Standing on my front door step, I feel the cold on my cheeks as I survey the snow-covered street, sipping my glass of sherry and biting into a new heated mince pie.

It looks lovely but it’s bloody cold!

It is 7.30pm on Christmas Eve and it is the night of my Christmas Party.

Closing the front door behind me, I walk into my living room which is now lit only by candlesticks that are mounted on the walls, bathing the room in a soft flickering light and giving it that cosy feel. The only other source of light comes from the roaring fire that I have just prepared.

Going into the kitchen, I inspect the buffet that I have laid out on the various tables, having decided not to have a traditional meal. There are all sorts of food there, from the traditional turkey, roast beef, pheasant to the more delicate (and delicious) hors d'oevres.

As usual, I have a large stock of alcohol though I am offering sherry instead of eggnog this year. Glasses have already been prepared and are stationed by the front door (along with piping hot mince pies) for the guests to take when they enter.

Seeing that there is no set meal, I have moved out all the furniture out of the dinning room to allow people to dance if they wish while the main living room is for those who wish to sit and talk.

Of course, for those who wishes to enjoy the party more privately, I have made sure that all the beds in the spare rooms have clean sheets (well it is a SRP thread after all ).

My Grandfather clock starts to chime, telling me to go upstairs and change into my ‘character’ before the first of my guests arrive…