Christmas Eve

Will we survive Christmas lunch???

After working from 8am til 2am for as many days as I can remember, at 4pm on the 23rd -December with a whoosh of the email, all 28 pages of my witness statement went to my opponents lawyers. I telephoned to confirm receipt, said I wouldn’t be working on it until the New Year and wished him a very happy Christmas, and a happy and successful New Year but obviously not as successful as mine. My attempt at a sense of humour and seasonal jollity met with ringing silence. Opps

No matter -Christmas began!

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Christmas Eve would usually be a ‘The wonder of a winter’ romantic walk up the hill to the magic woods pinching greenery for the fireplace mantel followed by a late lunch in front of burning logs at the The Sun Inn. I think this is the epitome of romance, but Gianni, a totem of efficiency, sees no merit in anything that delays reaching the pub. Romantic walk? Muddy trudge more like, coming home with a basket of stolen weeds.

But as soon as I woke up at well deserved 10.30 a whistle went off in my head.

‘WE HAVE GOT TO GET UP AND GO FOOD SHOPPING!’ I said to Gianni all but lobbing a cup of tea at him over the duvet.

In fairness, this was inconsistent with my previous edits which were that since it would be just the two of us, we could gamble and stalk the aisles of Waitrose waiting for the last second discounts and bag our Christmas feast from the random odd assortments left behind. It’s a bit like sniping on ebay- calculate how many seconds you need to get your bid through at the very last minute, whilst not giving your competitor time to respond. Admittedly it can be a bit rogue- ostrich steak with wonky carrot anyone? But I have been in Waitrose with aisles filled with people looking at the ceiling and pushing empty trolleys waiting for the discounts and there is nothing Christmassy about a Waitrose scrum. Lives could be lost.

Having just got back from Italy I knew the content of our fridge consisted of a splash of milk, two gourds left over from Halloween which are more deterrent than actual food and any way I could easily loose a finger trying to axe them into bits, and the M&S seafood platter that Gianni had the foresight to order in about June.

Gianni will put up with a lot but Christmas dinner composed of a starter, followed by tinned carrots left over from our Covid hoard, gherkins and horseradish sauce was unlikely to be winner-winner Christmas dinner. And we had run out of both tea and coffee which is a well known legal defence for anything.

So the dial in my head had shifted from ‘It’s fine, to PANIC’

Gianni, didn’t really enjoy the Taste The Difference at Sainsburys. He had signed up to that blue wand thing that means you don’t have to queue up, but as the internet only works at the front of the store near the doors you a) have to walk about four times the distance and b) you risk getting nicked for shop lifting if it looks like you are making a break for it.

Meanwhile, I have to say, delirious with happiness that I was no longer hunched over my desk sweating blood, I could not have been happier. We had a trolley each so off I danced off chariot racing on the supermarket sweep. The jolly Christmas music was playing, I was singing along, dancing in the ailses, thanking all the staff for working Christmas Eve so we could get our lunch.

I had wanted a goose. Gianni said no and as it turns out Sainsbury’s didn’t have goose but it did have a duck.

So Christmas lunch for us is going to be M&S seafood platter, decomposed duck with all the trimmings , and Black Forest Gateaux.

Delia Smith said to leave the duck out overnight to dry (presumably she doesn’t have a cat) . She didn’t mention it going a very deathly colour overnight like something out of one of those grisly crime dramas that I don’t like. I know it is dead, obviously, but when it came home it was creamy and white, if a bit sweaty, and the slightly waxy look has been been replaced by a pallor that could convert anyone to veganism. Apparently it gets blasted for 20 minutes in the hot oven and then spends three hours sweating in the bottom oven which I hope is enough to kill most bacteria. Luckily the Aga sucks all cooking smells up the pipe, and any way now Tiger has returned from his holidays cooking/corpse smells will be overwhelmed by of Eau di Cat Litter.

Any way, just the for the record, I love Gianni to bits and don’t intend to poison either of us, although a little bit of light poisoning would be okay as we could both do with a bit of a…cleanse to get the weight off in the new year.

A merry Christmas to one and all!

UPDATE

Well hush my mouth – there was a bit of concern when I found that in her book Delia had said leave the duck out but on line it had evolved to ‘ leave it out out…in the fridge!’ WHAT!!! So I cremated the duck, and knowing that Gianni’s gastric juices would be 100% alcohol we went with it. All I can say is…all hail Delia Smith, Goddess of Duck, you’ve done it again! Love, your unworthy disciple

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