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To The Greyhound! …on Christmas Day for dinner.

Blimey.

Intent on an evening of wall-to-wall Eastenders and, um, repeats of Blackadder, bugger to the washing up was the thoughts of @AnnaJCowen and I. In the seasonal hyperlocal twist of Let the Train Take the Strain, The Greyhound gathering took the stress out of sourcing the big bird (turkey, not…) and then all the pre and post match effort in the kitchen.

We were not alone. The most splendid Upstairs dining space - looking resplendent with the decorations and murals of Miss Hilary Lazell - had a full sitting come the serving time of shortly before the Queen’s Speech.

Seasonal greetings were exchanged with familiar and friendly faces around the room, and then the first of many mulled wine pourings presented the opportunity for the Girl to indulge. @AnnaJCowen is drinking for two - steady the buffers. My teetotal activities of late meant that a delicate and not very discreet table game of Pass the Wine Glass broke out.

Chin chin.

This was no pub lunch bolted on with a seasonal feel. The Greyhound prepared, presented and then served up a Christmas Day dinner that genuinely compares as the finest that we have feasted upon for many years. Folk had come out to celebrate the occasion, and not simply to be fed. Families brought presents along, crackers were pulled.

My guarded tepid festive enthusiasm was slightly stretched when @AnnaJCowen insisted on acting out the cracker charades suggestion, just as the prawn cocktail was being served up. I never did quite understand the point of all the flapping and finger waving. Why don’t you just bloody tell me what stupid programme it is?

Have a good one.

The Greyhound treat of a booking was made back in those distant late October days before the first bonfires of the season were lit. Which meant that I had forgotten totally what choices we had made from the menu. I was halfway down my fresh prawn cocktail when I realised that I should have been necking the Girl’s delightful mushroom and stilton volovant.

More? You want more?

I most certainly wasn’t expecting two starters, but the rich carrot and coriander soup that was then served up would usually count for two hot meals a day back at base.

The volume level Upstairs was raised to a cheery festive pitch as the vino continued to flow. There was a genuinely a lovely, lovely local Christmas feel at The Greyhound. A communal sitting, with conversation with your fellow diners as when the moment suited but no pressure or pretenses put on show. Which is just as well when @AnnaJCowen dropped one of her sprouts on the floor.

Ah yes - the main feast…

Food is the great social aggregator. Christmas Day is centred around the main meal. It can make or break the big day, regardless of the appeal of Eastenders back at base. Cometh the hour, cometh The Greyhound with a glorious Christmas meal which compared to those festive meals of Christmas past sitting around the family table.

It is no mean feat to serve up a roast to thirty diners plus, pretty much at the same time, and piping hot as well. Our plate piled up with a traditional turkey and ham dish, thankfully put an end to all of the charades nonsense. There was even the repeat option, with plates of seconds being offered up for anyone with an industrial strength appetite.

It would be rude not to, wouldn’t it?

Breathing space was provided before a rich Christmas pudding and rum sauce came our way. Likewise for the mince pies and Christmas cakes. Yep - that’s the plural; for a table set for two, four mince pies and four slices of cake was incredibly generous of The Greyhound. I don’t think that the Girl and I were alone in our festive origami session to create doggy bags outs of serviettes.

We waddled back up the High Street and back to base to feed the cat her Christmas Day treat of Turkey in jelly.

Nice.

Now do you own washing up, dear.

A huge thanks to Jane and her small team of staff for giving up their Christmas Day to provide. It was genuinely appreciated and exceeded all expectations. Where do we sign up for next year?