There is one day in the year when it is acceptable for anyone, of any age, to lie on the sofa all day and for much of the night. The blinds remain legitimately lowered; the telly can stay switched on. One hand will grasp the remote control; the other might leaf through a jumbo box of After Eights. It will probably be raining; you may be feeling more than a little sick; the trousers you were given yesterday feel a size too small today, and Granny has just announced she will be staying another night. It’s Boxing Day.
Traditional feelings — disappointment, torpor, lassitude — can be kept at bay as long as one remains glued to the sofa, deaf to all interruptions and with one’s gaze fixed firmly on the flickering screen. And television isn’t good enough — it has to be feature films.
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