I am taking advantage of Elspeth’s predictable lateness to write this before they arrive for our Christmas Eve bash.
I do not in the least mind that they are late, because we have been friends for almost thirty years, and I knew perfectly well that when she said: “seven” she actually meant: “a quarter to eight” and calculated all dinner timings with that in mind.
They come over every year on Christmas Eve. This is all right, because it is a very quiet night of the year for taxis. Everybody stays at home getting drunk and wrapping the children’s Christmas presents.
We have wrapped all of our children’s presents. There are two large boxes in the living room, which they have guessed contain a pony. We discussed the pony at some length. We explained, with a great deal of tasteless humour, that we could not get the whole pony into a box and have cut it up and put it in lots of little boxes. They are going to have a Do It Yourself Frankenpony. When they have sewn it together we are going to attach it to the electricity and see what happens.
Oliver thinks that he might know what is really in his box but he does not want to guess in case he spoils the surprise for himself.
On the whole we think that we are remarkably well organised this year. We have had several calls from relatives which have made us feel very smug. One was from Number One Daughter, who thought that it would be a good idea to spend Christmas Eve in Sainsburys. They wrestled and fought their way through the madding crowds and collapsed back at home with relief only to discover that they had forgotten to buy toilet paper and had to go back again.
Another call was from my parents, who have had a minor panic this week, having had some idea that Christmas was on Wednesday and prepared for that.
The third call was from Mark’s mother, who explained that she had forgotten to send any Christmas cards this year, but would try and get round to it next week.
We have got adequate toilet paper, know what day it is, and have sent all of our Christmas cards. What’s more we have resisted the temptation to get stuck into the red wine before Elspeth turns up, and hence we are still sober, although I am not sure how much longer that will last.
We are glowing with complacent superiority. Probably sooner or later somebody will pop round and punch us.
The feeling of being very pleased with our world has been massively increased by my parents sending us an email this morning announcing that they had celebrated Christmas by putting some cash in our bank.
I think that this is the best possible way that anybody could celebrate Christmas, and have, as always, been overwhelmed with an enormous wash of gratitude and financial relief.
Needless to say we have spent it already. Various niggling worries have been hauled out of their horrid dusty corners and banished into the sunshine of solvency. We will go into Christmas day with light hearts and clear spirits as well as sufficient toilet roll. Life is jolly good.
It has been a brilliant day. We have been cooking pies and sausages and making nice things for dinner. We have tidied everywhere up, even things that our guests will probably not look at, so we will wake up on Christmas morning to a dust-free dressing table and shiny bathroom mirror. Dinner smells nice, we have lit candles, and our world, tonight, is perfectly perfect.
I do not want to spoil things for myself by having a ghastly headache in the morning. I am going to try and have an evening of restraint and moderation.
Wish me luck.
