Post by richardk on Dec 16, 2014 9:29:12 GMT
I blame the reindeer.
For a start Rudolf was running in the lead on dipped headlights, something that is not allowed in the Sleigh: Lighting and speed limits when fully loaded. regulations from the DVLA in Swansea. He should have had his eponymous nose on full beam, especially as this was the night before Christmas Eve as Santa was trying to get ahead of himself. They were running late so were carelessly going too fast for the prevailing conditions and, it is thought, some of Santa’s sherry had been shared out a little too liberally between the too dear at the front. Santa was, of course in overall charge and responsible for the safe distribution of presents around the world but he had understandably delegated the responsibility to his lead reindeer during the long hop across the Atlantic so that he could get some rest.
They came to an abrupt halt above 22 Railway Terrace when Rudolf slipped on one of the solar panels and got his left ear lopped off by the wind turbine clamped to the chimney that was whizzing around in the East wind - the windmill that is, not the chimney. The solar panel now had a broken circuit so that cut the power to the ground source heat pump. The windmill blade was bent by its collision with Rudolf’s ear and was now making a strange noise as it rotated out of balance., so it had to be feathered and shut down.
Santa prepared to slide down the chimney when he realised that Dad was busy adjusting the feed of wood pellets to the eco boiler so the chimney route was out of the question. Santa consulted his year book for advice on an alternative route. The new health and safety advice precluded all roofly adventures and advised that the sack of presents should be left outside the front door. Santa was glad to comply as he now had a chance of catching up on his schedule - even with Rudolf’s medical problem - he navigated by eye, not ear. Rudolf didn’t want to be left ‘ear so he was chomping at his bit to get moving.
Santa yelled ‘giddup’ and the laden sleigh was on its way.
Dad finished setting up the eco boiler and then got a ladder from the shed to start repairing the solar panels. ‘Pesky reindeer,’ he muttered as he climbed the ladder. ‘ I don’t know why they don’t do away with powered transport and used gliding sleighs. Doesn’t Elf and Safety have anything to say about that?’
The older daughter, Daphne, came out to watch Dad. ‘Don’t jump off the roof, Dad. You’ll make a hole in the yard.’
‘Yes, I know, Mother’s been planting petunias.’ said Dad, looking for his pliers in his utility belt.
The solar panels were fixed and back to their winter output of 2 kilowatts, restoring power to the ground source heat pump so the house started warming up. This was the good news, as was the fact that the composting toilet was now back in use. The bad news was that the wind turbine was in a bad way and a new set of fan blades would be required.
Dad climbed down from the roof, just in time to see, and hear, the Salvation Army carol singers turn up - complete with their trademark oompah band. The were singing the pizza carol, you know, the one that has the line ‘deep pan crisp and even’ - it always brought a tear to Dad’s eye, especially as he was feeling hungry after his high level work. Daphne put a penny in the old man’s - he was playing the euphonium - hat and they went in for their tea. This was a casserole that had been slowly cooking in the straw bain-marie all day - please don’t ask what meat it was, they were all feeling a little traumatised by the thought of the killing to come.
After dinner they all went out to do their allotted chores, feed and water the pigs and chickens, bring in some pellets for the eco boiler and kill the turkey that had been fattening up all year, ready for their Christmas Dinner. It was cold on the fingers harvesting the sprouts, as they were covered in ice. They had dug enough potatoes the previous week so now all they had to do was to pluck the turkey. It didn’t have a name as they knew from the previous year that that calling a turkey ‘Harriet’ made it too personal a killing - almost murder in fact. They set to, pretending this was just another turkey. The anonymous turkey was soon plucked, stuffed and ready for the oven. They spent the rest of the evening decorating the Christmas tree with paper chains carefully made from the paper strips with organic glue they had swapped at the WI sale for a bucket of sprouts. The tree, of course, was one carefully dug up from the garden, complete with roots. It had lasted for five years so far and soon would be too big to bring indoors. It was already a bit of a chore digging a hole big enough for it in the garden each January. It was also starting to encroach on the vegetable patch.
The presents then had to be wrapped, using the paper and string saved from last year of course - none of that new fangled sellotape stuff that stuck to everything, except the right thing in the right place. The family was tired by now so they trooped up to bed - leaving Dad to bring Santa’s sack in from the front porch and Mum to distribute the parcels under the tree.
Daphne was woken first by the two younger children, Elf and Safe who were very excited and clamoured to be allowed downstairs to see if Santa had been. Daphne negotiated with them; they could go downstairs and look at their presents but none could be opened until the morning chores had been completed and breakfast had been fully eaten.
They quickly hoovered up their porridge and home made yogurt and then renewed their demands to open their presents. Mum and Dad had sleepily stumbled downstairs by this time. Dad pleaded for time to make some of their coffee substitute, made from the acorns from five acre wood - the pannage pigs didn’t approve - then gave in to the children’s demands.
There were soon the sounds of cutting of string and tearing of paper, in spite of the parent’s pleas to carefully fold up the paper for next year. What five year old concerns themselves with next year? It is so far in the future that it doesn’t exist.
What delights lay in store for them, hidden within the folds of recycled, battered, Christmas wrapping paper. Miniature garden implements were greeted with squeals of delight, packets of seed were discovered with joyous cries and as for recipes for ‘ delicious dishes created from your garden harvest’! There could be nothing better.
Mum was pleased with her wool vouchers and Dad was delighted with his farm shop vouchers. that entitled him to ‘pick your own manure.’
It was now time to embark on the Six Days of Turkey. Christmas day - turkey giblet soup, roast turkey of course, the plates piled high with home grown most things, potatoes, sprouts, chestnut stuffing, home made miniature sausages wrapped in home cure bacon followed by Mum’s special Christmas pudding and sips of the sloe gin that was now coming up to ten years old.
Tomorrow would be cold turkey cuts, home made pickles, beetroot and walnut, and cold roasties.
The third day of turkey would be the same, except with mash potatoes , as would be the fourth.
The fifth day of turkey would be the trimmings from the carcass made into a curry and the grande finale on the sixth day of turkey would be the bones, boiled up all day then strained off to give a wonderful turkey stock which was added to a vegetable casserole.
The turkey bones were then ground up as bone meal fertiliser for next years vegetables. The turkey feathers were, of course used in the home made duvets. The family said that the only thing that wasn’t wasted from the turkey was its gobble - and they all missed that until the fertilised turkey eggs hatched and a dozen chicks started their year-long journey to next Christmas through the cycle of the year.
