Ulrika Jonsson reveals exactly what she’ll be doing on her first Christmas Day alone – and it won’t involve men or booze

LAST Christmas I couldn’t have given a continental fig about the festivities.

I was draped in a heavy cloak of negativity, resentment and indifference about the whole shebang. To say I was proper Bah Humbug was the understatement of the ­century.

It was completely out of character because normally at this time of year, tinsel and turkey flow through my veins.

If Santa himself had proposed, I would have swum through hot mulled wine to make him my fourth hubby.

I was Mrs Christmas personified — a passionate lover of all the food, gifts, decorations and, above all, togetherness.

But last year got the better of me. It had thrown me too many curveballs, and external issues were intent on perpetually bringing me down.

I couldn’t even muster a smidgeon of half-arsed enthusiasm for it.

On autopilot, I went through the motions, for the sake of others.

By the time I got to Boxing Day, I gave the tree a look that implied it would be out on its ear come morning.

This year, however, I am making the biggest change in the 57 years that I have marked the birth of baby Jesus.

Christmas Day, in just over a week, is going to look very different indeed to anything before because I’m going to be home alone.

On my own. By myself. All on my tod. Unaccompanied, unattached and, if you like, solitary.

This year has been a year of massive change.

I nearly lost my mind to anxiety and alcohol. I struggled very hard to cope with a life I didn’t feel well enough equipped to deal with.

Every day was like wading through a sea of molasses and I honestly wasn’t sure if I would even see Christmas this year.

I was hanging on by the skin of my teeth with only alcohol as medication for my broken soul.

Until, that is, I discovered that alcohol was not the solution. It wasn’t even the problem. I needed to change me if I wanted to keep going.

Which I did and I am now just over six months sober.

So, it felt apt that I should spend Christmas Day on my own. Not to wallow in some kind of perverse, self-indulgent pity-party but just because it will be nice to have a break from ­people-ing and life-ing.

My broken soul

No, I haven’t been deserted or rejected by family or friends and by no stretch of the imagination am I a tragic, forlorn character.

I engineered it this way. I’m not shunning the family, nor am I doing it to generate pity or sympathy.

It just feels right. Like something I really wanted — and, perhaps, needed — to do. You don’t have to have children, a big family or a huge cohort of friends to make Christmas Christmassy.

Plenty of people spend the festive period alone happily. Others may be alone for altogether more tragic reasons. For many, this time of year is a sharp reminder of loved ones they have lost.

It’s a period when parents are forced to share their children.

There are those who don’t have nice, warm homes full of food and twinkly lights and have no choice but to go it alone, feeling emotional pain, loss and loneliness.

The tricky thing about Christmas is that it is so steeped in tradition.

But what no one prepares you for is that as the years go by and your children grow up, leave home and begin to plough their own furrows, rituals and convention start to fall by the wayside.

Life changes. And you have little time to adapt.

As a mother of four children, witnessing the shape of Christmases change has, at times, been painful — it’s been really emotional. With husbands coming and going, too, the festive period hasn’t always lived up to its name.

I can’t help thinking about the poor souls who will be stifled and suffocated by odious members of extended family.

I feel grateful that I’m not in a strained relationship, teetering on the brink of collapse that means Christmas will be endured rather than enjoyed.

And I feel blessed that I don’t have to serve hand and foot on anyone, travel anywhere or listen to other people’s infuriating opinions — or just listen to their breathing.

I’m pleased I won’t be clock-watching, hoping people will leave so I can sit down and relax.

Instead — and I may have a romantic notion of how things will go — I will have absolute autonomy over the day. I will be able to wear what I like, eat what I like and watch what I like.

The only plans I have for the day are for some fresh air — if the heavens allow — filthy food, lighting fragrant candles, some streaming, which most definitely will include Gavin & Stacey, and then I intend on just being.

I’ll be alone but I won’t be lonely.

Ulrika Jonsson

I will have seen three of my children the day before (the other one is working abroad), so I will be out of puff from that alone.

The only trepidation I have, of course, is alcohol. It’s an incredibly triggering time of year because everywhere you turn, you’re encouraged to indulge in drink.

Not drinking is considered dull at all times, but at Christmas you’d be forgiven for thinking it is actually illegal. In years gone by, Christmas Eve has been carnage in my house on account of us all being a bit too keen to prove our Swedishness by doing shots of schnapps and singing drinking songs.

It’s a tradition. And it’s always been the best day of Christmas for all of us. I had always thrived on a full house.

I orchestrated bustling Christmas Eve parties marking the Swedish day of celebration with children and adults running amok.

An endless flow of alcohol and Slade forcing even the most reluctant feet on to the living room floor. Mistletoe in every doorway and ginormous, groaning buffets slaved over by yours truly.

A fine throuple

My excitement was hard to contain and knew no bounds.

For me, this year, it will be shots of water or some other soft drink. I’ll have to dig deep to hold on tightly to my precious sobriety ­during this period.

But I have every faith I can do it, because it has made such a positive change to my life that I have no intention of giving up giving up now that I’ve come this far.

Of course, when I say I’m going to be completely alone this Christmas Day, I’m lying.

I may not have a boyfriend, partner or husband whose hand I can hold or who I can kiss under the mistletoe but I will have two somewhat rambunctious canines sharing my sofa.

I’m looking after a friend’s dog for two weeks because that’s the kind of friend I am — and then I have my own idiot bulldog, Hank.

A fine throuple we’ll make, too. They will probably pester me for treats and a dog walk which I will gladly succumb to.

At least I will remain a single-pringle, not prepared to mingle or settle for the company of someone just because I fear being alone.

I’ll be alone but I won’t be lonely.

Pretty sure there are a few people out there who would give their eye teeth to have a bit of space and a breather on Christmas Day. And I would invite you over but — please don’t come!

And for those spending an enforced Christmas alone for whatever reason, please know you’re not alone. We can be alone together.