Worst Christmas dinner EVER!!!

Today I ate the worst christmas dinner I have ever had the misfortune to process. Everything sucked. Apart from the sprouts, but I'm paying for eating those...right now!

It started with my mother's interpretation of some Delia Smith bizarreness. Creme...uh...fresh?...fraiche? (is it? Whatever that 'cream on the turn' thing is that chefs are so fond of) plonked on top of salad, griddled aubergine, feta cheese and exactly one half of an oven dried cherry tomato. What the hell? The tomato was the best bit. There was rather a lot of oil going on in the dressing. I manfully struggled through about a quarter before I realised that no one else had managed as much as me.

The second course was the piece de resistance, courtesy of my mother's significant other. Affectionately known as 'Tinger'. I was upstairs, strugging to keep my highly greased starter under control. When I arrived, both of them were sitting in front of mountains of food. My mother was staring fixedly into the middle ground - a sure sign of impending hysteria. I took my seat and inspected my yorkshire puddings. A little overdone and in need of some softening gravy. If there was any. Who cooks a mountain of food and couples it with a small cupful of gravy? Jesus. (That's merely blasphemy, not an answer to that question. I'm sure Jesus provides more than adequate amounts of gravy. And can create more if you need it, from some lesser liquid.)

Returning briefly to the puddings - Mother cut into one of hers and half of it immediately fired itself across the room, startling the dog and making the struggle to remain gravely appreciative of the effort to prepare dinner and not snort into food like a small child that much more difficult.

I realised too, around this point, that there was something odd going on with the beef. It was completely indigestible. I had to go and get a stronger knife to cut into it. It's very hard to keep a straight face when frantically sawing at your meat for a good minute and a half per 'slab'. I neglected to give my first mouthful the necessary amount of chewing (2 minutes worth) and when I swallowed it, I was sure I was about to choke or something. It was like swallowing a canonball. Reflexively, I grabbed my throat and covered my mouth in horror until the danger had passed. I felt it go all the way down my oesophagus and it HURT! Mother took one look at my streaming eyes and red face and left the room hurriedly to indulge in some sniggering in the corridor. I decided that the safe bet would be the (football-sized) potato, parsnip and sweet potato. All of which were completely indistinguishable in taste and texture. Rather an achievement. All three virtually disintegrated into a fine dribbly paste when pushed merely in the direction of your mouth. Meaning that the rather tense silence the meal had dissolved into was now occasionally punctuated with the wet slap of veg sliding from forks and landing on plates/table/leg/dog's head.

I don't think I made a dent in my plate. I left most of the meat as I was sure it would lurk in my system for at least seven years, if not more.

On the plus side, I heard a really good cracker joke. I don't know why but it brought tears of amusement to my eyes and I was laughing for a good five minutes straight.

Q: Which sweet swings through the jungle?

A: Tarzipan


Hahahahaha.... It's still good.

The Best Christmas Jumper EVER!!!

Merry Christmas Eve. Bah humbug.

OK, I was at this Christmas party the other day and a woman came up and spoke to me. I have no idea what she said because I was frozen, rabbit-style, in the glare of what must have been the most incredible Christmas jumper that I had ever seen. Ok, now, strictly speaking it was actually a cardigan, but that just made it better. Said cardie was navy blue and managed to cover a myriad of festive themes. On the left side was a huge rendition of Rudolph's face and he appeared to be wearing a christmas jumper and scarf himself. On the other side was Santa and when she turned, there was a snowman with a carrot nose and a scarf. Obviously, I was rather saddened that he was also not wearing a christmas jumper, thusly completing the theme. It was also snowing over all the cardigan. WHO MADE THIS??!?!?! Someone sat and created this piece of festive tat! The best thing? It had christmas tree buttons! I've never seen such a thing in my life. It was great. I'm getting one.

Sofa King crap.

Get it? Of course you do...

