Yule Blog - The 'Festivities'

Christmas Day

Reluctantly I packed up the car, said goodbye to the cat and headed off to my mother’s in Broadstairs. As I settled into the driver’s seat I noticed that someone (no doubt one of the scores of grocery delivery vans that had squeezed down the road in the last few days) had knocked off the passenger door mirror. Merry bloody Christmas.

The journey down was quick, quiet and not unpleasant. Two things I saw amused me; first was a sign at a farm shop offering ‘sprout storks’, the other was a street sign for a road called Poorhole Lane on which someone had rubbed out the ‘r’. It made me laugh anyway.

When I got to my mum’s she asked me how the roads were, I told her they were long, straight and covered in tarmac. She offered me a cup of coffee which entailed asking the same two questions she always asks ‘how much coffee – flat or heaped spoon?’ and ‘One sweetener or two?’ I’ve been taking my coffee the same way for the last 40 odd years yet still she asks, so sometimes I like to throw her a curve ball and ask for milk.

We exchanged gifts. My mum adored the Harrod’s teddy bear, resplendent in his knitted jumper. She clasped him to her with such delight you’d have thought I’d presented her with another grandson. The tapestry cushion featuring a golden retriever came as a bit of an anticlimax, I should have given her that first.

Predictably her gifts to me were less well received, although I think I did a pretty good job of expressing delight. First up was a set of make up brushes. She buys me a set every year but they are always the cheaply made kind that are guaranteed to graze eyelids. This set was no different. Second up was an office diary; however this contained some £10 notes within its leaves so all was not lost. My only remaining present to open was from my ex-mother in law (Harvey’s other Nan). More disappointment in the shape of a shawl – a black, lacy, fringed one that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a gypsy fortune teller. I guess it might come in handy if I ever take up Flamenco lessons again.

Lunch followed. I saved the turkey for Boxing Day when Harvey and Marjorie (the other Nan) were joining us, so we had salmon en croute followed by lemon mousse which we ate off of trays on our laps. Despite this light lunch we both spent the afternoon asleep in our chairs – my mother due to her advancing years and me from sheer torpor.

We were woken by the doorbell. It was a drunk and boisterous Harvey with Marjorie in tow. Within the hour Harvey had managed to escape to a friend’s, leaving me with the two Nans and three hours of back to back soaps to endure.

My mother watches all the soaps regularly but still claimed not to know who was who or what was going on. Between Marjorie and me we tried to explain but my knowledge of the Archie/Janine/Mitchell family saga is quite scant and Marjorie’s descriptions are confusing to say the least, so despite our best efforts Mum was none the wiser.

I’ll give you an example of Marjorie’s mixed-up vocabulary. At one point we were talking about gas and electricity prices when she said that her last gas bill was ‘frantic’. Then, when explaining the lack of furniture in the Bradley’s house in Eastenders, she told my mum that they’d had the ‘baileys’ in. No wonder my poor mother was bewildered.

Marjorie finally left about 11pm and I was able to retire for the night. Another Christmas Day over, thank the Lord.

Boxing Day

Having been cooped up with my mother for 24 hours I was desperate to escape. After a quick bath which I had to share with her electric bath chair (no shower at my mum’s), I put the turkey in the oven on a low light and took off in the car for the short drive to Ramsgate town centre. The town is in decline, it’s not a particularly prosperous area and with a relatively new out of town shopping centre there’s more empty properties than there are thriving stores. Those that do survive are at the bottom end of the high street retailers – Poundland, 99p Store, Peacocks, Wilkinsons etc and of course charity shops.

I didn’t particularly want to go to the shops, I’m actually quite against Boxing Day trading, but it was a cold, wet day and a cliff top walk was out of the question, so I found myself wandering aimlessly around WH Smiths and Boots. As I walked past MacDonalds I was amazed to see that it was doing a roaring trade with queues at the counter. Surely at Christmas of all times people could give that crap a rest? Apparently not.

After an hour or so I went beck to my mum’s. She’d done a good job of disguising the white plastic outdoor table she uses for sit down meals with a jaunty Christmas themed tablecloth (which she’s used every year since I can remember), champagne glasses, napkins and a table centre with candles. Harvey and Marjorie turned up, we broke open the Cava and the festivities began.

After dinner which, if I say so myself, was a triumph, we were slumped in front of the television (i.e. being festive) when the doorbell rang. It was Harvey’s cousin Deborah and her partner Dermott O’Leary (yes, him off the X Factor) - they always make a point of visiting my mum when they are in the area. It is quite surreal to have someone famous off of the tv sitting in your mum’s front room amidst the chintz and antimacassars. We’re used to it now though and he is just a normal bloke like everyone else when he isn’t working, it’s not like he bursts into the room with his arms flung open shouting ‘Hello everyone!’ he’s actually quite quiet.

They stayed for about an hour and left my mum with a present which she opened after they’d gone. It was a CD. Mum looked at the front cover and said ‘It’s Crazy Michael Bubbles. I don’t know that one.’ It was actually Michael Buble’s Crazy Love CD which Dermot must have got him to sign when he was on the X Factor, with the inscription ‘To Thelma, Love Ya! Michaeal x.’ A very sweet thought but completely wasted on my mum who’s still waiting for Glen Miller to turn up and thinks of Paul McCartney as a young pretender. I shall ‘borrow’ it next time I go to see her.