I hope and trust everyone had a very Merry Christmas - apologies for the lack of festive reports this year but I was a bit sidetracked. It’s been a hectic week. Here’s my secret diary…..
After the bitter pill that was Newcastle last Saturday the 21st, when even the post-match Chinese failed to light a fire in both of us (Tel remarked ‘Peekin’ bleeding duck don’t taste arf as nice when you’ve just been dicked’), we sat amongst the ruined tablecloth (‘Ah’ve never got the ‘ang of them chopsticks, might as well be eatin’ wearing bleedin’ boxin’ gloves’) and moodily drank our bottled Tsing-Tao lager, him breaking off to reach for a coagulating bit of Kung Po chicken with greasy fingers. The multitudes of geordies who’d taken over the pubs and drank like fish were thinning out. The train station was quiet at 10.30pm. Mrs Tel awaited us at Manningtree station.
Sunday 22nd - I couldn’t face Match of the Day or the early Sunday repeat. You just knew it’d be Shearer. Housework. Hoovered, washed, cleaned, dusted. Had a bash at wrapping all the odd-shaped gifts I’d purchased. Used enough sellotape to giftwrap the Orwell Bridge. Swore a lot as I did it.
It was Tel’s Christmas party in Halstead at 7pm. I’d forgotten to book the Monday off as leave, despite being reminded about the party since September. I thought I might be able to work from home. In the end, I went into Colchester for a morning of half-arsed email replies and a bit of elementary project stuff. I’m back on Thursday. It seems to be looming faster and faster.
Anyway, Tel’s party. So after a bit of gift wrapping that a child of three would have been proud of, I left home at six, presents in a Waitrose bag for life on the back seat, regretting the Anais-Anais gift set I’d got for Mrs Tel as I’d noticed she’d started using Thierry Mugler on Saturday night. I hoped this was just an aberration. Or that she’d got a bottle for use after swimming at Thorpe Lifehouse Spa. I’d also bought her a vintage Damned T-Shirt from 1978 and a thermal mug for coffee, one of those travel ones as hers got dropped a few weeks ago and the bits inside rattled alarmingly.
Tel got a bottle of VSOP Brandy, a bottle of his latest ’thing’, pre-mixed Negroni by Campari, and a dark blue Calvin Klein jumper I got my dad last year but which came up short on him and which I then forgot to return. I got Sandy and Tony a joint pressie of Hotel Chocolate chocs. I didn’t bother with their kids; one’s in Antigua with her mates, the other is snowboarding in the Alps with his. “Cost ole Tone a fortune this year” said Tel, admiringly. “Its what they wanted though. ‘Fit were me, I’d’ve told ‘em ter get savin’ but ‘e’s too soft”.
The house was nicely decorated with streamers and Mrs Tel was laying out the buffet when I arrived at 6.45pm. I got lumbered with cling-filming the cold stuff, salads, coleslaw, desserts. She’d cooked a festive ham which Tel had carved, or more accurately hacked at, plus racks of ribs, mini steak pies, potato wedges, buttered jacket potatoes and cheeseburgers she’d prepared at home with his finest Swiss Farms ground beef.
The decent Cava was resting in ice buckets when the next guests arrived. Daisy, Keith and their two teenage lads, Danny and Charlie. Danny is an Ipswich fan. He’d managed to get a ticket for the Liverpool game and the Newcastle game last week. They came from Earls Colne. I sympathised with him, not about coming from Earls Colne, although that’s obvious, but about the Newcastle game. He said “Newcastle are my second team so I was alright”. Oh. I scanned the room, looking for someone else to talk to.
The Terries had invited thirty but six had declined due to colds and what have you. Two of the others never made it. So we were down to twenty-two. In a normal house, it would’ve felt cramped, but their bungalow is like the Tardis, so no-one had to make do with the patio, which was just as well as it was cold that night.
Mrs Tel and I made use of the patio for a fag, and she switched the portable heaters on. Soon we were joined by others, several vaping, a few made of sterner stuff and lighting up Bensons. As always happens, it was a jollier party on the patio than inside the house, where Tel’s strident cockernee voice competed with Michael Buble’s Xmas Hits from their speakers.
I drank Pepsi all night. With ice. Driving back. Tel muttered, but seemed to accept I couldn’t stay. I didn’t touch a drop. It was tempting, but Pepsi Max was all that passed my lips in liquid form. It made things duller, but gave me an excuse to leave at 10.30pm, after I’d sampled a few ribs and a bit of salad, and a cheeseburger. The ice cream cake was still frozen, so I didn’t chance it.
Monday 23rd December - up at 5.30am, showered, dressed, rang Birmingham to say I wouldn’t be in, spoke to a colleague who promised to pass the message on. No call back or querying email from my boss, then learnt at work that he’d taken the day off to work from home. Stayed til 2pm. I’d already grown tired of the piss-taking from the Wolves fans. 0-4. Yeah. They’d long since forgotten we beat them 2-1 only the week before.
Came home, did some supper (cheese toasties with Branston and a few chips) watched some festive telly, groaned and switched off and went to bed.
Tuesday 24th December - Round to see Dad to stay for the period to Boxing Day. Took him to Long Melford for a pint and a desultory look around the antique shops that were still open. We had an Indian take away in the evening. He’s doing well since Mum died last year. He’s got almost a new life as a volunteer for the Essex Wildlife Trust. We had a celebratory drink during Carols from Kings, which we had on because my Mum used to love it, so it’s a sort of tradition. That and The Snowman, which we fortunately missed. It has the ability to make the old eyes and throat a bit lumpy. Memories can do that.
Wednesday 25th December - Up at 6.30am, coffee and tea, sorted out dad’s food recycling and cleaned his cooker top. Then hoovered his front room carpet. Had a drive to Walton-on-Naze and a walk around the Naze Tower. Home by 9.30, changed for church at 10.30am, the Christmas service which he loves. Sat on a hard pew listening to the vicar compare Christmas Nativity to the war in Gaza. Prayed for world peace, especially in Ukraine. Had a laugh with Dad about the bell-ringing, which sounded a bit all over the place.
Lunched. Opened pressies. Watched the King. Fell asleep. Nearly missed Wallace and Gromit. Had a light supper of cheese. Had another large glass of wine. Watched Gavin and Stacey. Dad marvelled at how I could watch that rubbish. But even he enjoyed it in the end. Got drunk on his excellent choice of wines, plus his cognac and made he and I an Irish coffee with the Jamesons he won on a Christmas raffle with Essex Wildlife last week.
And that was Christmas 2024. Now, I’m back home, due to go to Dad’s this afternoon for another cleaning session and a steak supper tonight. Probably whilst watching the darts. He loves the darts. Bless him.
I won’t wish you all a Happy New Year yet as I’ll be back with Terry after the Chelsea game tomorrow…….please no more 4-0’s or worse…... |  |
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