I thought an edible would take the edge off family Christmas. I spent the day on the floor | Bunny Banyai

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 .” ‘My daughters came upstairs to see if my “migraine” was getting better. I said, “I need to be very quiet and still,”’ Bunny Banyai writes.Photograph: Marvy Andreina Jaimes/Getty Images 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 large 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 sociopolitical 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 is arguing and my 17-year-old daughter, whose interest in the family is as strong at Christmas as it is the rest of the year. That edible was not a want - it was a need. I don’t drink and, while sobriety has some upsides, it offers no good answer to the question, “how can I withstand a sermon on the healing benefits of a parasite cleanse, while next to me there is a vigorous conversation regarding the perils of wokeism?” I cooked up my edible plan in mid-November, cheerfully informing anyone who inquired after my festive plans that this Christmas I would not be succumbing to rage or despair. I would be “just a little bit” high. On hearing the plan, my neighbour offered me an edible lolly from her stash. The ones I had were a bit “blah”, I’d explained, perhaps not quite up to the task. She reassured me hers would be just the ticket. “They’re nice and mellow,” she said. Her mum was around for a visit and she concurred: “Very nice and gentle.” It’s worth noting that, while I’m no stranger to edibles, I’m not a regular consumer. The side-effects I’d previously experienced amounted to nothing more than an increased appreciation for barbecue sausages and cushioned sun loungers - I had no reason to expect Christmas Day would be any different. On Christmas Eve I stayed up late wrapping presents before being prematurely awoken the next morning by children old enough to know better. My exhaustion was compounded by having spent December working in a bookshop, where customers descended in vast...

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