My Festive Season.
Christmas day my wife, the dog and I drive down to Sydney. We get there about midday and join my son and his girlfriend and their dog and answer a series of questions regarding what time we left, the traffic conditions, the total drive-time, whether that was more or less than normal, how the car behaved, what sort of mileage we get out of that model, how that compares to other makes in a similar price bracket, and when that’s all ascertained and settled we open a bottle of champagne and exchange gifts. After that we load up the cars and drive to the park where we set out a picnic, shout at the dogs, my son and his girlfriend have a row about something, and we begin to discover the things we forgot to bring, like knives and forks and openers, and the salad which was left sitting on the roof of my son’s car, leading my son’s girlfriend to exclaim, ‘Ah… so that’s what that smash was!’ After the picnic my son gets out the remote controlled helicopter I got him and immediately crashes it into someone’s car. The owned and I exchange details, then we pack up and go back to my son’s place and over the next couple of hours I get very drunk while my son and his girlfriend continue the argument from the park and I eat the rest of the ham which was left out in the sun and has gone off. Around seven I throw up the ham and my wife drives me home and I sit in the back with the dog, drinking cask wine from the nozzle and when we get home I go straight to bed and wake up twelve hours later feeling like the Black Death has descended, and we start day two.