I know you don’t want to hear those fateful words, but channelling the spirit of Andy Williams I’m saying them anyway…it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas people!
And guess what I love it. It has become all too fashionable to moan about the festive season, the cost, the queues, the cold, but I love it. Every bank balance back breaking second of it. I just don’t feel the need to be too cool for school.
I love winter. There are bonfires, I start drinking red wine heavily, the nights are dark, I wear leg warmers, it’s the pirate’s birthday, then it’s my birthday = presents. ‘Elf’ is on telly about four times, and that’s all before Bad Santa even thinks about making an appearance.
It’s also the time when families (mainly mine) start to stress. In my mother’s case it’s what should she buy? Will her daughter in-law use an ear massager or should she stick to getting a dressing gown two sizes too big so as to upset her for the rest of the year. In my father’s case, he just needs constant reassurance that his dinner will reach him in a timely ie super quick fashion and no later than 3pm.
The day starts with the Pirate and I running around to get ready, me trying to apply falsh eyelashes which often end up like caterpillars on my cheek. We zoom in the Pirate van to visit nieces and nephews, exchange gifts then drive to the other end of the city to visit the family for dinner.
Christmas dinner is a serious business.
There is no messing about with Christmas dinner with my pops. He doesn’t want a dinner that aspires to the middle classes. He is a no nonsense man when it comes to food. He wants it hot, he wants it cooked properly and he wants the following, which note, is the same dinner he’s had for the last thirty years.
Glass of fizz (it used to be Mateus Rose but he has moved on..he’s not a total dinosaur).
Home Made Soup( made by the man himself)
Prawn Cocktail(prawns, chopped tomatoes, baby gem, occasional cucumber and marie rose sauce, a lot of sauce.)
Move onto the Red Wine.
Turkey Dinner. This is the most essential part of the meal for Mr C. Two years ago he was going to his daughter-in-law’s for Christmas dinner and he was so stressed that he wouldn’t have left over turkey that he had an actual nightmare three days before Christmas.
My mother was so worried that she rushed to Tesco on Boxing Day to buy him a frozen turkey in the sale. Disaster averted.
There is no lingering over courses in our house, dinner must be served in a super quick ‘Yo Sushi’ fashion.. As soon as the soup is done, he wants the prawn cocktail in transit.
We finish with chocolate gateau of the Black Forrest variety and usually a sherry trifle. There is no Christmas pudding in our house, nobody likes it and I myself only tasted this mystical pudding for the first time at 29, it was talked of with such scorn.
After dinner, we slump on the couch having a few drinks, eating our body weight in chocolate, watching crappy tv and my father and I slag off those who in his opinion have brought this fine country to its knees. Cilla Black, Bruce Forsyth, Jim Davidson (I agree on that one) and his most prevalent focus of dislike, Jimmy Tarbuck. Mention him in Mr C’s House at your peril. We debate why Jimmy of Tarbuck is even on telly, and then have a wee laugh about Tommy Sheridan for good measure.
Then one by one everybody falls asleep where they sit,…except the Pirate who sits resentful that my parents don’t have Sky or wifi and questioning why my whole family seem to have year long narcolepsy.
And that’s why I love Christmas