Face-down on the carpet of my bedroom floor, unable to move, I make feeble pleas to the heavens: “Please let me live. I’ll never complain again. It’s Christmas Day. I just want my old life back.”

I hadn’t suffered a severe medical episode. I was just … a bit too high.

This is a cautionary tale for anyone contemplating softening the sharp edges of a family Christmas with edible cannabis products. You may instead slice them clean off landing face-first on your bedroom floor.

It wasn’t my aim in accepting the gift of a killer python lolly to physically remove myself from Christmas lunch. I love Christmas, and I really love roast potatoes, gravy and pudding, but the family gathered round the table can be tricky. My partner’s parents would sooner crawl inside the rear end of an unstuffed turkey than talk about money. Their socio-political views are closely aligned with those of the current US administration. By contrast, my dad is an unnervingly unfiltered, foul-mouthed refugee – a hyper-polyglot peasant-savant. His favourite thing to talk about is money.

Adding to this mix is my mum, who cannot bear confrontation of any sort; my 12-year-old daughter, whose favourite topic is politics and favourite pastime arguing and my 17-year old daughter, whose........

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