On the first day of Christmas my true love sent to me sixteen litres of very good quality cider, the majority of it being the stuff that’s brewed locally on farms here in the West Country. You can tell it’s good swag because it contains twigs, bird muck and tadpoles and the next morning’s by-product is clearer and brighter than the original brew. It’s been bloody hard work today but me and my kids and our Tim managed to shift the lot. Oh I’m so proud! We might be northern riff-raff but we can certainly show these southern jessies how to wassail, and we had a drop of wine too to wash it down, and a hint of whiskey, and just a small splash of coffee to line our stomachs. So, in a roundabout way, apples and grapes were two of our five a day for starters, which meant we easily met the Government’s recommended daily intake if you include the spoonful of cranberry sauce we had, a strawberry crème Quality Street and the Clementine that we each found swelling our stockings this morning along with a shiny penny and a bit of coal.
I came last in the traditional family quiz but I won the family bingo, introduced to our festive proceedings for the first time today by Hilary Mullan and her silver dream bingo machine. I think my level of success in each of these competitions along with my overwhelming success in filling the wheely bin with empty scrumpy cartons just about sums up not only my intellect but my approach to life so I can close my eyes tonight safe in the knowledge that today has been a memorable day for everyone who has joined in this merry Mullan merrymaking event.
It’s Christmas again tomorrow for us but for the fact that I don’t have to roast a slaughtered beast and I don’t have to run round the living room like an eejit at four o’clock in the morning shouting, “He’s been! He’s been!” Boxing Day just happens to be the only day of the year that I don’t do that.
Me looking pie-eyed.