A christmas story (last part)
All eyes are on the christmas tree, on the boxes underneath it - all eyes that is except those of Dad and Grandad. Their eyes are too red and bleary to look at anything! It is just midnight turned, by some miracle all the kids have been found in their hideaways, brought out, re-combed, re-washed, and downstairs they must go - everyone is waiting for you - even Grandma, who by some form of automatic alarm,developed over the years, is present, alert and waiting for some kind of movement. Mum has her kitchen work finally in her grasp (a bit of scraping on the burnt goose skin which will in any case be taken off - it's not good for you, dear). Dad knows that very shortly his first trial will be upon him - open the oysters without breaking the shell into the juice and flesh, all the time with the extremely critical eyes of Grandad and Grandma upon him. For the moment, all is well, everyone is there- everyone has been served their 1st (!) apero - Dad got the champagne open without too much fuss (as the already turning blue eye of his youngest protege testifies)and Grandad (as usual) got his glasses mixed up, and is now supping, in silence, his mixture of Pastis and champagne. Happens every year, and nobody has yet found a name for this cocktail!
AAAAAAAATTTTTTTAAAAAAACCCCCCCKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!
The order has come from Mum - get those presents open, children!
Personally, I have never figured out why the presents are not opened AFTER eating-but there we are, it's Christmas! Now, as usual, we will all have the pleasures of trying to avoid remote contolled racing cars colliding with our wine glasses, or worse trying to get something to eat into our mouths without being physically attacked by some kind of new fangled toy that flies,dives, swims(try it in your soup, grandad?) talks, it even eats! If that damned thing approaches anything on my plate, my little nephew, it will be the last you see of it.
The problem of gift paper, sellotape, ribbons, tinsely bands and all the rest of the necessities make it quite difficult to discover where your plate has gone anyway, so one just grabs anything that passes.
Dad has just carved what needed carving, and put the best bit to one side for himself! Covered with gift paper etc, he is now scratching head, backside and everything else, whilst searching for his plate with the choice morcel. Grandad knows all of these tricks, having practiced them himself for many years, and he appears to have a decidedly contented look upon his face as he consumes, rapidly, what is on his plate. Never mind, due to a lack of teeth and denture, he probably needs the tender morcels more than anyone else. Everything seems to be going off quite nicely, when the door to the cold outside is suddenly smashed open, and the oldest son and heir makes his entrance. Smashed out of his mind (having spent all day with his girl/boy friends celebrating in their rebel way Christmas)he has now made it home, on foot (because the motorbike now finds itself in the drainway at the side of the field, covered in mud and other indefinable things- just like it's owner)to find out what presents await him. After all - rebel or not, it is Christmas.
First present is the advice from all to bu---r off upstairs and take a shower and a change. His reply is "but - it's Christmas, Mum".
On the whole, the evening/morning passes of calmly - for a Christmas. Just a couple of candles knocked over, immediately drowned out by the mixture of liquids coming from the glasses knocked over in the eagerness to avoid a house fire (we had that last year). A couple of new toys which have already bitten the dust, they didn't work, and Dad said "we'll change them tomorrow or the day after "( what he meant,was that he would buy the batteries necessary, tomorrow or the day after).Unfortunately child concerned got a fit of pique and threw it, full strength, against the wall. Dad is currently trying to figure out whether his bankcard guarantee will cover the damage- unfortunate child has been sent to bed, and is now being comforted by Mum, who has fallen out with Dad, who has started screaming and shouting at son&heir, who has just been sick in a corner - Grandma has fallen asleep, and Grandad is searching for the bottles that still have something in them that is drinkable - he is almost at the point of wringing out the tablecloth.
There we are, it is 5.30am, Baby is just on the point of waking up (at the normal time, for babies) the dishwasher has packed up,
everything has to be cleaned, arranged, set up, to start all over again at 12 noon exact - hour of arrival of Great-aunts, nieces, nephews, friends and all other unwanted who have lived their own horror this very evening/morning and have no intention of re-starting at 12 noon in their own home. My god, how do we get this vomit off the centrepiece of the table in time for lunch?
But then:
IT's CHRISTMAS!!
AAAAAAAATTTTTTTAAAAAAACCCCCCCKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!
The order has come from Mum - get those presents open, children!
Personally, I have never figured out why the presents are not opened AFTER eating-but there we are, it's Christmas! Now, as usual, we will all have the pleasures of trying to avoid remote contolled racing cars colliding with our wine glasses, or worse trying to get something to eat into our mouths without being physically attacked by some kind of new fangled toy that flies,dives, swims(try it in your soup, grandad?) talks, it even eats! If that damned thing approaches anything on my plate, my little nephew, it will be the last you see of it.
The problem of gift paper, sellotape, ribbons, tinsely bands and all the rest of the necessities make it quite difficult to discover where your plate has gone anyway, so one just grabs anything that passes.
Dad has just carved what needed carving, and put the best bit to one side for himself! Covered with gift paper etc, he is now scratching head, backside and everything else, whilst searching for his plate with the choice morcel. Grandad knows all of these tricks, having practiced them himself for many years, and he appears to have a decidedly contented look upon his face as he consumes, rapidly, what is on his plate. Never mind, due to a lack of teeth and denture, he probably needs the tender morcels more than anyone else. Everything seems to be going off quite nicely, when the door to the cold outside is suddenly smashed open, and the oldest son and heir makes his entrance. Smashed out of his mind (having spent all day with his girl/boy friends celebrating in their rebel way Christmas)he has now made it home, on foot (because the motorbike now finds itself in the drainway at the side of the field, covered in mud and other indefinable things- just like it's owner)to find out what presents await him. After all - rebel or not, it is Christmas.
First present is the advice from all to bu---r off upstairs and take a shower and a change. His reply is "but - it's Christmas, Mum".
On the whole, the evening/morning passes of calmly - for a Christmas. Just a couple of candles knocked over, immediately drowned out by the mixture of liquids coming from the glasses knocked over in the eagerness to avoid a house fire (we had that last year). A couple of new toys which have already bitten the dust, they didn't work, and Dad said "we'll change them tomorrow or the day after "( what he meant,was that he would buy the batteries necessary, tomorrow or the day after).Unfortunately child concerned got a fit of pique and threw it, full strength, against the wall. Dad is currently trying to figure out whether his bankcard guarantee will cover the damage- unfortunate child has been sent to bed, and is now being comforted by Mum, who has fallen out with Dad, who has started screaming and shouting at son&heir, who has just been sick in a corner - Grandma has fallen asleep, and Grandad is searching for the bottles that still have something in them that is drinkable - he is almost at the point of wringing out the tablecloth.
There we are, it is 5.30am, Baby is just on the point of waking up (at the normal time, for babies) the dishwasher has packed up,
everything has to be cleaned, arranged, set up, to start all over again at 12 noon exact - hour of arrival of Great-aunts, nieces, nephews, friends and all other unwanted who have lived their own horror this very evening/morning and have no intention of re-starting at 12 noon in their own home. My god, how do we get this vomit off the centrepiece of the table in time for lunch?
But then:
IT's CHRISTMAS!!
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