Economy

It has been such a lovely day.

The children are home, and the house feels full and busy. The fire is lit, and the stove is glowing brightly in the fireplace. Lucy joined us in bed for coffee this morning, and in an inspired moment when I got up I whizzed round to the butcher across the road for some of their gorgeous home-smoked bacon, and cooked bacon and egg for our breakfast.

We all sat around the kitchen table to eat bacon and egg rolls with spoonfuls of my home made garlic mayonnaise, and talked about Christmas.

It will not come as news to you to learn that we are in the middle of yet another financial crisis, and some of our more reckless extravagances are going to have to be pared down this year. We thought this morning that maybe this year we should have Christmas dinner at home.

You might remember that we always go out for Christmas dinner. This is because I don’t like to spend my entire Christmas cooking and washing up.

I don’t like having to fight my way through supermarket crowds to buy things I have forgotten at the last minute. I don’t like peeling vegetables, and I do like eating things which have been cooked by brilliant chefs and which are served with amazing style and artistry.

Mark said loyally that he would rather go out for dinner whatever the cost if it was going to mean too much nuisance for me, and the children said that they would like to do whatever made me least grumpy.

I was briefly sad about having to take economy measures, but we all knew that it was necessary really, and so the decision was made.

We cheered ourselves up with the thought that we could make fantastic champagne cocktails, which we all like except Oliver, who will have to have apple juice as usual.

Then Mark rang Yew Tree Farm near where we used to live in Coniston, and asked if they would kill a small goose for us, and they said that they would. After that we thought that instead of having somebody else’s idea of Christmas crackers we could order some lovely ones from Hotel Chocolat with our favourite chocolates in them, and then all watch a film together afterwards.

There would be left over bits of goose for the dogs, who would be pleased. Oliver wanted to make a gingerbread house for pudding, which we thought sounded ace. Lucy thought we could make a strawberry cake as well. Of course we already have the Christmas cake, steeping quietly in cognac under the dresser, and Mark thought that it might be a good idea to make some rum butter to go with it.

After a few minutes of this sort of thinking we all felt very cheered up indeed, and excited about Christmas again. Of course it will mean cooking, but it will be jolly nice to have the house smelling of roast goose, and there is always lots of fat which is brilliant for making pastry afterwards. I don’t much like potatoes, which I consider to be an unspeakably dull food, so I will have to think of some ways to cook them so that they are interesting, and I can cook carrots in honey and mustard in the oven. I might not bother about the sprouts because they give Mark the most awful wind.

All in all we came away from the discussion feeling very pleased with the outcome. It will not be the same lovely as dressing up and going somewhere beautiful with crisp white tablecloths and linen napkins and a polite waiter making suggestions about the best wine. It will be a completely different lovely, and that will be just fine.

Shortly after that an envelope arrived from my mother with not one, but two new teacosies in it. They are splendid, neatly knitted with lovely coloured wool, and I have taken a picture of one to show you. I am very pleased indeed about this, because now as soon as I have paid some more teapot instalments we will have a beautiful new teapot and its own cosy to keep the tea hot.

Life is jolly good. Our house will be an ace place to spend Christmas.

I am sitting on the taxi rank looking up interesting potato recipes.