The Third Leader: The pleasures of the press

This is the place where, traditionally and softly, in case your parents or in-laws are near, we inquire: how was it for you? Turkey or goose or Buon Natale pumpkin ravioli, Cyberman mask or Let's Dance Barbie, really, you shouldn't have bothered, socks always come in useful, problems with Christmas-tree lights interfering with Wii, and Wii interfering with hearing aids now sorted, even if the dog is acting strangely, truces holding, still smiling? Excellent.

Today? Personally, I would be wary of the school of thought which holds that Boxing Day should be active. There are no trains, you know (opinion is divided on whether the Association of Train Operators is anxious to keep extended families together or has an impish sense of humour). And I'm looking at 36 sets of roadworks which mean you'll never get there in time even if you leave now anyway.

Party games? A touch loud. And Trivial Pursuit was challenging enough before they dumbed it down. Conversation? Getting progressively trickier, truce-wise. High School Musical, again?

No, the answer is in your hands. What was missing yesterday, apart from a Tamagotchi Connexion, prunes and most people when it was time to wash up? That's right: the informative, entertaining, caring friend that is your newspaper!

This is the true meaning of Boxing Day: the relief of our return. Develop a limp, send them out for a walk, settle on the sofa. And to send you on your way merrily to the rest of our blissful cornucopia, here, as usual, is yesterday's top cracker motto: What's the best thing to put into a Christmas cake? Your teeth! Marvellous. Enjoy.