An hour's escape from Trevor the Turkey, chestnut stuffing, cranberry sauce and various vegetables. I jumped in the car and drove to Whirlow Brook Park. It's on the south western edge of the city and was once the private estate of a Sheffield steel magnate. It's only five minutes from our house.
The park is dominated by Whirlow Brook Hall, erected in 1906 in a stolid Elizabethan style. Nowadays it is a conference centre and wedding venue but of course it was once a luxurious private residence.
Many's the time I have gone there for a stroll, to read a book or feed the ducks. It's never busy in the park and so it's a nice place to go whenever you need a little peace. Today the temperature was so mild that I didn't even bother with a coat.
Then it was back home for the Christmas feast with our grown up kids and Frances's boyfriend Stewart and Shirley's sister Carolyn and her oldest son Edward. Crackers and Christmas hats and memories.
Memories of all those other Christmas feasts going back in time - to when our parents were alive, to childhood and black and white television and Nana and Jock and Paul. Christmas is not just a celebration but an annual marking place in time. Where you measure personal history, look ahead and look back.