Back in my newspaper days*, I always took it in turns with a colleague to work either the week before or after Christmas.

Neither were much fun because everyone else† was drinking/eating excessively, arguing with their families, watching Christmas specials that weren’t so special when you caught up on January 3 or sleeping.

One of our annual features was the ‘exclusive’ Christmas short story. Essentially a 5,000 (or so) word two-part tale, written by an established figure, to run over consecutive weekends. With a wintry twist of some kind – a murder in the snow would do it. Plus an all-important, nail-biting cliffhanger at the end of part one.

Off the top of my head, we had Christmas specials from the creators of Silent Witness, Life on Mars, The No 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency and Alex Rider.

We commissioned them in early autumn and breathed a sigh of relief when they landed. Why? Because limited real-life content fit the bill during the Christmas period. It had to be upbeat not silly. Poignant not sad. Festive not clichéd. So having a fictional story was a blessing.

I can’t remember which year or, sadly, which figure, but one time we waited and waited for our story to land. As late as the week before Christmas. When it did, it was like a prized giant bauble smashing to the floor. Completely unusable. 

I’ve asked a few old friends and we can’t remember exactly why it got canned. Maybe it wasn’t strong or short/long enough. Maybe it didn’t have an all-important, nail-biting cliffhanger. Whatever. It wasn’t going in the paper. So first we had to tell the author his name wasn’t gracing our pages. I’ve a vague memory he didn’t mind as long as his name was gracing the cheque.

Then we had to find a story. But all the publishers and agents had closed for Christmas. I think it was around 9pm on Thursday that one of us remembered we had a number for author and screenwriter Anthony Horowitz.

The conversation went something like:

‘Sorry to trouble you but you kindly did an Alex Rider story for us a few years ago?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, you don’t fancy doing a Foyle’s War one?’

‘Sure. When for?’

‘Er, tomorrow morning?’

And you know what? He did. With a wintry twist, plus an all-important, nail-biting cliffhanger. If he’d turned up at the office bearing gold, frankincense and myrrh, I couldn’t have been more grateful. 

How can I crowbar YumTuc into this merry tale? Well, apart from saying we don’t close for Christmas – and would actually be the perfect platform on which to share any/all of your seasonal dishes – I’m not sure I can. 

So I’ll wish you an Appy Christmas and New Year instead.

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* Aware I’m sounding like an old duffer, sitting by a crackling fire, boring his grandchildren to death.

† Apart from nurses, doctors, carers, police, fire brigades and thousands of other public servants.