Chris Pascoe’s Fun Tales
Christmas in the Pascoe household is never a particularly quiet affair...
All my talk of Christmas traditions involving Andy Capp last week reminded me of my earliest Christmases.
Our house became a family epicentre on Christmas Day, with various elderly relatives descending on us… and almost every one of them put Andy Capp to shame on that one single day of the year.
One of my earliest Christmas memories in fact, was my happily inebriated grandad dancing and singing his way around the lounge, before spotting my new Christmas present, a child’s punch-bag. After a few failed attempts at pulling on my ridiculously small boxing gloves, he gave up and elected instead to wear my mum’s kitchen apron, inexplicably believing this to be the next best thing in fist-protection.
Thus equipped, he stepped up and took an almighty swing at waist height, completely missing the ball and falling sideways over the sofa. Unperturbed, he came back for another go, this time thumping the ball, completing a full circle and dropping to his knees, only for the ball to spring back full blast into the back of his head, sending him sprawling across the carpet. I think it was his attempt to pull himself up via Great Aunt Gladys’s skirt that provided the most hilarious memory.
Another norm was two particular Aunties unfailingly talking total nonsense after a few sherries.
Pat: How’s Shirley nowadays, her from the newsagents? She wasn’t at all well last time I saw her.
Edith: Um, no Pat, that’s because you were visiting her at the funeral parlour.
Pat: Oh! That’ll be why, yes! I had this image of her looking pale, not well at all…
Edith: Lovely dress though. She always knew how to wear a dress! Pat: I know! I do envy her! Our sozzled seniors also made cracker-pulling a dangerous affair. I can remember Uncle Ted pulling a cracker so competitively he hauled my grandmother out her seat and straight across the dinner table.
Even pets weren’t averse to a bit of partying. One Christmas, my Cocker Spaniel, Tammy, had, unbeknown to us, been lapping at various beer glasses. Out of the blue, she launched herself at a chair, missed it by quite some distance, skidded across a coffee table sending peanuts flying in all directions, crashed down through the roof of my sister’s new doll’s house, and finally vomited all over its little felt carpets.
This Christmas will be a little more serene. Just me, my wife and my daughter… and about two dozen of our furry friends along the way, none of whom tend to drink. In fact, Ted the rabbit would forget to drink anything at all if he didn’t keep walking into his water bottle.
Have a very happy Christmas!