Depending on which day over Christmas you’re reading this, you are either heading into, or in the thick of, Twixmas, or as we prefer to call it in this house the week of, ‘what day is it anyway?’ We wander around, not so much bewitched, bothered and bewildered, but over-Christmassed, confused and full of cheese.

Maybe you’ve had a visit from the man in red, leaving behind stockings full of presents and a trail of sooty footprints. Perhaps a whirlwind of grandchildren have stormed through your home leaving wrapping paper and love in their wake, or maybe it was a day just to get through. It’s not for everyone.

However you spent Christmas, these few days are an opportunity to relax after the festivities and the year gone by. Like a week of Sundays, our waking hours are punctuated only by, ‘Oh go on then, but only a small slice,’ as the fruit cake is thrust under your nose yet again and, ‘no, of course I’m not sleeping, I’m only resting my eyes,’ as you struggle to stay awake to see who Fair City is festively killing off this year.

After three days of non-stop eating, even the dog is turning his nose up at the leftovers. The tree is shedding needles faster than the new robotic hoover can pick them up, and the only chocolates left in the tin are the hard ones that nobody likes – and the empty wrappers of course.

In our house, there has always been something magical about this time that sits in the eye of the two perfect storms of Christmas and New Year, as it’s when my other half celebrates his birthday.

We’ll have a lovely day. They’ll be cards and gifts, the dogs will present him with new socks, complete with slobber, and I’ll cook something special for dinner. He won’t know though, this being his ninth birthday living with dementia.

This indiscriminate illness whichhas stolen not only his memories, but also the retirement he worked so hard for, arriving, as it did, with cruel efficiency after five decades of hard work, and probably more.

Make the most of this often overlooked time, this peaceful pause that nestles quietly between the bright lights of Christmas and the new year

His dad was a milkman and, as the eldest son, I imagine he was clinking those early morning bottles long before he outgrew his short pants. Another story that I would have loved to hear more about, but now lives only in the book of memories that is permanently checked out.

Living with dementia is, in many ways, like this week. Long days doing nothing slowly, never quite knowing what day it is, and where time has little or no meaning.

But it’s not all bad, and for all that we have lost, there is still much to be thankful for.

There is the often repeated joke that he enjoys every time he hears it – as if it were the first time – which I suppose it is in a way; the repeats of those Christmas stalwarts Only Fools and Horses and Mrs Brown’s Boys are now fresh and new; and if I can find a re-run of a rugby match where Ireland beats England, well, that never grows old!

We haven’t lost the joy of quiet time sitting together, or the memories held in the lyrics of a song that meanders gently from the radio. There is the love of an old film we have watched dozens of times before with its safe and predictable ending; and our warm, comfortable home, a harbour for his floating mind and an anchor to keep him safe from the storm that rages around, but not in, him.

So call it what you will – Twixmas, crimbo-limbo, the festive gap – the most important thing is to enjoy it. Ignore the house and farm work as much as you can, eat the cake and watch The Sound of Music for the 40th time if you feel like it, no-one’s judging!

Make the most of this often overlooked time, this peaceful pause that nestles quietly between the bright lights of Christmas and the new year, and serves as a gentle reminder that none of us are promised tomorrow, and that every single day is to be cherished.