Well, for fracks sake, look forward to a nice morning clearing up the place when there are five phone calls (all rubbish!), a workman outside keep wanting half a bucket of water and the 95 year old lady next door who had taken a parcel in for me. Good grief! No time for Jeremy Vine or bloody anything! And my lunch I was heating up went all dry. Bastards!
Of course I squeezed in time for a fag.
Yesterday we had Husband's relatives in for our traditional Christmas drink. The burly Welsh faction. Also my mate and her husband and my other mate, Mary. A lovely, four foot tall Irish woman who I wouldn't dare dream of mentioning Blogging to. She would cross herself, I'm sure.
My Tesco Value brandy and vodka causing more laughter and entertainment that any six piece band fronted by Dick Emery, I began to make my own champagne cocktail. A glass of Cava, or any sparkly wine, with a nip of vodka poured into it. (Listen, if its recommended in Woman's Own, it must be alright!). There was also much merriement when these buggers saw me go outside for a fag. Their memories of last Christmas in my old kitchen being but a fug of cigarette smoke. Had a good mind to make them drink outside, who'd be laughing then, eh?
I could only take 3 of my cocktails before I switched to sparkling water. No-one else wanting to go near them. But the damndest thing was that about 4 o'clock as I was sitting on a wooden chair next to Mary, I was so reminded of my childhood christmases. The wintery darkness of late afternoon, the unlovely overhead lights and the bareness of the kitchen and uncomfortable chairs. And sitting talking through the noise. To any nearby cousin or aunt or mate.
Thats how it always was at home. Relatives round without fail, tho' usually on christmas night, and people sitting where they could, kind of squeezed together. Only thing missing was the barrell of beer and my dad getting his bloody guitar out. God, I was dragged up! But it was strange how fate forced my hand through that brief time tunnel thing.
Son's school carol service tonight. His last one. Its the winter equivalent of sports day for us. We go along dutifully, our faces caked with boredom and misery, trying not to look at our watches. However, this particular night, we are going for a kebab afterwards, (Daughter's having chips). Why does this make me so happy?
Does anyone else fancy a kebab? Tell me how much chilli sauce you want and that. Or we could just meet up outside the kebab shop. You know, that really rough one on the high street, with all the fag ends outside. And afterwards we could take turns knocking on the Vicar's door and running off, or have a whip round to buy one half shandy between us at the Barmy Arms. What a night out! Hope you can make it