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He has always been a man of a larger than life character. Sharp and not prone to sentiment – and never one to refuse to a further glass. During family gatherings, he’s the one chatting about the newest uproar to involve a local MP, or regaling us with tales of the shameless infidelity of various Sheffield Wednesday players over the past 40 years.

We would often spend the morning of Christmas Day with him and his family, before going our separate ways. However, one holiday season, roughly a decade past, when he was scheduled to meet family abroad, he fell down the stairs, holding a drink in one hand, a suitcase gripped in the other, and broke his ribs. Medical staff had treated him and advised against air travel. Consequently, he ended up back with us, trying to cope, but looking increasingly peaky.

The Day Progressed

Time passed, yet the anecdotes weren’t flowing as they usually were. He insisted he was fine but his appearance suggested otherwise. He tried to make it upstairs for a nap but couldn’t; he tried, cautiously, to eat Christmas lunch, and did not manage.

Thus, prior to me managing to put on a festive hat, we resolved to drive him to the emergency room.

We considered summoning an ambulance, but how much of a delay would there be on Christmas Day?

A Worrying Turn

By the time we got there, he’d gone from unwell to almost unconscious. Other outpatients helped us guide him to a ward, where the generic smell of institutional meals and air permeated the space.

The atmosphere, however, was unique. One could see valiant efforts at festive gaiety in every direction, notwithstanding the fundamental clinical and somber atmosphere; festive strands were attached to medical equipment and dishes of festive dessert sat uneaten on tables next to the beds.

Upbeat nursing staff, who undoubtedly would have preferred to be at home, were working diligently and using that lovely local expression so peculiar to the area: “duck”.

A Subdued Return Home

Once the permitted time ended, we headed home to cold bread sauce and holiday television. We viewed something silly on television, perhaps a detective story, and played something even dafter, such as a regionally-themed property trading game.

The hour was already advanced, and snowing, and I remember feeling deflated – had we missed Christmas?

Recovery and Retrospection

Even though he ultimately healed, he had actually punctured a lung and subsequently contracted DVT. And, although that holiday isn’t a personal favourite, it has become part of family legend as “the Christmas I saved a life”.

If that is completely accurate, or involves a degree of exaggeration, I couldn’t possibly comment, but hearing it told each year has definitely been good for my self-esteem. In keeping with our friend’s motto: “don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story”.