Last night's par-tay was a little distressing as it just reminded me of how incredibly grumpy and scroogish I get around the Christmas period. (I just love the way my use of the word 'par-tay' gave the whole event a 'hip and happenin' vibe. It ended with some of the boys playing carols on the piano in the 'drawing room' while we all sat around. The only thing that could have made it more wholesome would have been if someone was wearing a full on, rudolph-tastic, christmas tree-button festooned sweater. I saw one of these recently. I'll describe it more next time as it was A HUMDINGER!!!)

I'm getting a sofa delivered this week and am seriously dreading it. I hate the whole aspect of waiting in for deliveries that come somewhere between 5 in the morning and 10 at night. Can't settle down to watch TV. Can't go to the toilet without panicking. (About the delivery men arriving-obviously.)

Sigh. I shall return to my own delivering of a selection of cheap and naff Christmas cards to nearest, dearest... and pupils.

'Tis the season, and all that.

Hm. Perhaps I'll return when I can think of something interesting to say. Oh yes:

- I have somehow ended up with the same internal phone number as the nun. Try and ring me, you get her. Part of me wants to sort this out. A bigger part of me senses comedy brewing....

Urgh!

I am about to be made to go to a Christmas party for the little loves that I teach. Needless to say, there will probably be running, screaming and if we're very unlucky - vomiting.

Pray for me! I'll need it.

The joy of teaching...

I have just spent about 2 hours ripping this display off the wall of my classroom. I say display - in my (wholly unbiased) view, it was more of an art installation utilising the power of eight kinds of tissue paper, cotton wool clouds, all manner of carefully illustrated mythical creatures and some kids' work or something... In other words: IT KICKED ASS!

Over time it became shabby and so I had to bid it a tearful farewell and send it on its way. So now I find myself brewing some new weird display idea that involves newspaper and huge printed letters. (and some children's work. That has to go up there - tut!) Why can't I just stick stuff on the wall. I have a serious problem! I need psychiatric help. So far I have covered my lower face in newspaper ink, giving me that attractive 'grubby beard' appeal and stapled my finger. Just now, I discovered that there was a gold star in my underwear. What the hell...?

Yes, the underwear is pretty trendy, but is it 'gold star' good? I don't know....

Why can I not get started?!

Once again I am dragged down by procrastination. I am supposed to be going back to my flat today and sorting out all the mess I left there when I couldn't be bothered to deal with it. Now I'm faffing on the computer when I should be having a shower and getting ready. But it's cold outside and I want to stay here where it's warm. Bah. Don't want to buy Christmas presents. Can't be arsed to wash up. Don't want to change out of pyjamas......

EW! Celine Dion! Right there on the TV! OK, I'm going.

Traffic...in some sense.

I've been busy, ok?!



Not so busy that I can't write anything. Everything in my brain has to be ordered into minute order of importance. And random babbling tends to fall by the wayside in favour of more boring things like eating and sleeping.



Typing is also difficult as I have lost my nail file and my fingernails are reaching 'Big Trouble in Little China' proportions. Plus I nearly stabbed my mother's eye out while gesturing dramatically. Shan't need to concern myself with muggers for a while. "Take that, yobs!!" *slashslashslash* (That's me slashing my fingernails - ninja style, not wetting myself in panic...)

Hum, what was I going to say? I've moved into a flat up in seriously central London and it's so very odd up there. Every day tourists mill around underneath my window. Shouting. Would it be xenophobic to hurl assorted kitchen waste at them? It's fun, but sometimes you forget that you live in the middle of London. As if the great London Eye didn't remind you of it. A while ago the lights on it were changed to red and it looked unmistakably like the eye of Sauron. (Lidless and wreathed in flame...)

Other amusing reminders of my location include armed policemen and random sightings of John Prescot. Ick. Just the other day I was walking up Whitehall and the road was closed to allow an 'Anti Climate' march. So many people were marching that I was totally disctracted and managed to walk all the way to the crossing and press the button before it crossed my mind that these were people and not cars. Not likely to stop.

Of course, I waited for the green man before I hurled myself across the torrent of environmentalists. My mother taught me well.