This particular Christmas it was going to be my turn: normally, as a manager of a Bermuda hotel, Christmas Day is a very full working day, with luck ending in time to enable me to join friends for the festive evening meal. This time, however, I was going to finish a little earlier, which would theoretically allow me to invite friends to share a turkey at my house. Not early enough, though, to be able to cook the turkey after getting home — so a slow-cooking recipe recipe was needed.Mentioning this dilemma to various people produced a startling assortment of solutions, among which one appeared to fit the bill perfectly:

“Cover the turkey with olive oil, place in a large brown paper bag, staple bag closed, and cook in a very low oven for six to eight hours.” (My friend’s daughter’s husband swore by it.)

I could prepare the bird before leaving for work in the morning, then nip back at midday to pop it in the oven. Time enough at the other end of the day to prepare the rest of the essentials. Oh, the naivete of the woman!

I am not at my best in the early morning, but a special effort was willingly made and I rose a bit sooner than normal. My first mistake was to tackle the turkey without even a cup of coffee to pull me together first — but then I didn’t really think a dead, plucked turkey would present much of a challenge. Now, that might have been true for the initial stage turkey, but once covered in olive oil, the bird came to life again. Have you ever tried to get a turkey covered in oil into a brown paper bag? I don’t believe there was a square inch of kitchen left unvisited by this slippery fowl as I flailed around after it. I did finally corner it between the toaster and the microwave, and was able to wrestle it into the bag.

“Staple bag closed” was the next instruction. I was sure there was a staple around the house somewhere. ... Never mind, perhaps I could use straight pins... Surely I had some without coloured plastic heads that would melt. ... Eventually I resorted to large safety pins. I was finally able to sit down with a cup of coffee, but the pleasure was diminished somewhat by the chaos of my wrecked kitchen. ...

How did the turkey turn out, you ask? Well, after surgically removing the paper bag, I was left facing a very anaemic looking bird — however, a while longer in the oven, sans bag, put that to rights. But then again, it really didn’t matter: we were getting together to enjoy each other’s company at a very special time when, for an “expat”, friends must double up as family.

So the quality of the “groceries” was never really an issue — being able to look around the table at much-loved faces was all the Christmas cheer I needed.