Well, that's over for another year. Now we can start having some fun.
Is there anyone — anyone, that is, who is older than about 10 — who actually enjoys Christmas Day? I don’t mean enjoying slouching in front of the TV, or eating too much; there’s nothing unique to Christmas Day about doing that. I mean the rest of it.

Can you really say that yesterday was a day you’d like to repeat? That if someone waved a magic wand, you would like to do it all over again today. And tomorrow. And the day after. And then the day after that.

Christmas Day is something to be endured, not enjoyed. It is the single most boring day of the year. And that’s making the best of it. Almost everything is shut. The television and radio are full of dross. There is no sport.

Yes, that presents a great opportunity to read or listen to some music. But even they are opportunities denied. If your family celebrates Christmas, then absenting yourself for the day to go and read a book is simply not on. If you are alone on Christmas Day, then even the most engrossing book will struggle to raise your spirits above the message which blares everywhere, that Christmas Day is a day for families.

And if, like me, your family has never celebrated Christmas — in my case because we are Jewish — then, however much you will relish the opportunity to catch up on a long-delayed book, you will nonetheless eventually get depressed by the sheer gloom of a day where nothing — nothing — is happening.

I used to live in Bayswater, a part of London where there is a large non-Christian population. Almost every shop that wasn’t part of a national chain was open, and the streets on Christmas Day were like any other day. They were the only Christmas Days I have ever enjoyed.

Boxing Day, on the other hand, has everything. Some of the best sport of the year — a full football programme and fabulous horse racing (I’ll be watching my horse, Major Miller, run at Towcester in the 1pm).

If you like shopping, today’s the day. And if you don’t want to spend the day with those wretched relatives you only see once a year for the very good reason that you can’t stand them — you don’t have to.

If a magic wand could repeat Boxing Day every day — now you’re talking.