Bah Humbug - It's December again! 7 days to go!

Sunday 18th December.

Goodness me, we are at that point again. The end of term and a few days left before we all eat too much and suffocate under a mountain of wrapping paper, which could have been reused next year if only someone hadn't ripped it off the gifts. With my new no-need-to-programme iron, I could iron the paper flat and no one would ever know.

So today we made an attempt to get into the festive throes. Not that we were actually throwing anything around. Friends were coming over. Out came the monopoly board - that game that creates enemies. It needed a slight wipe down, not having seen the light of day for a couple of years. Nevertheless, the comment from my sons was that even in Monopoly Singapore is more expensive than any of the other sets. I suppose it was the $84 fairy lights that tipped the balance.

Expensive Singapore.

After lunch, I endeavoured to maintain a stance of Bah Humbugishness, but somehow, it was not quite working. I ended up being helpful, even nice. Although there was an ulterior motive. The Redmart delivery chap's van conked out. As he turned the engine over, 15 times, my basement filled with the pleasant odour of petrol fumes.

I offered him the jump leads and lifted the bonnet of my car to hook them up to the battery.

"Do you know where the battery is in the van?" he enquired.

"Uh, not really, but I'll look it up on the internet."

Battery finally located, I asked,

"OK, now, do you know how to jump start a car/van?"

"Uh, no," was the reply with a shake of the head.

Oh dear, yet another male who has no clue how a car works. I began to feel a tad concerned, visions returned to me when the last chap I helped managed to create sparks when he hit the jump leads together before he hooked them up to his car.

While I was pondering this possibility of fireworks at Christmas, the van's engine miraculously kicked into life.

A Christmas Miracle on Sixth Avenue.

The delivery chap smiled, said thank you, apologised for the inconvenience and went on his way. I was left holding the jump leads, not quite sure what had happened. Maybe the Toyota Hiace van felt sorry for the chap and did not want him embarrassed by some strange woman with a set of jump leads.

But more concerning for me was not that the chap was not a mechanic, but that basic car skills were lacking. I wondered if he could change a plug? I rather smugly tell my sons that I taught myself using a reference manual when I was 11 years old. My father was so surprised, he had to open the plug to check I had wired it correctly - which of course, I had.

At 4.30pm, putting jump leads and rewired plugs to one side, I partook of a glass of champagne. Not Prosecco as I had feared that this Christmas would be complete with, but Champagne made by a strange Widow called Cliquot. Widow's champagne. I suppose even widows have to be able to celebrate.

Bah Humbug was chased out of the window, replaced by bubbles, M&S Christmas Almond biscuits and over priced cherries  - now don't get me going on the stupid cost of cherries in thus country - now I am feeling Bah flipping Humbug, again ...

Bah Humbug! It's December, again - 11 more days to go

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 ...