A house full of noise
That is what we had yesterday afternoon. A cacophony of melodic, teenage-male voices. A truly inspiring clamour that would give any Christmas song, that is not a Christmas song, a run for its money.
To be honest, it was a relief, after two hours of listening to a neighbour trying to drill holes in the wall in his garage to mount his rusting bicycles. It took much composure not to get my own drill out and drill a hole in his ear - I joke, obviously, but nevertheless, Sunday afternoons should not be filled with incessant drilling.
Likewise, Sunday afternoons should not be an olfactory assault by durian. I wish, oh, I wish they would ban that stuff that smells like someone left the gas burner on, from any residential area. If you must eat that stuff, dear Mr Neighbour, go and sit in the jungle, where you can burp and pass wind to your heart's and durian's content.
We closed the windows and doors, and opened a bottle of prosecco. Thank you to the Italian wine growers for producing something with bubbles that tickle your nose, that is affordable at this time of the year. A frizzante, made from Glera grapes. And, in such a stylish bottle. Sigh, that is Italy.
Dinner consequently became a huge pot of pasta, accompanied by lightly fried chicken sausages (oh, horror! the nitrates!), and copious amounts of peas and corn, some ratatouille for the more grown up palate, all lightly sprinkled with freshly grated parmesan cheese (thank you Dr Monica).
The house was alive, just as it should be at Christmas.
Dare I use those forbidden pseudo-Christmas song words?
"It's beginning to feel a lot like Christmas!"
DOWN THE CHIMNEY ©
The chimney spat out clouds of smoke,
It made me want to choke,
So off Mum shuffled to the door,
Then cried out, ‘Saints galore!’
The door was bolted shut, quite tight,
It had been like that all night.
Dad said, ‘I hate to disappoint,
But I think I have a point.’
Bah Humbug! Santa's up the chute ...
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