Family Christmases are Funny

Christmas was ages ago, but I'm feeling the need to stretch out the festivities this year (possibly because I was still working up until 9pm on Christmas Eve).

Being in close proximity to family members for days on end can produce the odd tense moment as turkey-roasting methods are called into question by people who haven't been slaving over a hot stove for hours. Some families hate each other at the best of times and enforced togetherness is a gruelling chore to survive, rather than a joyous occasion of family unity.

And then there's my family, which is delightfully eccentric.

You'll be pleased to know that I asked my family's approval before
 publising this post, hence the blanked out name. Makes you wonder 
about the stories that got vetoed out, doesn't it..?

This picture was created one day when we were musing "What would we call a book written about us?" My apologies for the poor quality of the photos; they were taken on a phone a few years ago while we were watching 24 and imitating Chloe's crosspatch expression.

As you already know from my previous posts, we keep a written record of our silliest moments (known as "The Book". As I'm too lazy to write a proper blog, I thought I'd treat you to some of its highlights.

Appropriately enough, religion often features (although a discussion of Christmas card aesthetics resulted in mum saying "This is going to sound awful, but I think the ones with nativity scenes look a bit... old hat"). 

She also read a book which mentioned that the way Jesus' burial clothes were folded was symbolically significant in the Jewish culture at the time. It turns out to be one of those apocryphal stories, but it was worth it to hear mum say "I thought he was just being neat and tidy".

On another occasion: "You know that Tony Pearce, who writes a letter about the last days? Well, he always ends on a high note..."

"Talkin' 'bout the end of days..." This reminded me that my family might be
 more redneck than I realised.  (Any excuse to include a Pistol Annies track.)

Christmas is of course the season for watching TV (Mum: "What's that programme you like? 'Retarded Development'?") and all those seasonal specials are great when you're feeling festively plump and boozily sleepy. Michael  Bublé elicited the response "Is there something wrong with his legs?" ("No mum, he's dancing") and Dad channelled his inner stylist again when he saw some celebrity women who had posed without makeup for charity: "They look as if they've crawled out from under a rock."

Then there was the time that mum walked in halfway through a news story about the late Pope John Paul II becoming a saint. Seeing a doddery old man on screen, she pointed out "He doesn't look very well."

Dad: "He's dead"

The morbid sense of humour continued with dad's search for someone to mend a dripping tap: "Of course, the trouble with all these good, older plumbers is that they'll be retiring or dying soon.. but then so will I, so what's the difference...?"

Then mum said that she'd like a particular painting on her 'bucket list'.

Me: "You do know that a bucket list is things to do before you kick the bucket, don't you?"

Mum, brightly: "Oh, p'raps I mean 'wish basket'."

Another recurring theme was the redneck lifestyle (not surprising for a family who go bowling and eat burgers on mother's day). One day when I was assuming dad would be playing golf, I went to say good morning to my mum, who was sitting in bed in semi-darkness. She said "I'm watching the shopping channel!" to which I naturally replied, in my best True Blood accent, "I'm a redneck! I have a son named Bubba and I like watching the shopping channel!" I then sat on my dad, who, unbeknownst to me had skipped his golf game because of the rain, and was still snuggled under the covers trying to sleep, hence the dark room and low volume. Until I showed up. Oops. 

You might REALLY be a redneck if your favourite kind of shopping 

involves staying in your PJs all day.

Mum's alcohol consumption is always good for a laugh; luckily this year my brother didn't make any of his lethal cocktails, so there was no risk of mum leading us in a midnight conga down the street (at least, no more risk than usual). She is well-known for not generally drinking very much, which is why I was once heard to say "She normally only has a thumplefold... a thumble... I don't know what I'm trying to say..." 

(I meant "thimble-full", and yes, I may have had a bit of a head start on the wine at that point.)

When Dad offered to top up her glass, she squeaked "Just a tinsy, tinsy bit... that's enough!" to which he retorted "I haven't put any in yet!"

Dad and I also had a conversation about the practice of standing up in bars:

Dad: "I don't like to stand up when I drink."

Me: "No!"

Dad: "And I don't like standing up when I eat!"

Me: "No!"

Both together: "I don't like standing up!"

The book has also revealed some interesting evidence of possible past lives as animals: Further to Dad's identification with birds, we've realised that my mother has an unusual level of empathy for crocodiles. "I think people are quite cruel to crocodiles – they only eat people because they're hungry". On another occasion she complained about the way "people are always tying them up with rope." (Dad: "Well, you wouldn't tie them up with sellotape, would you?") 

Check out this croc's goofy grin: What's not to love?

We also offer sympathy to all manner of inanimate objects; when Mum and I entertained ourselves by drawing a face on a melon (there's no end to our fun activities) Dad interrupted all the pointing and laughing with "Don't be mean!"

My favourite Mum story occurred when she was doing a crossword and announced "And I didn't know an ounce is called a snow leopard."  Although for a few moments it seemed that she'd been replaced by a robot and her brain-to-mouth function was short-circuiting, it turns out to be true. (To be exact, a snow leopard is also known as an ounce, so it won't really work if you go to the sweetshop and ask for five snow leopards of gum drops.)

