WHAT day is it again? Chances are, you’ll have said that at least once so far this week. I know I have.

It’s that time of year, between December 27-30, when we drift through the fog of a weird hinterland where life stands still. Twixtmas, I believe it is called.

Hours, spilling into days, of sprawling on the sofa, scoffing hybrid snacks of leftovers, fancy cheese, Brazil nuts and segments of chocolate orange, with Peter Ustinov holding court in a creaky murder mystery on the telly.

What day is it? No-one is really sure. What time is it? Later than you think. What’s on? Death on the Nile. The old one. It’s half-way through, but it doesn’t matter.

There is something delightfully listless about the post-Christmas no-man’s land. It’s a lull, a breather, from real life. Lolling about is allowed - in fact it’s expected.

Of course, for some of us it’s a brief window. I haven’t had Christmas off, apart from the two bank holidays, for more than 30 years, so I don’t really see it as a holiday season (how I loathe that awful Americanism, ‘the Holidays’). It’s one of the busiest times in my line of work, so I’m usually muttering “Christmas? Where did that go?” when I return to my desk on December 27th. But for two days I get to switch off. And one of those days is Boxing Day - surely the most blissful of the seasonal holidays.

When I was a child it was all about Christmas Day, and the presents. As a young adult I loved New Year’s Eve - the parties, the dressing up, the romance, and the excitement of the build-up to midnight. These days it’s Boxing Day I enjoy the most.

Christmas Day is fun, but it involves getting hot and bothered over pans and timings, laying and clearing the table, stacking the dishwasher, and keeping order over board games that can quickly descend to anarchy once the booze kicks in. I feel slight relief when it’s all over (it’s the same relief when my birthday is over; I’m not comfortable with the attention) and I look forward to the simplicity of Boxing Day.

Everyone has their Boxing Day tradition. For some folk, it’s getting up early to hit the sales, for others it’s a leisurely walk, a social whirl of lunches and buffets or, for the brave souls, an icy dip in the sea.

For many years we went to my parents’ house for Boxing Day. It was open house for everyone - grandchildren, in-laws, cousins, neighbours - a lovely, noisy day and the highlight of our Christmas. Then came the first Christmas without our mum, which was also the last with our dad. My parents died within a few months of each other, and Boxing Day hasn’t been the same since.

These days it’s a low key day. The kids come and go and the menfolk are busy with sports, so my sister and I spend it together, among the festive flotsam and jetsam, catching up on the Call the Midwife Christmas special with a tub of Quality Street.

This week we went on a long dog walk, notching up an impressive step count that was of course totally cancelled out by all the Boxing Day grazing that followed. By grazing, I mean scoffing our body weight in bubble and squeak, with a pile of crackers, cheese, pickles and other foil-covered items from the fridge. A bit of leftover bruschetta here, a forkful of red cabbage there. A few more crackers. More cheese. A pot of tea. Fancy a Baileys? A mince pie, a dollop of cream. A slice of Christmas cake - with more cheese. We didn’t stand a chance of making it though Call the Midwife without nodding off. I lost a scene involving a snowstorm, a delivery of triplets and a broken-down ambulance, but it all seemed to end well.

Many people don’t have the luxury of lolling at Christmas because they’re at work. My brother is one of them. Having worked 12-hour night shifts all Christmas, he missed out on the festivities, so when he called round we plated up some cold meats and leftover veg for him.

Whether you’re clucking round or chilling out, make the most of Twixtmas. It’s a lovely, indulgent rest from the treadmill of life, and it will be over before you know it.