Christmas Day 11.00 am
'It's Christmas!' as Noddy Holder screams from the radio so often at this time of year. I'm sitting at my brother in law's computer in Wexford while my wife struggles downstairs with a home-made Christmas pudding she started work on about seven weeks ago. Neither she nor I have ever had a home-made Christmas pudding. In fact I don't think any of the people coming here later today have. Have you? I don't even particularly like Christmas pudding; it's too rich, so sweet it's almost bitter. I usually drown the thing in about a gallon of custard or cream or whatever neutralizing liquid happens to be lying around on the table. Still, my wife's a good cook and she's followed Delia Smith's recipe, so I'm optimistic that it'll be nice.
My brother in law is also a good cook. He loves cooking, and he loves sixties-type garage punk too. He's downstairs right now listening to the Garagepunk.com Christmas Podcast and fisting a dead bird. What better way to start the day?
As for me, I've phoned my parents over in England (they're very well and having a jolly time). And now I'm sitting here writing this and wondering what to expect later. I think about five more people are coming: my brother in law's parents, my other sister in law and her daughter, and another brother in law. Add to that my father in law and you have quite a table full. I don't know what time the drinking is going to start, but I imagine that by the time the Christmas pudding hits the table, we should all be in a fit state to enjoy it - whatever it tastes like.
OK, I'm going downstairs now to loiter around the drinks cabinet looking both innocent and thirsty at the same time. Merry Christmas
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