Christmas is a-comin'
It’s official, I can start looking forward to Christmas. Harrod’s Christmas display has been up for four months, the TV is full of child abuse ads and people are having their yearly debate on whether saying “Merry Christmas” makes you a racist or not. No one knows how to celebrate Christmas like the British!
My mind is heavy with disgustingly wonderful thoughts at this time of year. Thoughts like, “Hey, let’s mix booze and eggs together”, or “Is it possible to buy a turkey stuffed with another turkey?”. Gluttony is by far my favourite deadly sin, and I went out of my way to prove it at Pete’s Christmas party last weekend. While my record of eating five different animals in one sitting was not threatened, having a plate full of goose, turkey and ham is not a bad way to kick off Operation “Stretchy pants” 2006. And yes, “Stretchy pants 2006” was the best name I could come up with. It was either that or “Rob’s Christmas Chowfest 2006.” I’m still not sure I made the right choice, but I digress.
There is, however, one act of gluttony I cannot tolerate. If as you read this, you are on day 24 of your chocolate advent calendar, you should be ashamed of yourself. Eating ahead is a crime from which you cannot be pardoned. You are killing the baby Jesus.
Unlike Ryanair, Pete has only two terms and conditions for attending his party. One, that you bring your own booze and, Two, that you make a Secret Santa gift for one of the other attendees. Secret Santa requires a lot of preparation. First, you have to practice your “Oh, what a wonderful gift” face in case you get jacked with the box of After Eights. Second, you have to get your excuses lined up in case the ill-mannered jerk that opens your gift forgot to practice theirs. Having to make the present by hand adds an extra level of stress and judging by the gift of an inverted tea cosy adorned with an ironed-on photo, Linda cracked under the pressure.
Luckily, Tom was not an ill-mannered jerk, and the drawing I gave went down a treat. I also didn’t have to fake delight with my gift of homemade marmalade. If there is one indisputable law of Christmas, it’s that you cannot have too many oranges.
And for the record, as utterly crap as it was, the tea cosy with the photo was probably my favourite gift. Nice work, Linda.