It's clichéd to be cynical at Christmas
Dec. 24th, 2012 11:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ventaChristmas Eve? It must be time for the annual bulletin from the north.
It was a cacky drive up the M1 today; varying forms of rain, drizzle and more rain until it abruptly stopped around Scotch Corner. Sheets of spray made visibility virtually zero - and when it cleared slightly, all you could see in South Yorkshire were flooded fields in all directions. Crossing the Trent, an arched iron bridge in the distance strode cheerfully across an arbitrary chunk of lake.
The parents' house was already mostly en fête by the time we arrived; I managed to snag the fun part of decorating the Christmas tree. Due to dramatic developments (involving my old bedroom being dismantled, the acquisition of a laptop, etc) the tree has moved rooms. As you might remember from other years, changing things around Christmas is just not done. However, since the tree is now back where it stood when I was a kid, it has been deemed a Traditional Regression and thus wasn't subject to the usual planning meetings.
While I threw caution, taste, and discernment to the winds and baubles at the tree, occasional wails could be heard from various parts of the house: "Has anyone got the superglue? This angel has lost an arm...", "Who's pinched the step ladder?" and fifteen variations on "Has anyone seen the thingy? You know, the... thingy." Dad performed emergency surgery on the angel, no one fell off the ladder in any very serious way, and all the thingies were found eventually. By teatime (Cullen Skink, of course) I'd acquired a somewhat dribbly Christingle, caught up with some friends, then gone round to swap tea and Christmas presents with my godparents (and been sneered at by their elderly and rather supercilious cat).
Despite largely ignoring Christmas telly, I did scoot for the sofa in time to watch The Snowman and the Snowdog this evening. Yes, I know it's seasonal schmaltz aimed at kids. But I remember the original Snowman fondly - I doubt I saw it when it came out (we didn't have a telly in 1982), but I think I saw it at school the following Christmas. I still love that drawings-come-alive style of animation and I quite happily watched the boy, the snowman and the snowdog flying through London and away over Dover to the snowmen's party.
This evening, I have chopped onions finely to make stuffing, and I have linked sausages. The mother buys Cumberland sausage by the yard around this time of year; I have made pound after pound of the stuff into chunky, chipolata-sized sausages. I aspire, one day, to be as good as Bill the butcher was at linking the stuff when I was little; he could spin whole handfuls into bunches of links in no time.
Growing up here, our Christmas dinners - whisper it - didn't involve pigs in blankets. I wasn't really familiar with this fabulous pig product until comparatively recently. Sure, we had sausages with Christmas dinner, and the turkey was cooked with huge swathes of bacon draped across it, but no actual pigs in actual blankets were involved. Needless to say, I have rectified this dreadful state of affairs, snuggling half of the little sausages up in cosy blankets of bacon.
While I was doing that, the mother was doing the complicated bits with the turkey and the gulley and the pliers. And putting the turkey giblets on to make gravy (I can smell them cooking). And playing Tetris with the mass of Tupperware in the fridge. And now we've pulled the drawbridge up, banked the fire, and Dad and I are slowly working our way through the beer cellar.
Happy Christmas to all, and to all, goodnight.
It was a cacky drive up the M1 today; varying forms of rain, drizzle and more rain until it abruptly stopped around Scotch Corner. Sheets of spray made visibility virtually zero - and when it cleared slightly, all you could see in South Yorkshire were flooded fields in all directions. Crossing the Trent, an arched iron bridge in the distance strode cheerfully across an arbitrary chunk of lake.
The parents' house was already mostly en fête by the time we arrived; I managed to snag the fun part of decorating the Christmas tree. Due to dramatic developments (involving my old bedroom being dismantled, the acquisition of a laptop, etc) the tree has moved rooms. As you might remember from other years, changing things around Christmas is just not done. However, since the tree is now back where it stood when I was a kid, it has been deemed a Traditional Regression and thus wasn't subject to the usual planning meetings.
While I threw caution, taste, and discernment to the winds and baubles at the tree, occasional wails could be heard from various parts of the house: "Has anyone got the superglue? This angel has lost an arm...", "Who's pinched the step ladder?" and fifteen variations on "Has anyone seen the thingy? You know, the... thingy." Dad performed emergency surgery on the angel, no one fell off the ladder in any very serious way, and all the thingies were found eventually. By teatime (Cullen Skink, of course) I'd acquired a somewhat dribbly Christingle, caught up with some friends, then gone round to swap tea and Christmas presents with my godparents (and been sneered at by their elderly and rather supercilious cat).
Despite largely ignoring Christmas telly, I did scoot for the sofa in time to watch The Snowman and the Snowdog this evening. Yes, I know it's seasonal schmaltz aimed at kids. But I remember the original Snowman fondly - I doubt I saw it when it came out (we didn't have a telly in 1982), but I think I saw it at school the following Christmas. I still love that drawings-come-alive style of animation and I quite happily watched the boy, the snowman and the snowdog flying through London and away over Dover to the snowmen's party.
This evening, I have chopped onions finely to make stuffing, and I have linked sausages. The mother buys Cumberland sausage by the yard around this time of year; I have made pound after pound of the stuff into chunky, chipolata-sized sausages. I aspire, one day, to be as good as Bill the butcher was at linking the stuff when I was little; he could spin whole handfuls into bunches of links in no time.
Growing up here, our Christmas dinners - whisper it - didn't involve pigs in blankets. I wasn't really familiar with this fabulous pig product until comparatively recently. Sure, we had sausages with Christmas dinner, and the turkey was cooked with huge swathes of bacon draped across it, but no actual pigs in actual blankets were involved. Needless to say, I have rectified this dreadful state of affairs, snuggling half of the little sausages up in cosy blankets of bacon.
While I was doing that, the mother was doing the complicated bits with the turkey and the gulley and the pliers. And putting the turkey giblets on to make gravy (I can smell them cooking). And playing Tetris with the mass of Tupperware in the fridge. And now we've pulled the drawbridge up, banked the fire, and Dad and I are slowly working our way through the beer cellar.
Happy Christmas to all, and to all, goodnight.
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no subject
Date: 2012-12-25 12:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-26 06:18 pm (UTC)Happy Christmas, to you too, I hope you had a fun day despite the ill healths threatening.
no subject
Date: 2012-12-25 09:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-26 06:18 pm (UTC)The tree looks garish and overloaded - which is, of course, just right ;)
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Date: 2012-12-26 12:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-26 06:17 pm (UTC)I hope you had a lovely Christmas in Mooseworld.
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Date: 2012-12-26 07:41 pm (UTC)PS. Really loved the Christmas card you sent us. Quite possibly my favourite of the year.