Up before eight, feeling better than I’d a right to. Despite the open windows and best efforts of the extractor fans, everything – clothes and furnishings, reek of roast goose. Jars of fat line the counter, sorted/ graded into three distinct ‘pressings’. There are scented candles the length and breadth of the homestead; it wouldn’t be too difficult to set the place ablaze. Our usual Christmas morning: live Eucharist service from Bath Abbey, and Carols from King’s.