muses_w_remotes | 8.16. Wallace & Gromit quote
16. "I have a hunch this is going to be a night to remember!"
| Wallace & Gromit in The Curse of the Were-Rabbit
Set Christmas Day
[Companion piece to THIS and THIS]
There was no way that Christmas at the Campbell house was ever going to go off without some new memories made. No one had believed everyone could be jam-packed into Tara and Lachlan’s home. It was a modest home faithful of the salary of two doctors, but the Christmas guest list was extensive and it was true enough that not everyone would fit into the dining room for the huge and extravagant Christmas meal. Instead, a large marquee had been set up that spanned the entirety of their backyard, complete with a large Christmas tree at the back and fairy lights strung up all around the ceiling with tinsel and mistletoe to complete the atmosphere. The hired dining table spanned the length of the temporary dining room with enough places for every single person there to share the special family celebrations.
The day started almost at the crack of dawn with mountains of presents and about enough wrapping paper, boxes and bows to fill one of the spare bedrooms. Lachlan and Tara’s parents - as a joint gift for the parents to be - surprised the expectant couple with a brand new Lexus four wheel drive complete with baby capsule already strapped into the back for their first family car. There didn’t need to be any young children there for the present opening to be fun. There were enough big adult kids squished into the room to make it just as enjoyable as Christmas should be. It didn’t matter if you were five or twenty five; you could still make missiles to throw at your mates with the used wrapping paper.
The food was a non-stop production line then, with Nana Campbell and all the mothers making enough food to feed a small army. Lachlan broke out the SingStar and Guitar Hero, and everyone learnt that Christmas isn’t Christmas until the wayward Scot loses at Karaoke and sulks at least once. Inevitably, the novelty wore off and a near food fight broke out but was diluted and veered into a pillow fight instead. There was only one sprained wrist, one stubbed toe and a whack so hard to Riley’s face from an unknown perpetrator that gave him a bleeding nose. It could have been a disaster, but in a huge and proud step for male Browne Twin, Riley just backed away from the vicinity of the group, excused himself calmly and went to deal with it in the bathroom.
More food consisting of Christmas cookies, eggnog and shortbread was brought out in time for the traditional singing of Christmas carols in front of the open fire. Lachlan led the singing at the piano, a tradition in their family and one sorely missed the year before when he lay fighting for his life in a hospital bed after the shooting. Indeed, like many of the couples in the room, this was Lachlan and Tara’s first true Christmas together; Tara having seen last year’s yuletide celebrations holding a comatose Lachlan’s cold hand with a tiny tree at his ICU bedside. It was something she would never forget, but this year he was there and he was warm and laughing, never too far out of her reach and that was all that mattered.
Tara spent most of the day parked on the sofa with her feet up. The ‘nesting’ had come to a grinding halt the evening before with a drilling backache and upset stomach. Being at that uncomfortable period of her pregnancy, she still felt groggy most of Christmas day and had been the last to appear the present opening, but it hadn’t spoiled any of her fun. Her and her nearly eight month pregnant belly were just better happily sitting on her arse nursing mug after mug of hot chocolate. She had moved to sit beside Lachlan on the piano bench for the carols, though, her head resting contentedly on his shoulder the entire time. There was something about her husband in his kilt with a newly knitted Nana reindeer jumper and Santa hat with bare feet that had her unable to stop smiling. Despite the total festive dorkiness of the attire, he pulled it off with the trendy style he had… in other words, he didn’t give a flying Scottish fuck what anyone thought of how he looked. Everyone else in the room were similarly decked out in Christmas jumpers, reindeer ears, tinsel and even Mr Campbell had fairy lights strung in the pleats of his own kilt and Christmas baubles hanging off his bagpipes.
