Once more, in 2017

Philippa has been quiet today, but seems incredibly relieved and content. Sometimes you don’t realise how unhappy something is making you until you get yourself away from it. There you go - a little bonus bit of homespun Rory bullshit philosophy as we reach the end of the year. 
To be less sentimental and more scientific - I’ve developed a theory that I think is worth investigating. I think humans have evolved to the point of producing a Christmas Eating Gene. I think the years of December indulgence have led our bodies to release hormones that increase our metabolism and expand our stomachs and therefore be able to cope with the thousand-or-so-percent increase in intake that we put ourselves through every Christmas. By my reckoning, it kicks in on about the 20th of the month, and works through until January 2nd or 3rd.  How else could we go from feeling full after soup or a salad in November, to shovelling half a roast turkey and at least three other kinds of meat and seventeen different veg down our gullets on Christmas Day without even a hint of indigestion? How else could we follow that up with enough savoury snacks to give fatal blood pressure to a rhino while sitting at the table playing Monopoly? How else could we consume half the annual output of chocolate from Cadburys in a three-hour spell on Boxing Day with a Harry Potter film on in the background? 
I’m telling you, it happens. And if you’d like to sponsor my research into this phenomenon (I reckon £700,000 for an in-depth two-year study should just about cover it) please get in contact forthwith. 

RC 31-12-17