Amid all this hilarity, I told her "Ooh, you're Tony Bennett all over, you are. Oh.... not Tony Bennett, Alan Bennett..."

  

It must be genetic. 

2013: My wishlist

I would like to go back to this now please.

2013 has only just started, but Christmas feels like ages ago and miss it already. I might have to be one of those nutters who has (or at least, they tell the tabloids they have) “Christmas every day” complete with full roast dinner and the Queen’s speech on a loop. Except if I was going to choose one Christmassy day to repeat Groundhog Day-style, I’d probably pick one in the hazy, timeless period between Christmas and New Year. It’s better than pre-Crimbo, when you’re running around like a lunatic making goat’s cheese nibbles and buying one more packet of nuts and running out of sellotape just before you’ve finished wrapping your presents. It’s better than Christmas day itself, which can be a bit anticlimactic. After Christmas you can relax and play with your new toys (er, electronic equipment) and watch Jurassic Park every time it’s on. You can also still watch Santa movies because technically you’re still in the festive season. Life is awesome.

But now we’re well into the new year, what do we want to achieve? Here's my wishlist:

1) I want just one media reference to Christina Hendricks which doesn't use the word “curves.” It doesn’t have to be a whole article or anything – hacks are only human – but I think journalists everywhere should make a collective effort to see if they can just manage a picture caption or something without the “C” word. (But don’t say full-figured, because she hates that.)

Christina Hendricks: She looks nice.
(There, that wasn't so difficult, was it?)

2) Next time we have some sort of Comic Relief telethon in which celebrities do “amusing” things, I would like to see all the TV chefs swap personas. It would make me chortle to see Nigella lisp about “getting these bad boys in the oven – bish, bosh, done!” and Delia licking the spoon seductively as she waxes lyrical about the plump, succulent nature of, say, a pan of rice. TV execs, can we make this happen?

And Jamie can channel my Mum: this means learning basic hygiene, like 
not licking a spoon and putting it back in the bowl. Also occasionally doing
 something radical like removing the seeds from a pepper before serving it.

3) Also re: TV, I think I speak for us all when I say I want the The X Factor to go away now; the format is old and tired. This isn’t the fault of the contestants, but the Producers. We’re all hip to the old “Let’s keep in one talentless fame whore just to make things interesting!” gag now. It’s been faithfully recycled year after year (Jedward, Wagner, Rylan...) and is much less interesting than a simple competition between 12 really talented kids that you genuinely root for, because you wish they could ALL win. The trend in 2012 was to keep voting in the charisma-free Christopher, just for a laugh. It’s kind of like those lions at the zoo who always very deliberately spray at the gawking hordes (yes, I watched a lot of You’re Been Framed over Xmas. I never said I was classy): we may be a captive audience, but we can always find a way to express our contempt.

Telephone voting: cleaner, but probably not as much fun.

4) Much as I am appalled at Derren Brown’s apparent disregard for ethics, I’ve got a blinder for his next project. I was inspired by Christmas TV (of course) and thought how cool (but mean) it would be to create a fake It’s a Wonderful Life / The Family Man scenario. The latter would be easier because you’d only have to sneak your unfortunate, comatose victim into a strange house and wait for him to wake up alongside people who would claim to be his wife and children. (I fear that the It’s a Wonderful Life set up would require too many acting skills (and no giggling) from the guy’s existing family and friends.) After he’d spent a few weeks adjusting to life in the suburbs, away from the glitz of his city job and midnight martini-drinking, you’d be like “Psyche! You have to go back to your whiny girlfriend and joyless existence now!” it would be hilarious.

It would also be funny if you never let on that it was fake, and he spent the rest 
of his life believing that he had supernaturally glimpsed his other potential life.
 I BET somebody somewhere will one day make this a reality TV show.
 

4) We REALLY need a change in the law regarding donor cards. At the moment, there is always a shortage of vital organs, which means that people die unnecessarily (and sometimes even die after being given the lungs of a chronic smoker, because any lungs are better than none.) This is madness. I know some people don’t like the idea of themselves or a loved one being cut up into pieces after death, but to be blunt, your former body is going to be either worm food or ashes soon anyway, so why not save some lives first?

An acquaintance once told me very earnestly that her mother (a nurse) had told her to NEVER carry a donor card, because if you come in after an accident, the doctors won’t try very hard to save you because they’ll be thinking gleefully of all the organs they can harvest – the needs of the many outweighing the needs of the few. Apparently this lady had “seen it happen” many times. Sounds crazy, but who knows? The Liverpool Care Pathway seems to have neatly bypassed the Hippocratic Oath. 

It’s obvious that the system should default to everyone's bodies being used for organ donation automatically, with an “opt out” choice available: organ shortage problem solved overnight. Plus, if your heart or eyes go to help another person, and then they also donate when they die, it’s kind of like your cells living forever, in lots of different people. Immortality, sorted.

5) And finally, I want a puppy like this one please. Happy new year!