My festive essentials…
Snowdrops on Rosemary Lane
The Christmas haircut. Once I’m installed in the salon, wine glass in hand, having my grey obliterated by a generous dosage of chemical blonde - that’s when the festivities have begun. Like those office parties of yore, it’s jolly and full of great chat - but with none of the associated horror and mortification.
Homecoming kids. As empty nesters, we eagerly anticipate our sons and daughter coming home for the holidays. Their favourite treats have been bought in, and I’m looking forward to evenings with board games, telly and laughs. At least, that’s the fantasy version. What actually happens is this: kids arrive, throw down their bags in the hallway, fling open the fridge and rummage for snacks, as if food doesn’t exist where they live. Then off they rush - having left the fridge open - to meet friends in the pub. But it was lovely to glimpse them (briefly) even if the only item left in the fridge is a doleful green pepper.
The Stilton wheel that nobody eats - and is only bought because my husband insists we ‘must’ have one. Okay, on a good year a tiny sliver might be consumed. But if I didn’t go through the ritual of wondering what the heck to do with the rest, and resorting to freezing it in chunks, to be made into… what? Soup? Pies? Stilton lollies? Well, it wouldn’t feel like Christmas.
Nuts in shells - a bugger to crack and never required at any other time of year. But the festivities wouldn’t be complete without cursing at a virtually un-crackable Brazil.
Post-dinner ramblings. You know how it goes: after that vast Christmas lunch, everyone slumps on the sofa while a certain relative holds court. Off they go, describing - in minute detail - the benefits of their type of boiler (as opposed to your type of boiler), followed by the best way to drive from Glasgow to Walton-on-the-Naze (a place you have no intention of ever visiting). One year, a guest spent an hour describing some kind of ‘bombe’ dessert I should try making, involving crushed nuts, ice cream and God knows what else - I was asleep by that point. If this sounds like moaning, I actually enjoy these seasonal ramblings. They’re the perfect snooze-inducer in our over-heated flat.
Turkish Delight. ‘Why d’you buy this stuff when nobody likes it?’ one of my children asked once. Incorrect. I like it, and defend my right to eat it - but only at Christmas when something peculiar happens to my tastebuds (at any other time of year, jelly sweets that taste of flowers would be pretty disgusting).
Our Boxing Day party. What started as a small gathering with another family - so we could ‘pool’ and polish off all our leftovers - has grown to the point at which our flat is full, and the party drifts from mid-afternoon late into the night. Our kids’ student mates turn up, and there’s always a quiz, compiled by our brilliant friend Hannah. Perhaps it’s telling that a favourite aspect of Christmas happens once it’s all over - and we can relax, drink copiously and congratulate ourselves that, for another year at least, we have survived.
Snowdrops on Rosemary Lane, Fiona’s new novel (writing as Ellen Berry) is published in ebook on November 11, and in paperback on December 26