I would like to introduce you to a newly teetotal diarist. I am never going to drink anything ever again.
I was not on my own in that sentiment. Ritalin Boy’s Other Grandma said something similar at breakfast.
We were woken up by a rattling on the door and some noisy giggles. It was Ritalin Boy and His Identical Twin Cousin, armed with whirring light guns.
“Can we come in?” they said cheerfully. “Grandma sent us.”
We felt oceans of sympathy for Grandma, who had had them all night. Mark gave them some sweets and some drawing paper, and we crawled back into bed, where we lay for a while, contemplating our adventures.
I have only just now discovered last night’s diary entry.
You will not be surprised to hear that I was every bit as stupid as you might imagine.
Fortune, and the absence of anything sharp, persuaded me to desist from my late-night attempt to give one of my friends a tattoo. I don’t expect that this is the sort of activity that happens in the tranquil Midland lounge very often, and as Lucy pointed out, it is not supposed to be the parents of teenagers who carry on in this way.
As I might have mentioned in last night’s entry, we had a splendid day. The entire morning was occupied with a Nerf war which happened over three floors of the hotel, and culminated in Number One Son-In-Law being riddled with bullets, one of which unfortunately landed in his eye, whilst my friend Kate dashed about victoriously waving the two flags. I had tied one to the trolley of a housemaid who had turned out to be a good sport, and it had taken ages for them to find it.
After that Mark and I wandered around the Christmas markets, where we bought incense and soap and cheese, and breathed in the glorious smells. To my happiness I bumped into a friend from college, who has had a bit of a career change from being an actor to being a cheesemaker. It has been thirty seven years since we last set eyes on one another, and it was a small happy moment. We laughed and hugged one another and promised to keep in touch, which we won’t, but it was nice all the same.
Suddenly the day had gone, and it was time to start getting ready for The Evening.
I think I can safely say that this is the highlight of my year, every year. There is nothing nicer than to look around and feel delighted to see every single face. We do the same things every year, as perhaps you might have noticed. We go to the same Chinese buffet restaurant, where the owner is so pleased to see us that last year he came in on his night off in order not to miss it. He has promised to come and see us in the Lake District, which he won’t, but it would be nice if he did.
We filled half of the restaurant, at the same tables we always have, the children on theirs, the rest of us at ours. We ate and drank and laughed.
I think part of my misfortunes this morning might have been due to the mistake of eating very little. I talked a lot, and drank rather a lot, and was so busy and distracted and over-excited that I hardly ate anything, like a six year old at Christmas. Like a fifty-two year old at Christmas, actually. Anyway, one prawn cracker and a plate of noodles was clearly insufficient to absorb the quantities of wine which followed them.
We walked over to the theatre afterwards, in a long, straggling crocodile, and got there at the last minute, as usual, which was fine, because it meant the Identical Twin Cousins did not get chance to get bored and charge about.
I had heard, vaguely, from various sources, that there was a pantomime in Manchester which had been attracting disapproval for its ribald humour. I discovered last night that it was the very pantomime we had booked to see. I suppose I should have worked it out. As Oliver drily remarked on the way home afterwards, it was one big Dick Whittington joke.
Obviously we laughed until we cried.
We were not on our own. The cast, who had clearly been doing it for some time, also laughed a great deal.
We howled at King Rat, and cheered the fairy, and gasped in astonishment at the magnificent underwater 3D scenes. It was really very splendid.
Afterwards we assembled back at the hotel, where we occupied a large table at the bar until long into the next day.
You know the rest.
We packed up, slowly and carefully, this morning, and made our cautious way home. We were supposed to be going to the farmers’ auction to buy a goose for Christmas dinner, but decided on balance that our health was not up to the challenge. Instead we went home and went to bed.
We have started to unpack now, which is a joy in itself, suitcases filled with perfumed clothes and smells of smoked meats and memories.
If you are going to spend money on anything at all, then I would like to recommend the purchase of wonderful memories. My head is alive with it all even now, the lights of the Christmas markets, and the beautiful courtesy of the hotel, and the laughter on everybody’s faces.
We are all wagged out, exhausted and contented and limp with weary contentedness.
I shall worry about Christmas dinner tomorrow.
