My mum's homemade shortbread, made from the recipie her mother used, which brings back memories of being dwarfed by kitchen benches, being at eye level with adult's knees, drinking red cordial, and oh, the lolly-jar that was only bought out when I'd been good.
Then there was the Christmas I was given a jumbo-sized package of Smarties, ate them all in one sitting, and vomitted rainbow-colours shortly afterwards.
Wherever you are, I hope it's a stress-free day. Currently lounging about at home in Fitzroy, and calling a taxi to take us out to Epping in half an hour...
1 comment:
That forced relationship that everyone has to endure at Christmas is probably the hardest thing about the whole affair.
In the past, I've found that the best way to block it all out is to get hideously drunk and not deal with anyone who comes near me, particularly not my idiotic army-boy cousin (yes, Richard.. I share your pain).
Unfortunately, as I've aged, my older relatives have secured their places amongst the most obnoxious drunks I've ever met. Not even the wonders of the drink can save me from Christmas hell. Whereas at the age of 14, I was striving to feel tipsy from the one can of VB I'd swiped, now I'm the one telling 50 year old men that they've really had enough and maybe they should think about how they're getting home.
I think you're totally right Richard, Christmas is an entirely forced institution, and I'm getting mighty sick of having to deal with it year in and year out.
I wish I was Jewish.
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