Have yourself a militant little Christmas

Given all the eating and drinking, it probably won’t surprise you to hear that I LOVE Christmas. I love it so much I’ve been known to buy decorations in June (I do have a strict rule that festivities can not begin until December, but I was on holiday and there was a Christmas shop – I couldn’t help it).

Everyone has their own idea of what Christmas must contain or ‘it’s just not Christmas’ and my passion is such that I have a slight tendency towards the Christmas Commandant (note the reference a ‘strict rule’ above. There are more.) I have very clear ideas on what is and is not Christmassy.

Colours, for instance. Red, green, silver and gold (and white – especially of the snowy variety) – yes. Blue, pink and pastels of any description – NO. And as for matchy-matchy blue or pink (or purple) Christmas trees - HELL NO. This year we accidentally bought coloured lights for our tree (clear lights look much nicer, I’m sure you’ll agree. If not I have ways of making you agree…) While I could make my peace with the red and green ones, they are, after all, permissible Christmas colours, the blue ones had to go. And by go, I mean get duct taped up, one by one, until their non-Christmassy glow was obliterated. What? It’s perfectly normal. *ahem*

NO

But it’s not just about the colours and the gluttony, it’s also about the presents. Not just the receiving (I like diamonds and ponies, in case you were wondering…) I am a big big fan of the giving. I get very excited about giving people presents, especially when I think it’s something they’ll really like. There’s a reason this is my favourite Christmas ad ever:

All together now: ahhhhhhhh… Now that we’re feeling all warm and fuzzy, let’s turn our thoughts back to food (you didn’t think I was going to leave it at one brief mention of gluttony, did you?) This is perhaps the area in which most people (myself included) get the most militant. For some it’s mince pies, for others it’s trifle. I’m not bothered about either (‘what?!’ I hear your inner radical Christmas elf gasp ‘no mince pies?!’) But my Christmas must (MUST!) include my Nana’s stuffing. It is, without doubt, the best stuffing recipe in the world (it contains potatoes) and I defy you to say any different.

Christmas traditions are many and varied it’s always entertaining to see the clash of customs when families come together. As the youngest in the family, I got to look on as my older sibling’s partners were introduced to our family Christmas. Their varied reactions to my mother’s annual Christmas wobbler were always fun to watch (the pressure of catering and general emotional high doe of the season tended to culminate in an episode of some sort, usually involving one or all of; a sudden outburst, a tea-towel flung dramatically to the floor, a slammed door, tears). I particularly remember the looks of horror when new boyfriends or girlfriends were told we didn’t open our presents until everyone was fully dressed and had been to mass (mass - and yet my father never appreciates our singing ‘Happy Birthday dear Jesus, Happy Birthday tooo yooouuuuu…’ It’s disrespectful apparently). The belated presents tradition was nothing but cruel if you ask me, and I was in full support of the mutiny led by my eldest sister’s husband the year we stormed the living room in our pyjamas and let rip under the tree.

This year we’ll be taking it one further and opening our presents on Christmas Eve, because that’s how they do it here in Sweden. Yes, we get to share a whole new set of Swedish traditions with our friends which essentially means TWO Christmases. Excited does not even begin to describe it.

See? Lovely Christmassy colours. Much better.

Curiosity may kill this Cat

Some people never tire of prying into your private life. I refer to them as 'nosy b@stards'. Not a blindingly original title, but fit-for-purpose. Don't get me wrong. I am fairly liberal with relatively intimate details with those close to me (sometimes a little too liberal after a refreshing beverage or two) but this particular brand of individual generally has no business making your business their business, if you get my drift. The Aunt you see once a year and don’t particularly like; that individual at work with too much time on their hands (who often inspires the question 'what do they actually do…?’); the friend of a friend, of a friend, of a friend whose name you've forgotten. Them.

When you're single they're obsessed with you 'meeting someone special', and specialise in patronising pseudo-excited grins and reassurances you neither need nor want. I think we should start issuing medals / small trophies to honour unattached comrades who refrain from punching these types in the tit (stereotyping, I know, but this behaviour does tend towards the female of the species). No, violence is not the answer, but 'Feck off you interfering old <insert expletive of choice>' is a possibility. Best to nip them in the bud because I have bad news for you single people; It does not stop when you meet someone you're willing to share the remote, deserts and your naked self with. They are never satisfied.

They simply move on, scarcely pausing to draw breath, to 'when are you getting engaged…?' (I was going out with my now husband three months when the questions started. Three months!) And if you do decide to enter the circus-world of insanity that is The Wedding, you open yourself up to some of the dullest conversations known to man. Flautists, flowers and favours my arse. These snoopy types are, of course, in their element. And will expect an invite. (Stand firm! Do not give in!) Then, before you've even cut the ridiculously overpriced cake*, the next line of questioning begins.

'Any news…?' They ask expectantly, dancing around the subject with all the subtlety of a baby elephant, staring at your belly, trying to decide if it's full of baby or biscuits.

It's biscuits, I assure you. Now feck off.

*Ridiculously overpriced, unless you have a talented mother like mine, who made our cake and my dress. 

She rocks.

Food glorious food

With the happiness of chocolate day upon us, my mind has turned, as it very (very very) often does, to food. There wasn't much turning involved to be honest. They say men think about sex every 15 seconds - well chubby gingers like my good self are like that with food.

My better half is now used to being asked, as he eats his breakfast, what he fancies for dinner ...next Sunday. I am a planner and I love food, and these attributes collide to form a mega eating schedule. I like to know what I'm having so I can look forward to it and extend the enjoyment with anticipation… mmmmmmmmm.

Obviously I don't know what's on a new restaurant menu in advance, but if it's online I'll take a peep and have my favourite options identified before I get there (this can go horribly wrong if they're out of something - beware the disappointed ginger!) And, just to perpetuate the paddy stereotype, I often make my choice based on the kind of potatoes on offer. God how I love potatoes - nearly as much as I love my man.

Luckily he understands because he's a fellow chowaphile, which also makes him an excellent dinner companion. Together we have developed and perfected the concept of sharey-sharey™. 'What's this?' I hear you ask, intrigued (OK, maybe not, but pretend politely please).

Sharey-sharey is a brilliant (yes, brilliant - even if I do say so myself) system that ensures you get maximum mileage on a menu, while strengthening the cornerstones of a good relationship, be that familial, friendly or loverly. Together we survey the menu, discuss the options and negotiate to agree who's ordering what. We order different starters and mains, then half way through eating, we swap. It's like getting two starters! And two mains! More delicious food to sample, and I love trying new tastes (within reason…)

This is not a sugary hallucination - this is real.

Obviously sharey-sharey is not for everyone. Sadly, not everyone can trust their dinner partner not to be a greedy bugger, others are picky eaters (weirdos!) and some people just did not watch enough care bears when they were little. I feel sorry for these poor individuals - they're missing out big time. As the big JC (the rebel MC) once said: give and you shall receive ...even MORE food!