‘Tis the season... to panic
The gift list is blank, the menu is up in the air and the relatives are fighting. Welcome to your Christmas chaos.
I often find myself panic buying gifts from the pharmacy up the road on the 24th. I’m sure someone will be delighted with a couple of corn pads and a tube of coldsore cream.
Here we go, limping into the final stretch of 2016. I won’t remind you how many shopping days there are until Christmas because I have no clue.
I’m so disorganised around this time of year that I often find myself panic buying all gifts from the pharmacy up the road on the 24th. I’m sure someone will be delighted with a couple of corn pads and a tube of coldsore cream.
I do have a secret stash of gifts but they are Star Wars-branded undies for a 6-to-8-year-old-boy. They won’t suit Grandma but it’s the thought that counts, right?
A couple of months ago I went to Melbourne with friends. One of them, who is far more organised than I, bought a bunch for presents for her children (one of whom happens to be a 6-to-8-year-old-boy). She decided that some of these items should be stored at my house until Christmas in case her children went snooping.
So, we flew home on one of those midnight flights and, delusional with tiredness, I hid them in a cabinet in my lounge.
I’d completely forgotten about this until last week when I had friends over for dinner and one of them happened to open the cabinet door, spy Darth Vader looming out of a pair of kids’ knickers and look at me strangely.
You see, I don’t have children so the keeping of children’s gruts is suspicious.
Anyway, if I’d forgotten I was harbouring them, then surely Hayley has also forgotten, which means the property now belongs to me so all my family will be receiving the gift of small boys’ undies.
Ah, the joys of giving. Perhaps this unusual act will see me banned from future family Christmas gatherings, which as I explained above, would not make me mad at all.
I’m actually surprised my mum hasn’t been banned from Christmas lunches since the time she ruined celebrations with a 60-year-old tapeworm.
I have told this story before but it’s a firm favourite of mine and I’d hate new readers to miss out.
It was the 1950s and my uncle was but a poor defenceless child. This is way back before Star Wars came out and before anyone would even think to decorate a pair of undies with a light saber. Anyway, he had tapeworm.
Family legend has it that Grandma lured out the offending worm using the tried and trusted technique of shining a torch near my uncle’s bottom. She put it in a jar to show her kids what it looked like.
To me, this sounds like a glorious homemade zoology lesson that all young scientists should be excited by, but Mum decided to regale this story one Christmas and teased my uncle about it. I was living in London at the time so I cannot reliably re-tell what happened, but I understand that words were had and the rest of Christmas Day was very uncomfortable. My uncle does not have the temperament of a man who enjoys such past glories. (Needless to say, I’m not going to be popular for repeating the story here.)
I believe the worm harvesting method was the most upsetting for him to stomach over pavlova. Considering this was many decades ago and that worm is long dead, it sure has far-reaching powers.
Well, I should go and write a gift list. Maybe this year I’ll finally pony up and buy some decent gifts. Or maybe I’ll nip to the pharmacy and buy a family pack of worming tablets for Christmas lunch. That should set the day up nicely. I’m actually looking forward to it now.