It happens every year, as reliably as the Queen’s speech, or a mulled wine hangover.

You arrive back home for Christmas a mature, reasonable adult, but before you’ve even had time to make intelligent conversation about how to cope in a global pandemic, politics or interest rates – BAM! You’re 15 again. You’re slamming doors, answering back at the dinner table and wrestling a sibling for control of the bumper Radio Times. I like to call it The Big Regression.

When The Big Regression hits, all the sulky, stroppy tendencies you thought you’d grown out of suddenly descend. Those family quirks that seem so charming when you’re several hundred miles away become unbearable at close-range. All of a sudden it’s just you, your father’s penny whistle collection, your sister-in-law’s climate change denial and several bottles of Bristol Cream sherry to get you through to New Year.

Spending Christmas at home: How to spend time with your family without regressing to an angry teen