The meal was on the table around midday, with a huge turkey, every winter vegetable conceivable, gravy, trimmings, the works. Christmas crackers were going off all around the place, but not after Riley, Pat, Cameron, Lachlan, Benny, Chase, Luke and Keiran all had sword fights with theirs first that inevitable led into a string of passionate Braveheart quotes. Some Scottish and Gaelic blessings were shared to wish the group a happy and healthy Christmas and New Year to come, then the food was well and truly on the go. Tara picked at her meal with disinterest. She was tired and her back refused to stop aching, though she made sure not to allude to her husband that anything was wrong or he would make it his personal mission to stick to her like glue for the rest of the day and she wanted him to enjoy himself. He was busy throwing peas at Riley across the table anyway, so all was good.
At least, it was good right up until dessert. Everyone was happily tucking into trifle, Christmas pudding, mud cake, ice cream, custard, and cream when Tara carefully stood up and tapped her fork on the side of her water glass and cleared her throat. Her own dessert of diabetic Christmas pudding with ice cream sat untouched before her. She smiled at everyone around the huge table as they fell silent and looked expectantly up at her. “I just wanted to say a few words, and considering the situation right now, it really is going to be just a few words…” The seat beside her was empty, with her husband being ‘volunteered’ by his Mum to go and get the intricate gingerbread house from the kitchen to bring to the table. Mrs Campbell and Mrs Brennan had spent the whole previous afternoon working on it especially for Christmas dinner. It was going to be the Pièce de résistance of the whole dinner. Going to be being the operative words. “My waters just broke,” she declared.
There was a strange choking shriek sound from behind her, and all in the blink of an eye, Lachlan tripped over his own feet in shock and sent the gingerbread house flying through the air and into the wall of the marquee, taking out the whole top portion of the table with him and leaving him in a sprawled mess covered in trifle which just missed Remy’s lap by inches. The room was in a stunned silence and Tara managed to smile sweetly as her husband managed to only just right himself by making a scrambled grab for his father’s seat. “Lachie… sweetheart…” She braced a hand on her stomach. “It’s showtime,” she said calmly, right before the whole room exploded into a panicked chaos, the annihilated gingerbread house long forgotten.
All muses mentioned are referenced with permission
Word Count | 1,221
| Wallace & Gromit in The Curse of the Were-Rabbit
Set Christmas Day
[Companion piece to THIS and THIS]
There was no way that Christmas at the Campbell house was ever going to go off without some new memories made. No one had believed everyone could be jam-packed into Tara and Lachlan’s home. It was a modest home faithful of the salary of two doctors, but the Christmas guest list was extensive and it was true enough that not everyone would fit into the dining room for the huge and extravagant Christmas meal. Instead, a large marquee had been set up that spanned the entirety of their backyard, complete with a large Christmas tree at the back and fairy lights strung up all around the ceiling with tinsel and mistletoe to complete the atmosphere. The hired dining table spanned the length of the temporary dining room with enough places for every single person there to share the special family celebrations.
The day started almost at the crack of dawn with mountains of presents and about enough wrapping paper, boxes and bows to fill one of the spare bedrooms. Lachlan and Tara’s parents - as a joint gift for the parents to be - surprised the expectant couple with a brand new Lexus four wheel drive complete with baby capsule already strapped into the back for their first family car. There didn’t need to be any young children there for the present opening to be fun. There were enough big adult kids squished into the room to make it just as enjoyable as Christmas should be. It didn’t matter if you were five or twenty five; you could still make missiles to throw at your mates with the used wrapping paper.
The food was a non-stop production line then, with Nana Campbell and all the mothers making enough food to feed a small army. Lachlan broke out the SingStar and Guitar Hero, and everyone learnt that Christmas isn’t Christmas until the wayward Scot loses at Karaoke and sulks at least once. Inevitably, the novelty wore off and a near food fight broke out but was diluted and veered into a pillow fight instead. There was only one sprained wrist, one stubbed toe and a whack so hard to Riley’s face from an unknown perpetrator that gave him a bleeding nose. It could have been a disaster, but in a huge and proud step for male Browne Twin, Riley just backed away from the vicinity of the group, excused himself calmly and went to deal with it in the bathroom.
