Chronologically disadvantaged
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After a short break where I left Keith in charge and nipped up to watch the last episode of "The Office" with Lucy, I bring you... Part the Fourth: Mince pies and mulled wine The house was rammed with people. My parents have a tendency to invite half the village to their Christmas morning shindig. Not because they like most of the people they invite, but because they enjoy being the centre of attention. I swear I'm adopted. My father whisked Jasper off into the conservatory to talk about buying low and selling high and other arcane financial matters, pointedly excluding Lucy and I. Not that it mattered, as my mother descended on us like a ship in full sail. I was enveloped in a smothering hug of chiffon and Aromatics Elixir. Mother: Darling! So glad you made it down! And this must be Lucy! I'm soooo pleased to meet you! Inner Voice: Is she drunk? Me: Mum, have you been at the sherry? Mother: Nonsense... (A blast of boozy breath). Mother: ...I've just had a teensy little glass of mulled wine. Mince pie? Lucy and I were provided with a mince pie each, so heavily dusted with sugar that my teeth hurt, and a steaming glass of mulled wine. It was rather potent - I think my father had rather overdone it on the brandy. Then the mingling began. There were five families present - Christine and Kenneth Clancy (naturally - my mother would never miss an opportunity for a spot of one-upmanship), Brian and Rowena Neale (the latter heavily preggers-plays-pop) and their three kids, Jim and Karen Frimston and their teenage son Ben (who spent all his time blatantly ogling Lucy's tits), Frank and Anne Davey (who are in the middle of splitting up and weren't talking to each other) and John and Anne McIlroy and their overweight sixteen-year-old daughter Chloe (who spent all her time staring dewy-eyed at Jasper). It was hell in a detached house. I got separated from Lucy, and ended up fielding the usual questions. Yes, I'm much better now. Yes, it's marvellous what therapy can achieve nowadays. No, I've not gone back into that line of work. Yes, I'm still at the off-licence, though actually it's a wine merchants. No, I'm not intending to get on the property ladder. Oh, the horror. I felt like sticking my head in my parents' "Real Flame" gas fire. Lucy, on the other hand, seemed to be having a whale of a time. I heard her tell Rowena Neale's youngest that Father Christmas doesn't exist. Traumatizing young children must be a hobby of hers. And she kept surreptitiously giving Ben Frimston mulled wine until he was sick on the carpet in the downstairs bathroom and had to be taken home. Eventually, everybody left. Unbeknownst to the rest of the family, my mother had gone round finishing off the drinks that people had left. Now, my mother doesn't drink that often. Just the occasional sherry, or a glass of champagne if it's a special occasion. So when the time came for her to do the Christmas dinner, she was absolutely sloshed. She couldn't focus to peel the parsnips. We had to put her to bed - my father pulling her up the stairs, Jasper and I pushing her from behind (she's rather a large lady, my mother). This meant that we - the male Blands, plus Lucy - had to make the dinner. Now, my father doesn't cook. He's never even boiled an egg. So he excused himself on the basis that he'd gone this long without cooking and wasn't going to start now, and went to the Blue Cap for his usual pre-lunch drink. Jasper went too, on the basis that "cooking's not really my thing, you know?". Wanker. So Lucy and I made Christmas lunch. And do you know something? It was fun. My mother was snoring away upstairs; my father and Jasper were talking turkey in the pub. Nobody to distract us. Nobody to make judgements. Just me and my laydee. And Christ but we had a laugh. I don't think I've had a laugh on Christmas Day since the days when I was a kid and still found Disney cartoons funny. Okay, so it wasn't the best Christmas dinner ever - the turkey fell apart, the gravy was lumpy and you really don't want to know about the Christmas pudding - but to me it tasted great. And my mother seemed to approve, as she giggled her way through the meal, occasionally slurring "Itsh lovely, this - ever so tasty, tee-hee-hee" while my father looked daggers at her and Jasper talked about himself. After the meal, Lucy and I wandered down to the Blue Cap, leaving Jasper and my father to clear up and try to get my (by now utterly legless) mother back into bed. We sat in the corner furthest from the jukebox and sank a few pints and chatted and laughed and it all felt very festive. Inner Voice: Who would have thought it? You're actually having a good time. Me: Shhh. You might jinx it. We rolled back to the house after the pub landlady had politely booted us out into the night. Time for bed. I was in my old room (single bed; still full of old Airfix models and A-Team annuals gathering dust); Lucy was on a camp bed in the study. My parents frown on sex before marriage. Even when I was engaged to Nell, she would be confined to the study between the hours of midnight and seven. And they liked Nell. The house fell silent, apart from the rasp of my mother's snoring. Then my door creaked open, and Lucy crept into my room and slipped under my duvet. Lucy: Have you ever had sex in this bed? Me: Other than with myself? No. Lucy: Well, there's a first time for everything. Inner Voice: Result! Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.
Now bring us some figgy pudding
28.12.03 00:12
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(28.12.03 00:47) 1) Lucy rules, OK! 2) Well done on crimble dinner! 3) Merry Christmas! Or what's left of it... Enjoyed the crimble tales... ta! x |
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(28.12.03 01:54) "If you want to keep alive in the jungle, you must live as the jungle does..." ( being the last line in `The Midwich Cuckoos.` But you knew that, didn`t you?) Most excellent blog. Miranda xxx |
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(28.12.03 21:19) Very entertaining mate. Good stuff! |
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(30.12.03 11:25) You should marry that girl .... |
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(30.12.03 14:48) Lovin' the Lucy xxx |
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(2.1.04 22:24) I love Lucy (that has a famous ring about it, doesn't it?) and I think this blog is wonderful. Happy New Year, Late. |
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(8.1.04 17:50) Can you clone me a Lucy? |