The joy of an organised Christmas

For the first time in the history of Christmas I’m organised. So organised in fact that I’m unnerving myself and starting to panic that I’ve forgotten something major. Like the cranberry sauce or presents.

But no. It’s now 6.30pm on Christmas Eve and I’m wondering what to do with myself. Every single vegetable that needs attention is par-boiled, prepped and prepared. Red cabbage is cooked and the trifle is in the fridge. The turkey is casually resting on the entire bottom shelf of our fridge.

Not any turkey mind you. This is a white (as opposed to black or gold) Norfolk born and bred turkey, that was, until 3 days ago, living a happy, carefree life and running around the countryside not more than a few miles away. His happiness when alive is of great importance to me. Happy meat is supposed to taste much nicer. Or as much nicer as turkey – the dry sandpaper of the fowl family – can ever hope to taste.

Granted, he probably wasn’t overly happy with his lot when coming face-to-face with the knife, but alas, this was the destiny to which he was born. Probably best he had lost all feelings in his nerve endings along with his head, as the Hollywood wax he obviously then had to undergo would have brought more than one tear to his little eye.

Anyway, back to tonight and being right ahead of schedule.

The obligatory carrot and bowl of water are out on the doormat. Mince-pies and milk are sorted and one child is now in bed, and, from the sounds of it, asleep. The threat of Father Christmas being turned away at midnight always has something of a sleep inducing effect on any child. A mean tactic to use, but it always gets results. Of course the said child could be quiet because he is wolfing down the mince-pie and milk. He’s still not quite old enough to grasp why they were being put out by his bed, and he was eyeing them up as I left the room.

Second child is watching some chronic bad acting in the land of Narnia before also being sent scurrying up those stairs to bed. She’s certainly old enough to understand the importance of the mince-pie. In fact she’s now really old enough to understand that men simply can’t fly through the sky with magic reindeer, but hey, we’ll deal with that particular ‘you’ve lied to me for years’ minefield sometime next year.

So as for us. Well, for the first time since becoming a parent I haven’t left stocking wrapping till 5 hours before they are due to be opened. So it’s alcohol time for me. I started 5 hours ago with a Pimm’s while doing the sprouts, and I shall now resume with the bottle where I left off.

So all that there is left for me now to do is say Merry Christmas and post this blog before I can no longer find my way around the keyboard!


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