scenes from a swann family christmas
I. Xmas Eve.
Mum and I are busy preparing snacks for our annual xmas eve party. Things that people will eat, like smoked salmon, a cheese board, crisps, mince pies. Dad is frying up some camel meat he brought from god-knows-where. Unsuspecting guests will be told it is beef.
"What that smoked salmon really needs" - says the Man With a Culinary Plan, aka dad, cheerfully throwing a load of capers over it - "is raw onion".
Mum: "raw onion?! Well you can cut it, then."
Dad: "Liz, cut some onion up."
Me: "No". My dad grabs a knife.
I am opening the door to various scented, sequined and christmas-spirited people. My dad has invited Mate-Down-The-Pub and his middle eastern girlfriend.
"Our big daughter!" He says jovially, by way of introduction (dad that is, not Mate-Down-The-Pub. Mum doesn't like Mate-Down-The-Pub).
"BIG DAUGHTER, OLDEST" to middle-eastern wife. "She goes to Oxford. OXFORD, BIG, GOOD UNIVERSITY". Middle eastern wife corners me. She is very pretty and articulate and wants to do an E&M degree. Mate-Down-The-Pub chuckles, fondly. Later, she joins my mother and I on our annual trip to church, where the vicar has handed over the Christingle service to some random graduates who feel that the story of Christ's birth and is best illustrated by the use of muppet puppets and a whiteboard. I get a cocktail stick embedded in my fingernail whilst attempting to prise the dolly mixtures off the orange.
Later I drink lots of Cava and eat lots of smoked salmon. Make polite conversation with middle aged men and women. Drink some port, just because it's there. Collapse in bed at one a.m., texting All and Sundry to wish All and Sundry a 'merry xmas!!!!!'.
II. Xmas day.
Awake at ungodly hour. Stare woozily at wibbly ceiling. Consume three Rennies. They stop heartburn fast, apparently. Grope presents at foot of bed for a bit. Check phone. Sundry but not All wish me a merry xmas, too.
Awake again at marginally less ungodly hour. Sister has crawled into bed and is poking my right shoulder with a ferocious determination. Say,
"Nyuuurgh".
"Get uuuuup! It's Christmaaaas!"
Mum walks into room.
"COR blimey, it doesn't half stink of raw onions in here."
Am surrounded by wrapping paper and presents, which include jewelry, a pink cake stand, raspberry infused balsamic vinegar and a bottle of bacardi. My mother opens her presents from my dad. They include a vibrating massager. Dad gives mum a demonstration. Mum's expression fluctuates between a glazed ecstasy and Munch's 'The Scream'.
"OOOh Greg, you can feel it really deeply" says she. "It's lovely". Sister and I can no longer contain our hilarity and collapse into snortatious giggles. Mother looks bemused. Father chuckles.
"I think they're being RUDE, Louise."
Grandad farts and looks on with an absent benevolence. Later experimentation proves vibrating massager to be particularly effective at relaxing tired feet, scaring the cat, and waking up grandad.
Turkey has been eaten, much. We slump in front of the Vicar of Dibley, snoring, scoffing chocolate and guzzling champagne, as is our wont. Dad tells long involved story about how Mate-Down-The-Pub was once in an episode. Paper hats are crooked, stomachs distended. Grandad chuckles indulgently at Dawn French. Dawn French pulls someone fit. We all express sympathy for fit man. Elder family members retire to bed, while sister and I sit up until it is no longer christmas day watching 'Good Will Hunting'.
Ahhh, I love christmas.
Mum and I are busy preparing snacks for our annual xmas eve party. Things that people will eat, like smoked salmon, a cheese board, crisps, mince pies. Dad is frying up some camel meat he brought from god-knows-where. Unsuspecting guests will be told it is beef.
"What that smoked salmon really needs" - says the Man With a Culinary Plan, aka dad, cheerfully throwing a load of capers over it - "is raw onion".
Mum: "raw onion?! Well you can cut it, then."
Dad: "Liz, cut some onion up."
Me: "No". My dad grabs a knife.
I am opening the door to various scented, sequined and christmas-spirited people. My dad has invited Mate-Down-The-Pub and his middle eastern girlfriend.
"Our big daughter!" He says jovially, by way of introduction (dad that is, not Mate-Down-The-Pub. Mum doesn't like Mate-Down-The-Pub).
"BIG DAUGHTER, OLDEST" to middle-eastern wife. "She goes to Oxford. OXFORD, BIG, GOOD UNIVERSITY". Middle eastern wife corners me. She is very pretty and articulate and wants to do an E&M degree. Mate-Down-The-Pub chuckles, fondly. Later, she joins my mother and I on our annual trip to church, where the vicar has handed over the Christingle service to some random graduates who feel that the story of Christ's birth and is best illustrated by the use of muppet puppets and a whiteboard. I get a cocktail stick embedded in my fingernail whilst attempting to prise the dolly mixtures off the orange.
Later I drink lots of Cava and eat lots of smoked salmon. Make polite conversation with middle aged men and women. Drink some port, just because it's there. Collapse in bed at one a.m., texting All and Sundry to wish All and Sundry a 'merry xmas!!!!!'.
II. Xmas day.
Awake at ungodly hour. Stare woozily at wibbly ceiling. Consume three Rennies. They stop heartburn fast, apparently. Grope presents at foot of bed for a bit. Check phone. Sundry but not All wish me a merry xmas, too.
Awake again at marginally less ungodly hour. Sister has crawled into bed and is poking my right shoulder with a ferocious determination. Say,
"Nyuuurgh".
"Get uuuuup! It's Christmaaaas!"
Mum walks into room.
"COR blimey, it doesn't half stink of raw onions in here."
Am surrounded by wrapping paper and presents, which include jewelry, a pink cake stand, raspberry infused balsamic vinegar and a bottle of bacardi. My mother opens her presents from my dad. They include a vibrating massager. Dad gives mum a demonstration. Mum's expression fluctuates between a glazed ecstasy and Munch's 'The Scream'.
"OOOh Greg, you can feel it really deeply" says she. "It's lovely". Sister and I can no longer contain our hilarity and collapse into snortatious giggles. Mother looks bemused. Father chuckles.
"I think they're being RUDE, Louise."
Grandad farts and looks on with an absent benevolence. Later experimentation proves vibrating massager to be particularly effective at relaxing tired feet, scaring the cat, and waking up grandad.
Turkey has been eaten, much. We slump in front of the Vicar of Dibley, snoring, scoffing chocolate and guzzling champagne, as is our wont. Dad tells long involved story about how Mate-Down-The-Pub was once in an episode. Paper hats are crooked, stomachs distended. Grandad chuckles indulgently at Dawn French. Dawn French pulls someone fit. We all express sympathy for fit man. Elder family members retire to bed, while sister and I sit up until it is no longer christmas day watching 'Good Will Hunting'.
Ahhh, I love christmas.