The One About a Home Made Christmas

It's nearly Christmas, in case you had failed to notice. Although you could be forgiven for not realising it if the lack of Christmas cheer in my local Asda is anything to go by. Apart from Slade blasting out and the odd cashier (and I do mean odd cashier) with flashing Christmas tree earrings and a tinsel halo, there seems to be a distinct lack of Christmas buzz.

Not to be deterred we have been doing our best to build the excitement throughout December. And in fact I am going to write this blog whilst listening to Christmas tunes and I may even pour myself a snifter of Christmas sherry to warm my cockles and to really get into the festive mood.

Cheers!!

Sun is 4 now and is getting very excited about Santa's impending arrival and I'm guessing that like most children he has become the Devil incarnate whilst he waits for Christmas Eve. The build up to the actual day seems to have taken years for one so small and quite frankly he is fed-up having to be good just to ensure that he doesn't get relegated to the naughty list.
It doesn't help that we have fireplaces in most rooms in our house so there are few places he can go where he can't be overheard by Santa or one of his elves. Add to that that Mummy has a hot-line in to the North Pole, aka Grandad, and the poor boy has no escape.
In an effort to keep him on the straight and narrow, Sun has received an email as well as a letter from the main man himself plus he has visited him in his less than convincing grotty hole at the local garden centre. I think Dave and I may be in serious danger of inflicting Santa overload on Sun, but it's too late now with only 3 sleeps to go. We can't stop, we are on a non-stop roller-coaster of seasonal hype which will only end at 4am on Christmas morning when Sun, in an absolute frenzy, the making of which is all ours, tears into our room before tearing into his presents. (Note to self- keep back some of the sherry- likely to need it at about 9.30 am Christmas morning to keep myself going!)

But it will be worth it to see his little face when he see's Santa's magic footprints leading to the pile of parcels and sees the thank you letter attached to the chimney breast, just above the empty plate and glass where once F.C's mince pie and sherry lay. (Another note to self- might need more sherry!)

Ah, Christmas seems made for children, doesn't it? Unless you have a Dad like mine, who would ring a bell outside my bedroom door if I wasn't up by 6am on Christmas morning. "He's been, he's been!!" he would shout. "Dad I'm 17 and hungover!" I would reply.

Hang on, I'm having a flash back!!!.....Was anybody else subjected to bread and dripping on Christmas Eve? Were times ever that hard??

Talking of which and fittingly considering the current financial crisis, one of my favourite Christmas's occurred in the 80's at a time when my sister, Emmy-lou, aka, psycho bitch from hell, which seems a bit harsh unless you know her (but said with total affection), was the only member of our family in paid employment; the rest of us had been made redundant. As you can imagine Christmas had to be a slimmed down version that year and so a crisis meeting was called to decide how we could bring good cheer whilst spending little money. Dad and uncle would brew their own beer, all cakes, mince pies, sausage rolls, sweets etc would be home made, and Emmy-Lou and I would make our own crackers and Christmas hats.

So with crepe paper, toilet rolls inner tubes and glue sticks in hand we set to crafting our way through 13 or so Christmas crackers and hats. It was the most fun I had had in a long time and how Sis and I laughed when we typed up all of Dad's corniest jokes to put inside the crackers; jokes we had heard year after year and although they were terrible, we held them with great affection and still do mainly because they make Dad laugh so much!- One liners such as "My wife's an angel- always up in the air harping about something. My wife wanted an animal skin coat for Christmas, so I bought her a donkey jacket. I have a photographic memory that was never developed. I have 3 children-one of each!!" And so they went.

Christmas lunch arrived and 13 of us squeezed around a table made for 8. The crackers and hats looked great at Christmas lunch. The crackers pulled well although we did have to shout "BANG" every time one was pulled because we had forgotten to put the snap in. The hats were very festive and actually looked much better than the flimsy paper crowns that you usually have to wear.

The fun started however, when the jokes were read out. With each new joke Dad laughed louder and louder and with each new joke the rest of the family joined in the punchline until 8 jokes in when Dad, who was by now holding his splitting sides, suddenly stopped laughing and said, "Hey, they're all MY jokes!!"
Needless to say Dad's sudden realisation was funnier than all the jokes put together and the rest of the family burst into laughter. We laughed so much, probably helped along by the home-brew, that the combined body temperatures around the snug table started to rise and one by one the dye from our paper hats started to run down our foreheads and there we sat for the rest of the meal with green and red staining on our faces. Very festive!!

Emmy-Lou said that the colour in the hats ran because they were crepe, but I thought they were alright!! ;0)

Anyway, for now, whatever your current financial situation, I wish you and your families a Very Merry Christmas and a Peaceful New Year.

One more sherry then, just for the road!! Hic!!

