My family is from Canning Town in London’s East End. One thing’s for sure, we never curated Christmas, never had it with bells on and we looked forward to the next one the moment it was over. There were essential elements: winkles on Christmas Eve, with my dad rather solemnly getting out the winkle pins. Strange little molluscs, Winkles. You go through all that work ‘winkling’ them out of their shells, add some vinegar and pepper and then they’re gone, barely touching the side of your mouth.
Christmas Eve was the focus of the party. Front door open, everyone welcome
Of course, there was always the traditional knees-up. The whole extended family formed a line in the living room, we whacked on the music and then we passed up and down, singing along, with knees going like the clappers. As a teenager, I nearly died when the knees-up was announced. But now? Now, I wish I could be part of one again.
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