2005
Celebrate Christmas…the Emsy way!
Allow me, if I may, to detail the Whitehead way of celebrating Christmas. This routine has been this way since time immemorial (well, since I was little anyway). Your cast – two parents, me, and a brother.
It’s 8am. Two children lie sleeping in their beds. Someone bangs on their doors…’kids, get up! It’s Christmas!’ Yup, the kids are teenagers, and therefore are unlikely to be up before 10am. One is me, the other is my younger brother. Rewind a few years, call it 6am and it’s two kids banging on their parent’s door…’Mum…dad…get up it’s Christmas!’ Either way, on Christmas morning we begin our story with two offspring sitting on their parent’s bed with a stocking full of gifts…usually chocolate, socks, something smelly and a random book. About an hour later, the children are packed off to their rooms to get dressed, with strict instructions that No More Presents Are To Be Opened Until The Parents Are Dressed, We Have All Had Breakfast And Cups Of Coffee Have Been Made.
Another hour later, and two children sit in front of the Christmas tree, drooling over wrapped gifts. The goahead is given, and no-one can see for the flurry of paper and packaging. Screwdrivers come out as things are assembled, and a good few hours entertainment is assured. Mum disappears to the kitchen sporadically to check on dinner.
It’s nearing dinner time. The kids are called upon to set the table, once the tablecloth (only brought out for special occasions) has been ironed. Great debate occurs over who gets what Christmas Cracker. Vegetables are brought to the table, and dinner occurs. Crackers are pulled, bad cracker jokes are told and daft paper hats are put on heads. Everyone eats far too much, at it’s usually mum who gets gravy on the tablecloth first. When pudding arrives, dad is presented with a spoon, a bottle of brady and a match. We all stand well back, usually behind a fireproof screen. Preferably in a different room. In a different town. Waiting until the flames have subsided and any emergency services we have had to call in have departed, we have our Christmas Pudding.
The rest of the afternoon is spent in silent contemplation of our dinner, watching Christmas movies, old Christmas episodes of Only Fools and Horses and usually a Wallace and Gromit offering. Christmas cake is eaten, as well as various chocolates given to us by family friends.
The day ends in a haze of food and bad television programmes. We all trundle off to bed, awaiting the week of visiting reletives and the huge amount of food we have to eat in the next week before we all go back to work.
This year, we will be doing our own Christmas in our flat so things will be different. But I can guarantee that the routine will be going on without my presence nonetheless.