The One Where Dave Learns to Fly

I have awoken this morning to frost. Not the journalist but to that lovely white layer of frozen dew that looks so picturesque from the bedroom window but is actually an absolute pain when it comes to defrosting the car for the school run. It signals the start of winter for me and despite the weather warnings I never quite believe it is going to happen until it does and then I realise that I have never replaced the empty bottle of de-icer that I finished back in February and somehow the scraper that has lived in the car boot all summer has now miraculously disappeared, probably stolen by the scraper fairy who has been egged on by his buddies the sock elf and glove goblin.

So gloveless, this morning, I pulled a debit card from my pocket and with freezing finger tips scrapped each window just enough for the police to be satisfied that I had a clear view. Sun as usual was very helpful and drew, with his finger nail, pictures of his family all over the car in a sort of miniature Rolf Harris way.

“Have you guessed what it is yet, Mummy?”

“I think so Sun. But what is that hair doing between Mummy’s legs?”

“It’s NOT hair; it’s your shoe laces!”

Oh well that’s alright then! Although I’m still not 100% happy having to drive to school with a picture of me looking like I have unruly pubic hair. But then I love my son and don’t want to quash his artistic sensitivities, do I?

I have found, since being a parent, that it is helpful to check things out with your child before jumping to a conclusion. I have heard of parents going to great lengths to explain what sex meant to a small child and then once the child was well and truly confused asked “why did you ask, Jamie?” “Cos my friend has gone home for lunch and said he would be back in two secs!” Or the time a parent, with notepad and pencil in hand explained in some detail to her little girl what a penis was, only to find out later that the penis was actually a pianist and that the school concert was going to be cancelled because the poor chap was unwell!!

Check it out Parents. Check it out!!

Anyway, getting back on track, this morning’s frost has bought memories of skiing holidays in France to the front of my mind and today I thought I would share with you one such story.

Many of you will know my wife Dave and will know how very confident she is and how she likes to grab life with both hands. Intrepid or stupid I’m not sure what it is but it makes for fun as we travel this path together.

Our first skiing trip was no different. Whilst I was having palpitations in a skiing lesson, snowploughing at a snail’s pace down a slight incline at the entrance to a car park, Dave was itching to throw herself in gay abandon down the side of the nearest mountain.

I was very apprehensive about this at first but after a few glasses of French plonk at lunchtime and having 2 experienced skiers with us who promised to hold my hand, we took the cable car up to the top of a mountain and slowly worked our way back down.
In most part it was a gentle run with lovely tree lined avenues for us to ski along. It had been a warm day with lovely blue skies and the snow was soft and slow to ski on which suited both of us just fine.
Our experienced skiers were great; they knew the run well and anticipated the route with us novice skiers in mind. It was simple- all we had to do was follow their instruction.
The final piece of the run was a long narrow gentle decline. We parallel skied gently down it but for those more experienced the fun was in aiming their skis straight down and seeing how much speed they could pick up before reaching the hillock close to the bottom which would slow their descent onto an area where 3 runs merged.
Although slowly done, it was thrilling and up we went again to complete the circuit for a second time before heading back to the hotel for a bit of the old après ski.

The following morning, elated with her confident performance on the slopes the previous afternoon, Dave arranged with our experienced skiers, to go back to the same run after breakfast and give it one more go before trying something a little more challenging.

Now funny this, but the days previous soft snow had frozen over night and the slopes were far more slippery than they had been. It had taken a little more effort to get down the run on this morning and I was lagging someway behind Dave. I thought however she would stop at the final descent and wait for me to catch up, but with wind in her hair, rucksack on her back and poles in hand she pushed herself over the edge and she was gone.

I trundled after her and could see ahead of me in the distance, Dave hurtling straight down the hill. No parallel turns, just straight down, speed building as she was going. I could just hear her experienced skier shouting after her as she herself tried to catch up, but Dave was seriously going for it!

I was unaware at the time that Dave had no intention of going THAT fast. She had got herself stuck in some previous skiers deep frozen tracks and couldn’t turn her skis to slow herself down.

With her rucksack flapping in the wind and her knees absorbing shock after shock as she hit icy mound after icy mound, Dave knew the only thing to do was to remain standing and wait until she arrived at the hillock where the sudden ascent would slow her down. But it didn’t. Dave was going so fast that she hit the hillock and like a rocket launched off of the top flying through the air and landing, on her feet, some metres away where she finally came to a stop.

About 10 minutes later I arrived at the hillock and reaching the top could see Dave still crouched holding her knees and shaking like a leaf. Her experienced skier was absolutely no help as she doubled over crying with laughter.

Poor Dave! Skiing has never been the same since. In fact I think it is true to say that she lost her appetite for skiing on that day.

So what is it, intrepid or stupid? You choose.