I am sure that Christmas will come together but currently I cannot see the Christmas tree for the holly. I am beginning to resemble a slightly deranged, bag lady. There are bags scattered around the house, badly secreted under beds, in wardrobes and the office stationary cupboard. They contain various Christmas presents or parts of Christmas presents and my mind is beginning to lose track of what is for who and where it actually is. I wake at night in a cold sweat dreaming that I have wrapped 0.2mm drawing pen and given it to the local farmer instead of a bottle of wine.
Do not start me on the Christmas tree! The buying and decorating of the tree was scheduled for Sunday past. It didn’t happen, not because I decided to have the mother of all lay ins. Oh no, I couldn’t be that lucky. I was up early frantically knitting a dress for my granddaughter in white four ply. Have you ever tried knitting four ply on a Sunday morning? My eyes felt like red-hot candy canes had poked them out.
Then I received the bombshell that my youngest HAD to go Christmas shopping for her friends, she needed to wrap and fill her Christmas shoe-box for Rumanian orphans, oh and could I find a sheet for her Roman Christmas Feast as part of her Latin studies and if I had time could I make some Mince Pies for the Mothers Coffee Morning. I went into freefall.
I put down the knitting, made the pastry and left it in the fridge (apparently this helps the pastry). We hot footed it down to Argos where I spent 20 minutes browsing with the youngest, attempting to find five Christmas presents for 12 year old girls, all of which I had set a budget of £6 each on. The budget flew out of the window. I dashed next door to pick up a chicken (dead, I hasten to add) for Sunday lunch and grab more Christmas cards. I never knew I had so many people to send cards to. Crisis! I remembered I had no mincemeat for the mince pies. Easy to find mincemeat at the local Leedaaals. Ohhh noooo it isn’t!
We dash round to Morrisons; I had forgotten to get dog food too. BIG mistake. The world and his wife had decided to park in supermarket car park and trot off into town for the Victorian Christmas Market. What are you thinking of people? Are you mad? Christmas is two weeks away and you are ambling around the local ‘Past Times’ market.
Was I the only person in town that had broken into a sweat of fear at the thought of not being able to secure the purchase of a jar of mincemeat and four tins of dog food? I manoeuvred the husbands ‘truck’ into the car park and sat, then I sat some more. Then I was overcome with car park rage. ‘RIGHT, that does it’ I yelled. ‘We are going home’. We did, minus the mincemeat and dog food. By this time, I genuinely had the mother of all Migraines and a severe case of Post Traumatic Shopping Syndrome. I got home and I had a strong coffee with a slug of brandy in it.
I helped the youngest wrap her Christmas presents and dispatched her with hubby to her riding lesson. It was 3 o’clock and not a Christmas tree in sight! I decided to cut out the mince pies ready for the arrival of the mincemeat hubby had promised to secure. The phone rings. ‘What type of mince meat do you want, figs and brandy, rum and almond, luxury or just plain cheap?’ Oh my giddy aunt! In my head I was screaming, ‘I don’t know.... ask me again.... no don’t.... I haven’t a clue, just get me anything’. My festive spirit and the brandy had worn off. ‘Cheapest you can get and lots of it’ I barked, immediately feeling sorry for him.
I made the mince pies, after borrowing extra pie tins from my neighbour. I seem to have lost two of my three tins. I suspect they are somewhere in the garden being used for ‘concocting’ some experiment by the youngest.
By the end of the day, daughter had sheet (toga), presents bought, wrapped and packed neatly into several carrier bags she had wrestled her show box into submission and packed that too. Something missing? Oh yes, the mince pies. She never did get those. For some reason although they looked relatively festive, the bottoms of the mince pies were as hard as the hobs of hell. To send them to a coffee morning where they would sit next to those made by mothers who had taken all the time and care in the world would be suicide. I sent the daughter off with the words ‘sod it, I am not going to the coffee morning anyway, they can mange without mine’. She smiled her best sympathetic smile and said, ‘never mind Mummy, no-one will notice’. Bless her, she could have told me that at 9.a.m that morning. Christmas tree is scheduled for later this week. I will keep you posted!
Do not start me on the Christmas tree! The buying and decorating of the tree was scheduled for Sunday past. It didn’t happen, not because I decided to have the mother of all lay ins. Oh no, I couldn’t be that lucky. I was up early frantically knitting a dress for my granddaughter in white four ply. Have you ever tried knitting four ply on a Sunday morning? My eyes felt like red-hot candy canes had poked them out.
Then I received the bombshell that my youngest HAD to go Christmas shopping for her friends, she needed to wrap and fill her Christmas shoe-box for Rumanian orphans, oh and could I find a sheet for her Roman Christmas Feast as part of her Latin studies and if I had time could I make some Mince Pies for the Mothers Coffee Morning. I went into freefall.
I put down the knitting, made the pastry and left it in the fridge (apparently this helps the pastry). We hot footed it down to Argos where I spent 20 minutes browsing with the youngest, attempting to find five Christmas presents for 12 year old girls, all of which I had set a budget of £6 each on. The budget flew out of the window. I dashed next door to pick up a chicken (dead, I hasten to add) for Sunday lunch and grab more Christmas cards. I never knew I had so many people to send cards to. Crisis! I remembered I had no mincemeat for the mince pies. Easy to find mincemeat at the local Leedaaals. Ohhh noooo it isn’t!
We dash round to Morrisons; I had forgotten to get dog food too. BIG mistake. The world and his wife had decided to park in supermarket car park and trot off into town for the Victorian Christmas Market. What are you thinking of people? Are you mad? Christmas is two weeks away and you are ambling around the local ‘Past Times’ market.
Was I the only person in town that had broken into a sweat of fear at the thought of not being able to secure the purchase of a jar of mincemeat and four tins of dog food? I manoeuvred the husbands ‘truck’ into the car park and sat, then I sat some more. Then I was overcome with car park rage. ‘RIGHT, that does it’ I yelled. ‘We are going home’. We did, minus the mincemeat and dog food. By this time, I genuinely had the mother of all Migraines and a severe case of Post Traumatic Shopping Syndrome. I got home and I had a strong coffee with a slug of brandy in it.
I helped the youngest wrap her Christmas presents and dispatched her with hubby to her riding lesson. It was 3 o’clock and not a Christmas tree in sight! I decided to cut out the mince pies ready for the arrival of the mincemeat hubby had promised to secure. The phone rings. ‘What type of mince meat do you want, figs and brandy, rum and almond, luxury or just plain cheap?’ Oh my giddy aunt! In my head I was screaming, ‘I don’t know.... ask me again.... no don’t.... I haven’t a clue, just get me anything’. My festive spirit and the brandy had worn off. ‘Cheapest you can get and lots of it’ I barked, immediately feeling sorry for him.
I made the mince pies, after borrowing extra pie tins from my neighbour. I seem to have lost two of my three tins. I suspect they are somewhere in the garden being used for ‘concocting’ some experiment by the youngest.
By the end of the day, daughter had sheet (toga), presents bought, wrapped and packed neatly into several carrier bags she had wrestled her show box into submission and packed that too. Something missing? Oh yes, the mince pies. She never did get those. For some reason although they looked relatively festive, the bottoms of the mince pies were as hard as the hobs of hell. To send them to a coffee morning where they would sit next to those made by mothers who had taken all the time and care in the world would be suicide. I sent the daughter off with the words ‘sod it, I am not going to the coffee morning anyway, they can mange without mine’. She smiled her best sympathetic smile and said, ‘never mind Mummy, no-one will notice’. Bless her, she could have told me that at 9.a.m that morning. Christmas tree is scheduled for later this week. I will keep you posted!
