Here’s a festive tale for you. Don’t read it too quickly or you might get indigestion!
Wishing you all a Merry Christmas and a wonderful 2016.
‘Susan, you’ve done us proud.’ Dad pushed his chair back from the table to give his stomach more room. ‘I think a little pause before pudding is in order.’
My sister Glenys shuddered. ‘Oh, no Christmas pudding for me, please! So heavy.’ She patted her pink cashmere stomach and smirked.
I knew it. Glenys had been delicate ever since she’d arrived when I was four. Never properly ill, you understand. Just enough to get the cosier chair, the softer, more expensive coat, and meals cooked to order. I got extra veg, and when I whinged Mum told me not to be difficult.
‘I’ve sorted out a little something for you, Glenys,’ I said. She almost purred as I set a pyramid of five gold-foiled chocolates before her. She’d never hosted Christmas. Her husband John said it would be too much for her.
In the kitchen I turned the pudding out onto a holly-edged plate and inhaled its fruity, spicy steam. Almost there bar the washing-up, which would keep me from the wrangling over Bond versus Disney. I sloshed brandy over the pudding and set it on fire, then took off my apron. Almost there.
‘Aaaah,’ they cooed, as I bore the blazing pud into the dimly-lit room. All except Glenys, whose eyes bulged with fury as her teeth met in the middle of a lovingly-prepared, chocolate-covered Brussels sprout.
Disclaimer: I don’t have a sister and I have never cooked sprouts!