The Misery Goes On

The list of things to do before Christmas hurries her flapping wings through the door, grows ever longer. Never mind – I promised you that I would continue this moribund tale of Christmas Past, so continue I shall....

"Hey Fatso," my aunt said, as the American woman popped the last of the chocolate into her great chasm of a mouth, "haven't you ever heard of sharing?" We all stared miserably at the empty wrappers on the floor. The American woman, whose name – ironically enough - was apparently Tinkerbelle, dusted off her dinner-plate sized hands and sniffed. "There wasn't time," she replied. "You may think you walk on water, lady, but five loaves and two fishes those few bits weren't. Needs must, you know."

Exasperated, Dolores then tried to arrange a collection of cash so that someone could be despatched to the village shop before it closed. It turned out that the foreign-office chappie was 'temporarily embarrassed' and had nothing on him, the Norwegian boy tipped just £2.47 from his pockets, the Italian girl had nothing on her, and Tinkerbelle only had US dollars. Dolores turned to me and so, with a sigh, I reluctantly handed over the fifty pounds I had in my wallet. "You boy," she pointed at the young Norwegian, "take that simpering little doll with you and get yourselves down to the village shop. Buy everything you think is appropriate, but make sure you don't forget the brandy. And oh," she gestured at this point towards Tinkerbelle, "you might get a tub of lard for this one if there's any money left over."

Some time later, we all sat around the breakfast room table under a stark and unfriendly fluorescent light, staring gloomily at the miserable array of cheerless food before us. It lay there, tipped despairingly from the Norwegian's sack after he had returned from the shop.

"It's all tinned stuff," complained Balls, turning over a can of minced steak (with onions and gravy). "Didn't they have any fresh food?" Tinkerbelle held up a small can between her immense fingers. "What in hell's name made you buy this? Concentrated Prune Syrup from Cyprus? This is crap!"

"I got one of everything," the boy (whose name was Hendrik) protested. "They didn't have very much left." Dolores looked at him with disgust. "What is this?" she demanded, holding a small can of spam at arm's length. "Spam? I don't think I've ever come across anything more lacking in taste since I met that dreadful Mrs Baron in London with her three ghastly children - Darren, Karen and Sharon."

"Look at this one," Tinkerbelle laughed. "It says it contains genuine chilli sauce, made from a traditional Chinese recipe. Since when did chilli come from China?" At this, Balls lifted his head. "No, it's true," he said, "they eat a lot of it in the east. You know, Bangkok or somewhere."

"So?" she snorted. "They eat a lot of hamburgers in Hamburg, but that don't make them German." She threw the offending can of chilli sauce at his head. Luckily it missed him and whistled passed his cowering face, crashing into a jardiniere in the corner, smashing it.

"Was any of this really sensible, Hendrik?" Dolores asked. "Most of it does appear to be a waste of money you know. I really cannot imagine any of us here - not even Fatso - bothering to add just one egg to this pack of ready-to-bake chocolate dropcakes. We don't even have any eggs. You could at least have bought more alcohol. I mean, this isn't going to last us very long." She held up a half bottle of brandy which looked suspiciously as if it should be given to the cook. "This Christmas pudding doesn't even contain alcohol, according to the packet at least. What we need here is a pudding like the ones my old school pal Barbara Craddock used to make. Boy, you knew you'd had a Christmas pudding then. The best you've ever tasted, and with so much brandy, rum and whisky inside that I'd have to hide the keys to the Bentley after just one portion. Where is old Barbara when you need her, eh?"

Nobody cared to say anything else. It looked like it was going to be a somewhat low-spirited party for us all. Meanwhile, Tinkerbelle was busy ripping open a packet of cocktail-sized pork pies. There should have been one for each of us - the packet contained six pies - but she slid them into her open gullet as one, and so they disappeared.

To be continued.....