My favourite thing about the holidays apart from celebrating the birth of Jesus our risen lord is Grasshopper mum’s Christmas pudding. Although the number of people at lunch varies each year the size of the pudding remains constant meaning that the portion available for me is inversely proportional to the number at lunch. This year the portion left over was so meagre that I took the precaution of hiding behind a barricade of Flora cartons at the back of the fridge.
Mum takes nearly a whole day to make the holy pudding. It has about one hundred ingredients and she wraps it in layers of paper and string that are folded like a concertina before it is steamed for a day then she takes all the wrapping off and puts on a fresh layer and steams it again. It is the highlight of the year and the Flora defence is necessary because one year a houseguest failed to understand that the pudding is only slightly less important than the Shroud of Turin and ate all the leftovers without sharing.
Prior to the sacred pudding comes a turkey that Fiona Simpson’s dad gets. Fiona Simpson’s tortoise is 90 and has survived an actual kidnapping. The turkey is a special one that has been fed a macrobiotic diet and sent to boarding school. It has had the best life possible for a turkey. This year after watching Jamie Oliver, dad got a bit experimental and stuck a Satsuma up it but you couldn’t taste it.
Getting back into work mode is proving to be a bit tricky this year; I keep losing concentration and wandering off to buy sweets. Next to the sweet shop there is a carwash run by 8 Polish men. The other day when I was passing I thought ‘crikey there’s Patrick Swayzee’ but it was one of the men from the Polish carwash. Today I walked past and he was sitting outside with Polish Dennis Hopper. I think that the Polish carwash is just a front for a celebrity retirement village.