I Was Swallowed By A Hippo

Castle life, Aga strife, slummy mummy, average wife

Post Match Analysis

on December 24, 2013

Christmas 2013 is already a distant memory of bubbly and presents and sprouts and pudding and my first ever turkey which, after weeks of worry and panic and dread and fear was actually really delicious and not “dry as old Harry”*, in the slightest. It was a wonderful day and I’m quite sad it’s all over. We are still eating the turkey, of course and the (fake**) tree is still up but people keep leaving and soon there will be no tolerant relatives left to amuse the children. I might have to start interacting with them again. They particularly miss my dad who, over the course of a week, was cajoled into being a dog, Joseph, ‘baby Olivia’s daddy’, a hospital patient and a donkey. They are also missing morning cuddles with granny, as am I. How I enjoyed shoving them through that bedroom door at silly o’clock whilst I snatched another hour of precious sleep. I also managed to avoid the dreaded ‘bathtime’ for five nights thanks to fabulous auntie Ya Ya, which gave me plenty of quality time with mum to argue about pineapples.

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The main event

I have bonded with the Aga again after my triumphant turkey and graciously forgiven it over the burnt croissant and Parmesan biscuit incidents on Christmas Day. It really was pretty easy and not at all stressful. I put my trust in Mary Berry and she didn’t let me down. The operation began on Christmas Eve, whilst other family members enjoyed a late night church service or the Two Ronnies Christmas Special. After stuffing the poor bird up to the gunnels with whatever was to hand, I slathered it in butter, coated it in bacon and blasted it in the top oven for half an hour. It’s ordeal continued in the lower, cooler oven, where it sat, encased in tin foil, for a further 13 hours, totally oblivious to the Santa-induced carnage going on elsewhere. I released the traumatised bird from its torrid prison a couple of hours before lunch and left it to rest whilst I got drunk on prosecco and made the gravy. My epic turkey was eventually put out of its misery by my father-in-law and his expert carving skills and was laid to rest on all our plates beside it’s festive chums, the sprouts, the roasties, the bread sauce and the cranberry. Delicious.

The rest of the day is a merry blur of bramble wine, Christmas pud, charades, chocolate, Toy Story, and snoozing. I vaguely remember the Queen’s speech although I may be getting confused with an episode of Peppa Pig. I wish it could be Christmas every day.***

* ©Granny (1912-2013). We never found out who poor old Harry was.
**I don’t want to talk about it
***I really don’t

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3 responses to “Post Match Analysis

  1. Good work Emma! Just one question – pineapples?

    • mrsmachall says:

      My mum arrived with about 25 bags containing random food items in various states of decay. I kept my cool and calmly crammed everything into the fridge but the when I questioned the purpose of the pineapple, she insisted it was tradition to have one a centre piece on one’s Christmas table. No amount of me going, “WTAF???” could persuade her otherwise. Luckily it was MY house and MY table so there was no pineapple adornment.

      • Caroline says:

        Aww, no pineapple? Pineapples are always the centre of any sane person’s Christmas:)
        But fair enough your house, your fruit rules.

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