the major contest at lunchtime on the 25th and losing a bit of ground when

THAT'S that, then, for another year. As the Queen might have said in her Christmas address, "One is replete".

The turkey put up a great fight, suffering a fair amount of mauling in the major contest at lunchtime on the 25th and losing a bit of ground when it came to the sandwich round that evening.

And some of his predators got in a second attack on Boxing Day but even as they lay sprawled out defeated and snoozing on the settee, the remains of Terry the turkey were tucked up in tin foil and settling in nicely in the fridge for a stay lasting several days, during which they will be looked at occasionally and put back before, at last, being thrown away.

Quite why so many people go crazy stocking up with provisions for Christmas is beyond me.


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Days before, the supermarkets are heaving with shoppers pushing round heavily laden trolleys piled high with food and drink. And I'm sure some of them make several such trips.

They end up with enough stuff to last them a fortnight - and all for just two days of merriment.

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There must be an awful lot of waste. Mind you, I can't claim to be innocent of such conduct.

I think the brazil nuts we bought for Christmas 2005 are still in the sideboard, and the Christmas pudding of the same vintage was around for at least six months before it was thrown out.

Things I try to avoid at Christmas - and any other time of year, come to that - are vegetables.

The veggies out there will be crying "Shame on you" by now, but I can't stand many examples of this variety of food.

Carrots make me cringe, broccoli is a turn off and I fail to see the reason for the existence of cauliflower.

Some types of bean are just about tolerable, but the only way to eat lettuce is to have it smothered in salad cream to give it some taste.

Brussels sprouts drenched in gravy are OK in moderation now and again. But the thought of a pile of them on the plate would put me off a meal.

Imagine my disgust just before Christmas when I read about a Devon man who tried to set a new world record for eating the most sprouts in a minute.

The 24-year-old accounts administrator's target was 43 green horrors each measuring exactly one inch in diameter.

Richard Townsend revealed that his training had consisted of eating a plate of sprouts every day for six months. That sounds more like a sentence handed down by a vegetarian magistrate to a recalcitrant shoplifter who can't keep his thieving hands off the cold meats display.

Brave Richard managed 36 sprouts before, as he said, he just "lost it".

I know how I would "lose it" if I tried the same thing. The very thought of it is making me feel queasy.

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