Dearest Whatsit,
It was great to see you at our Mike & Chris’ over Christmas and many thanks for tea and cake on our bedraggled return from the Natural History up in the big smoke a few days ago.
All hail to Christmas and just what is the New Year going to bring? Christmas is over, the fat bloke just got fatter, please give a treat to the old mans cat, Mystic Meg says “this is my year” but then in another paper Jonathan Cainer said the same for last year … my boss moans I don’t work hard enough for my minimum wage and the guy who does the afternoon shift wants me to upgrade his pc from millennium to XP but he doesn’t want to pay for the proper XP disks. So nothing changes and the status quo is thankfully maintained.
My doctor informs me he’s written to some journal or other to document my amazing weight-gain over this short Christmas period. Oh if only it was as easy to shed the weight as to put it on. He’s given me some tablets for my ingrown toenail and asked me to come back in two weeks – I tried to explain that it took THREE weeks to get that appointment so getting back to see him in two weeks is going to be nigh on impossible but by that time he was asking me if I was taking daily exercise. I raised an eyebrow and offered my standard reply – “what? With my weight and this toenail? then he started to go off into his ‘I always have curry-for-breakfast’ and it’s the most important meal of the day routine. I left quietly, wondering just how tablets could possibly resolve my ingrown toenail. He didn’t say but perhaps I should crush them down with a little jam or mustard into a sort of paste and daub it on to my toe like a sticky poultice? Also just how can I take one tablet, three times a day? Do I apply it then take the poultice off again to apply it again later? The brunette informs me they don’t mean take the same tablet three times a day but instead I should take three different tablets each day, one at a time and equally spaced throughout that day – well why don’t they say that then?
We are having the last of the Turkey for lunch today – grilled with the left-over lemon meringue, Stilton and parsnips. The turkey has been kept moist by being steeped, since the big day, in its roasting juices – resembling strange yellow jelly and a fizzy coffin-liquor. Our dish of nuts only has its impenetrable layer of almonds remaining and even the cats have stopped playing with those.
My tinsel has nearly all blown orf the shed. I pinned your kind and Seasoned Greeting card to the door so I could see it from the house but it blew off on Christmas eve and was last seen being mauled by the boxer dog five doors down. Our cats though, bless ‘em, have become quite attached to their Rudolf masks (£1.28 from Ye Pound Shoppe) and lash out if I get near and try to take them off. I’m sure the string and bungee straps will bio-degrade in time and will come apart so the masks can drop off.
We have a pineapple, bought because when in Waitrose one day I blurted “cor I’ve not had one of those for years”. Well, its now resolutely going soft in the fruit bowl – I wonder what we bought last year because “cor I’ve not had one of those for years”, melon probably or pate – It’ll be chestnuts next Christmas. I must get the chimney swept so I can sit whilst roasting and then burning them on our fire. Or I could bid for some chimney sweep brushes orf @Bay and do-it-meself.
On Saturday we took the first batch of broken and non-working toys back to their respective stores for replacement and a couple of “doubles” back to more astute shoppes for vouchers or alternatives. On the bus on the way in to town there was quite a crowd but we managed to find a space for the little one in his push chair and I stood with my foot wedged against its wheel to stop it roaming around the bus as the driver attempted to make up time. Once he stopped the bus and said I should sit down as he couldn’t take “free-standing passengers” I looked up embarrassed by the sudden attention and stares from 40 people I don’t know. I looked past the long row of straps placed strategically for free-standing passengers to steady themselves and bravely called that I was holding the push chair – he grumpily continued his journey at a more sedate pace. It was never like this in my day. But when was “my day”? Ten, twenty, thirty years ago? Or is “my day” now? The brunette gave me some technical and convoluted answer involving maths and the phases of the moon (I think) but I don’t believe her.
We found where all the chocolate tree ornaments had gone – under the nine year olds pillow in a foil, hair and chocolate sticky glue mix – it goes part way to explain his hyper morning moods of late even though he denies it and says “someone put them there” – now I have another flush of embarrassment – do all kids go through this stage and was I THAT ridiculously naive when I was his age? Did I lie so blatantly and without hope of being thought honest? If I did I’ve blanked it from my memory and don’t wish to be reminded.
The brunettes brilliant idea to keep fruit, veggies and fizzy pop out in the shed to keep cool until needed, worked a treat except we forgot the ‘new’ potatoes, bought for a refreshingly light turkey, pineapple and ham salad on Boxing-day – they’re all green and wrinkly now – I think that was our giant toblerone, warmed pickles and turkey curry day although it’s all a bit hazy now. Luckily Mr Obewan on the corner, opened up over the festive period so we didn’t quite run out of loo roll but it was close for a moment there, although I’m sure he hiked the price since my visit on Christmas eve to wish him a Merry non-denominational yet Festive Seasoned Greeting. However if some bugger burst through my front door over Christmas looking decidedly pale and shouting for loo rolls, I’m sure I’d want to charge a premium too. He fumbled around and tried to tell me he didn’t have change for a fiver but once I’d gritted my teeth and pointed out the risk to his sepia toned 2001 Hygienic Shoppe Award if I didn’t get loo rolls quickly – he magically found the correct change and ushered me out the door.
All in all though it was a satisfactory and pleasantly noisy Christmas and the brunette was happy with the gifts she’d bought for herself and then instructed me to wrap, although she was a bit puzzled when she opened the tin of processed peas I’d wrapped – they, apparently had got mixed up with my wrapping task during a frenzied tidy-up session and I didn’t like to question her choice of gifts so she got it to open Christmas morning. We laughed though so all was well. It’ll now most likely become one of those things done every Christmas – a tradition is born.
So, Happy New Year dear Aunty Whatsit and our very best hopes for you this year.
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