More food consisting of Christmas cookies, eggnog and shortbread was brought out in time for the traditional singing of Christmas carols in front of the open fire. Lachlan led the singing at the piano, a tradition in their family and one sorely missed the year before when he lay fighting for his life in a hospital bed after the shooting. Indeed, like many of the couples in the room, this was Lachlan and Tara’s first true Christmas together; Tara having seen last year’s yuletide celebrations holding a comatose Lachlan’s cold hand with a tiny tree at his ICU bedside. It was something she would never forget, but this year he was there and he was warm and laughing, never too far out of her reach and that was all that mattered.
Tara spent most of the day parked on the sofa with her feet up. The ‘nesting’ had come to a grinding halt the evening before with a drilling backache and upset stomach. Being at that uncomfortable period of her pregnancy, she still felt groggy most of Christmas day and had been the last to appear the present opening, but it hadn’t spoiled any of her fun. Her and her nearly eight month pregnant belly were just better happily sitting on her arse nursing mug after mug of hot chocolate. She had moved to sit beside Lachlan on the piano bench for the carols, though, her head resting contentedly on his shoulder the entire time. There was something about her husband in his kilt with a newly knitted Nana reindeer jumper and Santa hat with bare feet that had her unable to stop smiling. Despite the total festive dorkiness of the attire, he pulled it off with the trendy style he had… in other words, he didn’t give a flying Scottish fuck what anyone thought of how he looked. Everyone else in the room were similarly decked out in Christmas jumpers, reindeer ears, tinsel and even Mr Campbell had fairy lights strung in the pleats of his own kilt and Christmas baubles hanging off his bagpipes.
The meal was on the table around midday, with a huge turkey, every winter vegetable conceivable, gravy, trimmings, the works. Christmas crackers were going off all around the place, but not after Riley, Pat, Cameron, Lachlan, Benny, Chase, Luke and Keiran all had sword fights with theirs first that inevitable led into a string of passionate Braveheart quotes. Some Scottish and Gaelic blessings were shared to wish the group a happy and healthy Christmas and New Year to come, then the food was well and truly on the go. Tara picked at her meal with disinterest. She was tired and her back refused to stop aching, though she made sure not to allude to her husband that anything was wrong or he would make it his personal mission to stick to her like glue for the rest of the day and she wanted him to enjoy himself. He was busy throwing peas at Riley across the table anyway, so all was good.
At least, it was good right up until dessert. Everyone was happily tucking into trifle, Christmas pudding, mud cake, ice cream, custard, and cream when Tara carefully stood up and tapped her fork on the side of her water glass and cleared her throat. Her own dessert of diabetic Christmas pudding with ice cream sat untouched before her. She smiled at everyone around the huge table as they fell silent and looked expectantly up at her. “I just wanted to say a few words, and considering the situation right now, it really is going to be just a few words…” The seat beside her was empty, with her husband being ‘volunteered’ by his Mum to go and get the intricate gingerbread house from the kitchen to bring to the table. Mrs Campbell and Mrs Brennan had spent the whole previous afternoon working on it especially for Christmas dinner. It was going to be the Pièce de résistance of the whole dinner. Going to be being the operative words. “My waters just broke,” she declared.
There was a strange choking shriek sound from behind her, and all in the blink of an eye, Lachlan tripped over his own feet in shock and sent the gingerbread house flying through the air and into the wall of the marquee, taking out the whole top portion of the table with him and leaving him in a sprawled mess covered in trifle which just missed Remy’s lap by inches. The room was in a stunned silence and Tara managed to smile sweetly as her husband managed to only just right himself by making a scrambled grab for his father’s seat. “Lachie… sweetheart…” She braced a hand on her stomach. “It’s showtime,” she said calmly, right before the whole room exploded into a panicked chaos, the annihilated gingerbread house long forgotten.
All muses mentioned are referenced with permission
Word Count | 1,221