Boxing week, that blissful period when nothing happens, is the real gift of Christmas

Twixmas, Chrimbo limbo or, in Norway, romjul (space Christmas): call it what you will, I’ll be mainly chilling

Maybe it starts the moment you hear Wham!’s Last Christmas in the shops, or perhaps it’s the day you put up your tree. For me, Christmas starts in earnest on Boxing Day. Specifically, around the time when I’m digging through a fridge stuffed with leftovers to make myself a lunch plate, which I’ll eat in front of the TV – me under a blanket, the plate balanced on my chest – with a box of Cadbury’s Roses within easy reach.

This is the true spirit of Christmas: that shapeless week of After Eights, tawny port and old films – the only time of year when we can legitimately forget what day it is.

Losing your sense of time is the true marker of a successful Boxing week – that hazy week between Christmas Day and New Year’s Eve. There’s no official name for it in Britain, but it’s a week that cries out for a title in appreciation of all the wonderful things it gives us. Call it Twixmas, Chrimbo limbo or Witching week – whatever you prefer, it’s the true gift of Christmas: a week when nothing happens.

The national slowdown of Boxing week honours an age-old tradition. In ancient Rome the year had only 10 months, starting in March and ending in December. The period that remained was not considered part of the official series of months, creating a limbo in the darkest season. Perhaps that was a response to how nature slows down at that time, too, allowing people to do the same.

The real joy of Boxing week is a feeling that no one is doing anything “important”, creating a break from a relentless push for productivity that dominates pretty much every other time of year. There are of course people who do important work during this time – NHS workers are particularly busy. But for the rest of us, sending an email during Boxing week isn’t a sign that you’re killing it – it’s a sign that you need to put your laptop away and get with the programme. And if you’re a boss who hasn’t realised that no office worker gets anything done on 27 December anyway, do yourself a favour and just give people this time off: people will come back all the happier for it in the new year.

Because this is a special time: Boxing week is the only period of the whole year when it’s socially sanctioned to take unlimited naps in between old Bond films, fuelled by liquorice allsorts, or whatever sweets you’d never eat at any other time but cannot possibly do without right now. Then, after a few days of this, shake off your blankets to go outside to see some friends – after all, you have to work up an appetite to keep up with all that snacking.

The magic of Boxing week is that time seems to open up. In the absence of formal activities, there’s a chance for quieter things to peer through. One year, having grown bored of TV, I drifted off to the loft to look through a box of old Barbies from girlhood. My cousins and I used to turn our grandma’s house into a spectacular Barbie workshop, sewing clothes and making little furniture, and Grandma would allow the significant mess as she was thrilled to have three girls playing, having raised four boys herself. But when I opened the box I was amazed to find a jumble of taped-together cardboard and crumbling salt dough. I was struck by how these simple things had stayed in my mind all these years, not as makeshift toys but as a world of abundant, magical play.

This year, I’ll be spending half of Boxing week in Norway, where this time actually has a name: romjul. The word literally translates as “space Christmas”, which is perfect to describe what it is: the gift of space to breathe. It derives from the Norse rúmheilagr, which means “that which does not need to be kept holy”. It refers to how this time didn’t have any legally binding sanctity, but it wasn’t for work either. Instead, romjul was a time when people got together to celebrate during a rare moment of respite from the grind of the rest of the year.

Most of us get only a week off during the Chrimbo limbo, so going full goblin mode may be justified to make use of it. Maybe you think it’s wrong to be talking about this when there are so many people suffering in the world, but taking a moment to rest isn’t an indulgence – it’s vital for regaining our strength, and there’s plenty of historic precedent for taking this time off from striving.

Boxing week is an unholy time, in the best sense of the word – it’s simply a time for enjoyment. In Norway, romjul lasts until Three Kings’ Day, on 6 January, giving people a little more time to sweep up the pine needles. But whenever you call the end to Twixmas, make sure to enjoy it fully, and take the time to rest and restore yourself in whichever way you wish. Soon enough it will all start up again, with a brand new year.

• Jessica Furseth is a freelance journalist. She writes about culture, places, food and quirks

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