Late results - Himself sourced a couple of handicapped (no legs - bloody heroes) turkeys on Xmas Eve to feed the full gathering of 'his side'. Apparently his mum had not found seen the funny side the night before when he suggested Turkey twizzlers for 19. My antique recipe for Peanut Roast not required after all. Shame. I even managed to leave the Midwich dome of our house for the first time in a week and did all my remaining (quite a lot) Xmas shopping like a real man in the afternoon. It was fabulous. I had no hungry/thirsty/tired/bored/shoplifting midgets circling me either - the pure joy of being able to stick my nose into inappropriate shops for no good reason other than because I could. And finding shiny snakeskin trousers for £3.50 in a charity shop. Oh yeah.
Now I know why men do this each year: the thrill of the hunt - battling the elements - up against it for time - the dusk approaching - the family is depending on you - you have to make quick decisions - it's all about the NOW. And the exultant journey home with the prize - you are a man my son.
Mince pie and stale milk (teetotal house now - poor Fr Xmas) - cute letter about being good - carrots for Rudolph - flour round the fireplace to catch the elves footprints - my god will they never go to fucking bed? I made it into bed by 4 am. Suddenly remembered the fucking Tooth Fairy. Got up again. Managed to wake up everybody in so doing. Oh joy. No sleep for good little Xmas elves.
Did the tights, high heels and oohs and aahs on The Day. And my cheerful fake interested 'How was the turkey?' With the obligatory 'A bit dry. I much prefer chicken' performed with completely straight face. Noone sang - YES! No family films of opening presents - YES YES !!! Noone punched anyone (aaw). Back in time for Dr Who in turquoise sequins (it all kind of sleepily blended into Strictly Come Dancing Xmas Special). And my cheese elf on duty. Big sigh. Woke up at 6 am on settee under blanket of cheese.
Even found the floor next morning and rearranged the room again - a whole new angle to watch telly. It broadens the mind. Watched about 6 films. Afternoon nap. Evening nap. Quick snog in the utility room. That's not a euphemism. Cheese. Chocolate. Coma.... As things should be in Grown-Up World.
And done 'my' side today. Arrived at well past lunch time due to horrific traffic. Himself reckoned it was all the people going to visit their in-laws and driving really reeeally s l o w - l y. Despite lateness we still don't sit down to eat for another 2 hours and then have 4-hour long lunch - seconds - thirds - 5 different puddings - rotating mis-heard conversations (carrying on from last year) - the kids want the cake and biscuits - 'But that's for tea later'.... Absent brother rings - his kids are bathed and in bed.
Finally dragged my lardy arse up off the chair to start putting brightly coloured beeping things in the car (and their new presents) - 'But you haven't had any tea!' Snatched crisps and half a French stick and made a run for it.
Home and dry.
We've done it. Much less stressful than previous years but I still don't get it. I just don't. I like the new sparkly nail varnish and dazzle dust eye-shadow tho'. I like the cheese. I like Wallace and Gromit. I like snogging in the utility room. I like the fact I didn't hysterically accuse Himself of having an affair this year when I didn't get a present from Cartiers after seeing it on a joint bank statement a week earlier and which turned out to be my dry cleaning. I like smelly candles - melting onto nativity figures. I like eating coffee and walnut cake for breakfast. I like happy little faces being left to their own wayward devices. I like the fact that we seem to think this stuff can only happen at bloody Xmas! Do what? Must keep the spirit of Xmas alive all year round by remembering to be thoroughly indulgent and naughty and lazy and bad ALL the bloody time.
New Year's Res's? Be bad, badder and really bad. Really really bad. Bad Motherfucker Bad.
I may start by having a really good clear out of sensible clothes, any educational material, beautiful hand-crafted wooden toys that were to be handed down to the next generation (but just got biro'd and then ignored by this generation), cookery books, important paperwork, the contents of my mending basket, clever-looking books by people with foreign-sounding names, classical CDs....... Who am I fucking kidding?
(Queen's voice) - At this time of year (now the Xmas shit is old hat and old tat) our thoughts turn to (OK back to my voice) - it's time to be honest surely.... I was born into the arms of Carry On films, bred by The Darling Buds of May books, buttered by Ian Dury and the Blockheads, battered by Thatcher, bettered by The South Bank Show, butt-fucked by New Labour and now broken by children and have finally come to realise that noone else is going to make me into a nice rounded human being. Months of counselling have slowly sunk into my tiny resentful little mind and whispered 'deal with it Shit-for-Brains'.
So off comes the hand-spun Cloak of Wank - the pretending to be a useful member of society act. And instead I shall proudly wear the lurex Hot-Pants of the Gob-Shite. I shall be free!
All this from a simple nice little Xmas post. And lots of split infinitives to make my mother's blood boil. Starting as I mean to go on.
I don't half go on don't I? Happy New Year you bastards. I love you all.