Slippers? Fire? You know the drill ...
The Yuletide scene is set.
The snow has fallen.
The presents are wrapped.
The especially commissioned felt hat to protect our hero from the photosensitivity he will experience after the treatment of the light fantastic has been lovingly boxed and is in pride of place under the table (there is no tree.)
On Christmas morning it is up and out with the Hounds from Hell. The track behind the house is so icy that Meddlesome Wife soon realizes that putting the Hounds on leads would be murderous, or suicidal, depending on whether you are regarding the scene from a canine or human perspective.
She gathers some sprigs of holly and ivy, makes a reasonably artistic, minimalist garland to adorn the chimneypiece, dots round the Christmas cards, lights a few candles, and then it is present opening time.
(She clearly hasn’t been getting the Christmas spirit. What on earth has she being doing with herself these past few weeks, when everyone else is doing their jingle-bells-holly-tinsel-and-ivy-thing? Come on, get a grip Meddlesome Wife!)
Our Hero and the Meddlesome Wife unwrap numerous woolly scarves of many, varied and mostly unwearable hues.
Our Hero, however, is quite pleased to find that some skinny Levis with a size twenty-eight waist are a little too tight and will have to be exchanged.
The bottles of wine and the glasses are clearly for the Meddlesome Wife.
Our Hero, who has been muttering sadly for several days that he has ‘not managed to do any shopping’ has, in fact, done very well indeed.
So, happy Meddlesome Wife.
(You have noticed that there is no mention of the hat. We’ll get back to that.)
A few phone calls, and Merry Christmases, and then it is back up the track for Meddlesome Wife with Hounds.
What does she find on her return?
Our Hero, out with the rods, to unblock the drains which lead to Septic Tank because, as he points out to her, it can’t not work if there are going to be visitors on Boxing Day. So much for the secret enzymes.
Here is our Hero, on Christmas Day, up to his very thin elbows, in the freezing cold …
We’ll leave the rest to your imagination.
But the drain is blocked, or frozen, solid.
The guests are cancelled.
There is a huge ham in the fridge, bought for the occasion, and our Hero cannot eat a scrap of it. Not even liquidized, with gravy. (Ham soup? Can we bear it?)
Christmas lunch? A very thin affair. Toddler food. But Meddlesome Wife did her best, she really did.
But the Meddlesome Wife is now so very hungry and she longs for some Christmas lunch.
And so does our Hero, who says he is looking forward to it in February.
And the hat?
Our Hero says that he never saw himself cast as an the uber-eccentric elf in “The Lord of the Rings.” (Well, actually, he is far too polite to say any such thing.)
But the Meddlesome Wife reminds herself, as she totters off to bed, no-one expected our Hero to be with us this Christmas at all – let alone rodding the drains!
It was, therefore, the best of Christmases.
Oh, go on! You know you want to! Put on the sentimental music of your choice.
It is a love story ...
xxx
