What I did at Christmas

It's all a bit of a blur...

A very happy New Year to you!

So here we are. Christmas is over and our adult sons and daughter have all gone home. We always talk about the kids ‘coming home’ because we think of home as where we are. But of course their homes are now where they live and work - the homes they’ve made for themselves.

I loved everyone being here. It’s so rare we’re all together now, I even had to ask one of my sons how he takes his tea. But it also felt a bit hectic (to me at least) as I was grabbing time whenever I could to finish writing a book.

Everyone else did all the practical stuff - brilliantly I have say. You give birth to a child and it feels like one minute they’re playing with their little cars in the garden and the next thing they’re flambéing gravy without wearing a fire retardant suit.

FIRE!!!!

I kind of ducked in and out of it all, making myself ‘available’ without being useful (no peeling potatoes or chopping the gnarly ends off sprouts). Instead I fell foul of Work Avoider’s Activity Number One: clearing out the food cupboard.

Instead of writing chapter 36 I crouched there marvelling at the fact that we have been storing an ancient tin of custard powder for over a decade.

David Cameron was Prime Minister when it was purchased. This means we brought it with us when we moved house in 2014. We paid for the transportation of this custard powder.

I wanted to discuss this with Jimmy but he was too busy cooking Christmas dinner for six.

I did try to help, by grappling hot trays, prodding at stuffing and giving my opinion on the gravy - basically getting in the way like a bustling aunt. But to be honest, with everyone else beavering away I felt a bit redundant, even though every year I moan about have too much to do.

At one point in the post-Christmas days I did make someone a substandard omelette, but I saw it being scraped into the bin.

I wrote a heck of a lot, hammering my laptop like that keyboard bashing cat meme. I stayed off social media, pretty much, which is radical for me as I’m addicted. So why am back on it again, gawping at the cesspit of spite that is our local community page when I still have several chapters to write? People moaning about parking and bins, posting a photo of some random person smoking in the street (‘LOOK AT THIS MAN’) and raging about anyone who has the audacity to put their flat on the market for more than £7.50 (‘YOU’RE ASKING WHAT PRICE YOU’RE HAVING A LAUGH MATE’).

Why am I so hooked on this stuff? No good can come of it. At one point I subscribed to a blocker tool to keep me off it. Then discovered I could still break into Facebook by using another entrance cunningly hidden round the back.

Other things that have lured me out of my writing den over Christmas:

Checking on my toothbrush. Who’s been using it? Why is it wet?

Looking for my glasses (967 times).

The towel situation. Where have they all gone? Have they vaporised?

Monopoly Deal. I can’t be doing with normal Monopoly. It drags on so long I start figuring out what kind of coffin I’d like. Not this, though. This is fast, with just the best bits (owning property, having your birthday, taking money off people).

The stink from the fridge. What is it? I know what it is - it’s a stink - but what is being emitted from? (Does that even make sense? I’m writing so much I can’t figure out words anymore. From whither it cometh?). We have one of those huge double-door fridges, like a wardrobe. Jimmy wanted one - ‘We need a fridge like a wardrobe’ was what he actually said, and I fought against it because I cling onto ancient appliances that trundle on gas. I have to admit it, I love it. When it doesn’t stink.

More things in the food cupboard. i.e., why five jars of tahini? I must have had a plan for them once.

Drink. I had an ‘incident’ involving tequila which as you’re aware is highly recommended for ladies in possession of an over-60s bus pass. I blame the person who made it into delicious margaritas potent enough to power a missile into space. Why do I think I am made of steel and can guzzle such tipples like a 20 year-old?

Me being blurry at our Boxing Day bash

The stink from the food recycling bin. Curious as it seems to be entirely stuffed with mangled limes.

Oh and over Christmas the weird bump just below my elbow grew bigger. I’m not worried - I’ve had it for years, as long as the custard powder, and the doctor didn’t seem concerned when I made her examine it. She looked bored actually, as if being forced to watch a re-run of an episode of Tipping Point.

It has grown, though, which is interesting. Is it the human equivalent of a camel’s hump? If so, what’s in it? Tequila?

So that was my Christmas - the one where I failed to peel a single carrot and talked a lot about smells and guzzled too many cocktails and it was brilliant.

But the Wet Toothbrush Mystery remains unsolved.

Love,

Fiona xx

PS If you’d like a last blast of the festives my newest novel, ‘Tis the Damn Season, is still a tiny 99p, and you can order it here!