I have never cooked a turkey in my life

this year a roast turkey will be my contribution to the family Christmas table, I shall get up at 5am to get it cooked, then transfer the hot bird into an insulated, leak-proof box and drive it for two hours up the motorway where it can join a selection of roast potatoes and vegetables on the festive dinner table.

Bringing the bird means that I must also provide stuffing and gravy. It's the gravy that will be my undoing. At the beginning of the week I watched Jamie Oliver demonstrate 'Get Ahead Gravy' - the surefire way to guarantee the Christmas meal is a smash hit. Get Ahead Gravy involves chicken wings - it turns out that I wasn't the only one watching Jamie because every last wing in the country has already gone to Gravyland. I've returned from the shops with a few drumsticks and a pig's trotter, I will have to invent a Fingers-Crossed Gravy.

In other news 

Today is the winter solstice, this one marks twenty years since I said 'I do' to The Man, I've written more about this here. Twenty years is apparently a China anniversary and I'm not sure whether we should be buying plane tickets or a dinner service to mark the event, he is currently working in California trying to avoid being eaten by pumas. He is expected to squeak home just minutes before Christmas.

Gifts

Last week my love gave me a splendid cardigan
But he felt that the splendiferousness of the cardigan merited better buttons - he sliced up a piece of box wood.

It is the best present I have ever received.

Another Solstice

In my recent hunt for work I launched a multi-pronged attack - this time I included the use of agencies in my arsenal. Mostly these are an irritating waste of time but, in these straitened times, I felt that I ought to visit a few. They usually have quite grand-sounding titles and are located at an impressive address, I have been kept waiting in mahogany-panelled splendour but more often, lurking behind the impressive Kensington or Knightsbridge façade, lie stained carpet tiles and broken MFI furniture*

One agency has a name that makes it sound like a charity shop and is situated in a very unfashionable part of London. I made an appointment with Julie who is the sole employee and owner of the agency, she opened her front door to me and invited me to follow her up to the office. We picked our way along a hallway scattered with footwear and toys, then up the stairs and I was shown into the spare bedroom. The only chair was under a pile of laundry, Julie placed the stuff on the chair on top of the pile of clothing that was on the floor. I sat on the chair while Julie sat on a little step ladder. Agencies always ask you to bring lots of paperwork, I handed my papers over, then watched with fascination as Julie balanced a scanning device on one knee, a laptop on the other then placed my pages on the scanner which scraped and squeaked away for a while. During this time I was able to notice that Julie’s big toes had worn through her slippers and although her office didn’t have any desk space it did have an exercise bike, some full rubbish sacks and a lovely big stuffed rabbit.

Despite the apparent chaos Julie’s is the only agency that has found me any work, I start cooking regularly for a new client in London in a couple of week’s time.


Tomorrow I’ll have been married to The Director for ten years, I wrote about the wedding here, we’re going away to celebrate and I’m taking a short blogging break. I’ll get on with the next chapter of Earwig Sandwich when there’s something to write about.

Happy Solstice to everyone and if you celebrate anything else at this time of year - Happy that too!!


*The employing client doesn't visit the agency, the agents go to the client.

Happy Solstice

21st December
Today is our wedding anniversary.
We got married on the winter solstice because:
1. The Man's work life is governed by moon phases - he’ll always remember the solstice.

2. It is the date when everything starts to get lighter and therefore better


We got married in Las Vegas because:
1. The Man works away from the UK a lot and filming dates are constantly changing

2. That year he was definitely working in California until mid-December

3. The Man had promised his children that we'd have a holiday together.

Mid-December 1999 saw the children and I flying to San Francisco, where we picked up a Winnebago and embarked on the Grand Marriage Tour.

First night:
Snowy Grand Sequoia National Park. Driving on the winding hill road induced the nine-year old to regurgitate an entire packet of Oreos over himself. His father had to strip him entirely and somehow hose him down before getting him into fresh clothing, we left the set of vomitty clothes behind.

Arrival at Las Vegas:
The hotel was old but had promised a pool, parrots and palm trees. When we got there half the pool was closed and children were forbidden in the tiny bit that was left. All the parrots and palm trees had been packed away for the winter - what was left was a sleazy lobby full of people who needed a stool per butt-cheek playing slot machines.

The wedding day:
A stretch limo dropped us at the sheriff's office where we waited in line for the processing window and a lady to bash out our form on a proper old typewriter. Standing with us were flamenco dancers, cave people and a few meringue-type wedding dresses, I was wearing the dress my stepmother had worn to marry my father in the sixties, a navy blue lace shift - very Jackie O. The one good thing about the hotel was the foul-mouthed Hispanic hairdresser who laquered and tethered my hair into a perfect Audrey Hepburn updo.

After the Wedding:
Once back at the hotel the Man, overcome with emotion, collapsed on the purple satin bed, stared at his reflection in the ceiling mirror and declared himself poorly. The Children and I went out on the town without him, the nine-year-old was the world champion air guitar player at the time and managed to persuade hotel bouncers to follow us down the road playing their air guitars too.

Challenge of the evening: the brownie and ice cream mountains at the Harley Davidson café.

Christmas 1999:
Dead Horse Ranch, Arizona camping among geriatric permanent residents who wore pastel leisure suits and carried or dragged poodles around. We parked under a leafless tree and on Christmas eve, while the children were sleeping, we wrapped small items in foil and suspended them from the tree’s branches with dental floss.

New Year 2000:
A campsite high above the Californian town of Escondido. We watched Escondido’s fireworks and the trying-to-get-there-in-time traffic jam. We met some hippies who had been arguing, but then they stopped and everyone made friends and we all had a bonfire and drumming party.

This year:
We are both erratic present givers, The Man tends to panic at the last minute and grab whatever he sees at the motorway services, in the past I have been handed a plastic shopping carrier and map bundled into a paper bag. This morning I was given a very beautiful necklace made from several strings of small grey-green jade beads clasped at intervals with pieces of silver.

My gift to The Man was a dart board and darts, which were received with a puzzled look.