Well I never!

It's 8pm on Christmas Day and calm has descended on the apartment. The guests have retreated to their room with some dvds, Debrah has tucked herself in bed for a rest and a bit of quiet time and Christian is feeling a little chastened because of the spillage on the shag pile! Me - I'm feeling very mellow and taking stock of our first Christmas with paying guests.

It isn't the first time that I have shared Christmas lunch with complete strangers. A few years ago Debrah and I spent Christmas in Tanzania - but then strangers were expected and anticipated. Once in London, Debrah invited an Australian couple for Christmas and neglected to tell me until two days beforehand - I'd never met them before - that was a bit bizarre.

Today was a totally new experience - guests who had paid to spend Christmas here at 42rvh. Not only that but they are on their honeymoon, having got married last Saturday up at Chateau Rigaud. Apparently they found Rigaud and 42rvh through their own research and contacted us both separately and only then found out that we are best friends from many a year - how serendipitous is that?

Last night we had early evening drinks with them and then took them down to the riverside to watch the spectacular 'son et lumiere' firework display from the old bridge over the Aude river - live on TF3 apparently - and fabulous it was too.

Whilst they dawdled back home we prepared a traditional French Christmas Eve seafood supper, which we laid out in their room with some lit candles and a fire in the hearth. If I say so myself, my oyster shucking was pretty good, but I am by no means as weather beaten and hardy as the boys from Bouzigues who bring the oysters to Carcassonne each week - as my cut hands can bear witness to today.

We had the same seafood supper ourselves and I am proud to be the father of a 19 year old who happily chucks oysters down his throat - something has clearly rubbed off on the boy.

In fact, Christian is my stepson, not my son - but today was momentous, and not only because of being our first guest Christmas. I first met Christian when he was 4 years old and up to the age of six or so he called me Dad - but then his real dad overheard him say that to me and flipped his lid about it. My dark years and Christian's teenage years followed, but today, in front of Debrah and our guests, he formally pronounced me to be his dad.

After all we have been through - and I give no opinion on his dad because I hardly know the man - it came as a bit of a bolt from the blue. I admit that I felt extremely emotional at the time and still do as I write this. I am under no illusions that we won't be arguing about something trivial in the morning, but frankly that cannot dull the glow I am feeling. I have thought of Christian as my son for 15 years now and for him to acknowledge that in front of other people today has still taken me somewhat by surprise. I can't think of a better Christmas present.

Of course, he did his best to dull the glow by throwing a glass of vodka/pomegranite cocktail over the shag pile carpet in the studio - no doubt a result of the wine he had drunk over lunch, but I can't have a go at him about that because I have done many a similar thing myself in the past at his age and since.

I think our guests had a lovely time. I think Debrah and Christian weren't too phased by the whole experience. I think the goose was a hit with the apricot and sage stuffing. I think I'd quite like to settle myself down and start reading my five new cookbooks.