Last year I forgot to un-order my 20lb turkey when Christmas got cancelled. I had to chop it up to get it in the freezer. This year, fearing another lockdown and figuring that a beef fillet takes less space than a turkey, I have planned a beef Wellington for 12. The meat cost an arm and a leg, so thank God Boris is letting us eat it. Now Christmas is on, I’m pulling out all the stops, splashing money on Champagne, good wine, plum pud, posh chocolates, liqueurs, the lot.

Yet the puritan in me still finds the telly ads for Christmas, with tables crammed with turkey, ham, sprouts, pud, slightly off-putting. One supermarket commercial, with the message that “Christmas is all about the food” I find particularly offensive. The message I got was “greed is good”.

A much better message would have been “let’s be thankful”. My overall feeling about 2021 has certainly been gratitude. Things may have been hard, but there have been silver linings. Once again, we had to film Bake Off in a seven-week hotel bubble, a bit like a Butlin’s holiday camp. The tight security, constant testing, and lack of contact with the outside world meant we could film without masks. 

But, unlike last year, the weather was grim, which meant we did a lot more work and a lot less sunbathing. This brought its own rewards; Noel painted his mad and wonderful pictures, Matt wrote songs and scripts, and Paul plotted his one-man tour for next year, while I alternated between a new novel and a cookbook, completing neither, but enjoying both.

But the chief pleasure of the year has been our new house. We moved in time for last year’s accidental Christmas-for-two and have found it was everything we had hoped for. There’s no joy like that of nesting and we have the added privileges of a garden and no warring children. Of course, I still have no idea how the heating, telly, lights, or half the machines in the kitchen work; nor how to turn off the fire or burglar alarm when we set them off by hitting the wrong buttons or burning the toast. They’re all governed by computers and electronics. I have to call a man who knows. Sadly, that man is seldom my husband John, who is only marginally less useless at modern tech than me.

We’ve also had a new enterprise to tackle this year – turning a farmer’s concrete yard and a neglected field into a garden. I do like a project, and we had the added impetus of it all being filmed for Channel 4 (Prue’s Great Garden Plot, now available on All 4). It was huge fun, and John and I learnt a lot – not least that it’s not very clever to put a lean-to greenhouse against the south-facing wall of a metal barn, especially if the greenhouse has limited ventilation. The temperature inside rose to 53C, and so everything cooked. My favourite viewer reaction to the show came from a labourer on a building site. Recognising John, he nudged him and said, sotto voce, “Want any help w’ yer greenhouse, mate?”

My initially reluctant husband turned out to be a natural telly star and I ended up quite jealous. I mean, when he falls into a ditch, strimmer in hand, he looks positively balletic. When I fall over trying to put a young tree in traction, I look like a stranded whale. As I went down, I thought, well, I won’t be able to persuade anyone not to use this footage. Old ladies falling over is television gold, so I’d better make something of it. I gave a demonstration of how geriatrics get up off the ground: roll onto your knees, stick one leg out for balance, and use the other to heave yourself up. Not exactly elegant. But then I never looked elegant. Since the programme didn’t have the budget for hair, clothes and make-up, I had to do my own. Sadly, it shows, but if this year has taught me anything, it’s does any of that really matter in the grand scheme of things?

The magic of leftovers

What I’ll miss this year, not having turkey, is the leftovers. For a start, turkey makes the best gravy. And if you put the leg meat, the stuffing, pigs in blankets, a bit of ham and thickish gravy in a dish and cover it in puff pastry, it’s the best. 

If you think a pastry top with no bottom isn’t a proper pie, line a loose-bottomed cake tin with shortcrust, sprinkle in a thin layer of semolina to prevent a soggy bottom and put in the turkey mix with just enough gravy to moisten it. Bake in a medium oven ‘til nicely browned. Serve more gravy separately. 

Christmas pud leftovers are also better than the original. Cut into slices, dusted in sugar and fried in butter, the edges caramelise deliciously. Serve with cream or Greek yogurt. Yum. Because children seldom like Christmas pudding, I flavour vanilla ice cream with 30 per cent crumbled Christmas pudding, cake, or mince pies, freeze it in a pudding bowl, turn it out and stick holly on top. I pour flaming brandy over it. Works a treat.

Judith Woods is away