Distraction Techniques

I made a vow to myself before Christmas that I would remain cheery at all times. This is not something that comes naturally to me, particularly when I have the Aged Ps to stay for longer than twenty-four hours, so I had to come up with some strategies to get me through the four days of festive family fun that lie ahead. I decided that the best way to deal with everyone was to treat them as I would a demanding toddler: feed them frequently, let them nap when they want to, ignore bad behaviour and praise the good. And if all else fails, use Distraction Techniques.
Thus it is that come Christmas Eve I find myself drawing up a mental Christmas Chart that would rival Miranda's mother's. In my mind's eye, it looks like this:

Christmas Day
8:30 am Breakfast
10:00 am Church
11:30 am Present-opening
12:00pm Drinks and nibbles
1:00pm Lunch
2:00pm Games
3:00pm Walk
5:00pm Tea and cake for those who can manage it
7:00pm Dr Who
8:00pm Supper
9:00pm Downton Abbey
11:00pm Bed

I am hoping that this will not leave enough room for indepth "discussions" (aka rants) about the Euro, the riots, Jeremy Clarkson or Nick Clegg.

We stagger down to breakfast, after a night of Small Boy waking up on the hour every hour to open another stocking present, to find the Aged Ps are up already and waiting for someone to put the kettle on and show them how to use the toaster.
"So when can we open our presents?" asks Mother, following me around the kitchen like the dog does when she is hoping for tidbits.
Husband has been schooled in The Chart, and is ready with the correct answer.
"After church," he says, as Mother moves into his personal space.
"I thought you didn't go to church?" says Mother, eyes narrowing.
He shrugs and says, "Coffee?" He is getting good at the Distraction Techniques too.
Mother is right, Husband doesn't go to church, but he is not stupid. He knows a good thing when he sees it. On Christmas Day when you have your in-laws to stay, going to church is a very useful form of killing time.
Mother doesn't go to church either, but she does not want to miss out on anything that could be used as material later in the day, so she comes.
Within seconds of sitting down, Mother has found a way of bringing the conversation around to the inconsiderate mildness of the weather which inexorably leads us to climate change. I make the fatal mistake of saying that Husband's brother (a social scientist who knows more than most people about the effects of climate change) has a lot of gloomy things to say about it.
"Yes, I know," says Mother. "It's East Anglia I'm worried about. It won't exist by the time the kids are adults."
"I think I'd be more worried about Africa," I say.
I might just as well have said, "Look out, there's an immigrant about to sit next to you."
Mother's face darkens. "Well Africa's a mess already. Let them all kill each other, I say. It's survival of the fittest."
I look towards the altar and take a deep breath. Don't rise to it. Think: Distraction Techniques, I tell myself.
"So, shall we play Cluedo when we get home?" I say.
Mother brightens. "Lovely," she says. "As long as don't have to be the Reverend Green. Load of crap, this religion business," she announces loudly as the vicar walks in.
Happily it seems that the organist has been told about Distraction Techniques too, as he conveniently starts up the introduction to Unto Us a Son is Born, just as Mother announces: "I'm an atheist, you know."

I smile and nod and start singing. Very, very loudly.