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This individual has long been known as a bigger-than-life figure. Clever and unemotional – and never one to refuse to another brandy. During family gatherings, he is the person chatting about the most recent controversy to involve a member of parliament, or amusing us with accounts of the shameless infidelity of assorted players from the local club during the last four decades.

We would often spend the holiday morning with him and his family, prior to heading off to our own plans. However, one holiday season, roughly a decade past, when he was supposed to be meeting family abroad, he fell down the stairs, whisky in one hand, his luggage in the other, and fractured his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and advised against air travel. So, here he was back with us, doing his best to manage, but looking increasingly peaky.

The Day Progressed

The hours went by, however, the humorous tales were absent as they usually were. He insisted he was fine but his condition seemed to contradict this. He endeavored to climb the stairs for a nap but found he could not; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and was unsuccessful.

Thus, prior to me managing to put on a festive hat, we resolved to take him to A&E.

We considered summoning an ambulance, but how long would that take on Christmas Day?

A Rapid Decline

When we finally reached the hospital, his state had progressed from unwell to almost unconscious. People in the waiting room aided us guide him to a ward, where the generic smell of institutional meals and air was noticeable.

Different though, was the spirit. One could see valiant efforts at Christmas spirit everywhere you looked, even with the pervasive sterile and miserable mood; tinsel hung from drip stands and portions of holiday pudding went cold on tables next to the beds.

Upbeat nursing staff, who certainly would have chosen to be at home, were bustling about and using that great term of endearment so peculiar to the area: “duck”.

Heading Home for Leftovers

When visiting hours were over, we returned home to lukewarm condiments and festive TV programming. We saw a lighthearted program on television, probably Agatha Christie, and took part in a more foolish pastime, such as a local version of the board game.

By then it was quite late, and it had begun to snow, and I remember experiencing a letdown – was Christmas effectively over for us?

Recovery and Retrospection

Although our friend eventually recovered, he had actually punctured a lung and later developed a serious circulatory condition. And, although that holiday isn’t a personal favourite, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

How factual that statement is, or contains some artistic license, I am not in a position to judge, but its annual retelling has definitely been good for my self-esteem. True to his favorite phrase: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.