Monday December 24, 2007
Up very early this morning for the fun part, the final part of Christmas shopping. Nice goodies in Marks & Spencer’s and giggles at all the grim grumblies who piled into the town after we’d finished. Except there weren’t very many of them, not this year. It could be they’re saving the worst of their grumblies for this afternoon but many shops are closing at 16:00 and there’ll be precious little in the way of late-night shopping.
Actually the grimmest grumbly I came across was a young woman, late twenties, early thirties, who complained it was ‘awful’. “No it’s not,” I said, smiling broadly, “it’s Christmas!”
Credit to her, she didn’t wrap her trolley round my head but paused, smiled back, and said, yes, I was right, it’s all about Christmas.
There was no consoling the poor little rotund man who was dashing from side to side of the store, dialling repeatedly on his ear-clutched mobile and wondering loudly “Where’s she gone now?”
He was almost in tears, poor bloke.
And then, it was a final double espresso and a nice, relaxed drive home where Graham did the Christmas miracle of stuffing one last load into an already groaning fridge and store cupboard.
“If we eat and drink all this lot we’ll end up chubbier than Father Christmas,” I said.
“Even so, I bet we’ve forgotten something.”
“I know something we’ve forgot,” I said, wickedly.
“Oh, no. What’s that, then?”
“Parmesan to go into that Caesar Salad you’ve been going on about.”
“Bugger.”
“Not to worry. I have a piece of really nice mature Cheddar from Cheddar. That’ll be just as good.”
“S’pose so.”
“The ladies of Parma will have to do without us this year.”
“That sounds like a quote.”
“Might be, but I’m too worn out to care. Can we have our nap first and then lunch?”
“Certainly not. That wouldn’t be British.”
“About as British as Parmesan cheese?”
“Clever clogs.”
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