Twas the night before Christmas

"'Twas the night before Christmas
and all through the house
not a creature was stirring
not even a dishwasher machine"

Yup, with unerring accuracy our dishwasher machine packed up, just in time for the Christmas load. We had a quick debate as to whether we should buy paper plates and plastic cups, then felt for honour's sake we should get the 'how to wash up' instructions out (it's been a long time). Again, debate ensued about the best sequence to do things in. It appears it is a matter of almost religious conviction as to the sequence you put the soap and water in. Do you put the soap in first, then the water (and get an enormous amount of suds that threaten to obscure the objects you're washing up), or do you put the water in first and then the soap? Wars have been fought over less. (What, you've never heard of the Great Soap Wars of Upper WibbleBottom Road?).

Having settled the issue of the soap and water (no, I'm not going to tell you the result - fight your own battles), we then started on the Christmas dinner.

The traditional Christmas dinner is obviously one of these things that has been built up over the ages in happier times when there were three cooks, two scullery maids, a butler and a gamekeeper. You need the gamekeeper to shoot the bird on Christamas Eve because the turkey is so d**n big that it won't fit in the fridge. We have a nice little fridge suited to our lifestyle, full of the important things in life (three bottles of wine, some old milk, fruit juice, chocolate, another bottle of wine, some chocolate, a bit of pate, cheese, fruit flan, 12 bottles of aquarium water treatment stuff (takes up 20% of the fridge) and something rather odd in the back that has been slowly evolving and adapting to a cold weather climate and which may one day emerge to take over the world). It has been said that the cockroach is man's inheritor, since it can survive a nuclear blast. I maintain that it those rather interesting bits of food in the fridge that have gradually congealed together, settled there, got their pipe and slippers out and are comfortably waiting for the next ice age. As I said, it's a nice little fridge, perfectly suited to the task for which it is set. It doesn't need the shock of a large bit a poultry forcibly stuffed into it. In fact, I bet that is what set the dishwasher off - it came out in sympathy with the plight of the fridge. (Of course, all this will puzzling to my american brethren, who have wall to wall fridges with multiple doors, ice boxes and walk in freezers; over this side of the pond we do things smaller).

Ok, we have the turkey. Then there is that lovely phrase 'all the trimmings'. This is one of those twee words that covers up a nightmare. I'm sure that every ten years someone has come up with a new set of 'trimmings'. This is where the three cooks come in, just to deal with 'all the trimmings'. The Christmas meal is a marvel of coordination, since you have to bring the turkey, sausages wrapped in bacon, chestnut stuffing balls, sage and onion stuffing balls, roast parsnips, roast carrots, roast potatoes, peas, sprouts with onion and garlic, bread sauce, cranberry sauce, gravy and the partridge in the pear tree all to the perfection of cooking AT THE SAME TIME - and have soup just before. And if you tell me that I left anything out I'll scream.

We managed it. OK, the sausages in bacon were a little crunchy, but this year I managed to get some sprouts that were in that happy state between over cooked goo and bullet hard rawness. And I forgot the bread sauce. Again. For the third year running. And the peas were a tad cold by the time we'd got everything to the table and the turkey carved. But other than that, we're getting there. We closed the blinds to the kitchen so we didn't have to see the pile of pots, pans, jugs and spoons that were the result of our little meal and which would have to be washed up. And, as they say - a good time was had by all.

We missed the queen's speech.