tyred and emotional
As we stare up at the pound shop Christmas baubles lovingly sellotaped up to the ceiling by our flatmates to create a “festive dance floor” in our living room, the warm fuzz of Christmas spirit pours in like a hot cocoa. The cheap deccies and our annual London Christmas jumper party (Lisa is exceptionally proud of her protruding snowman nose this year) are merely the warm-up to the joy and merriment to come as we cross the Border. The main aim this year is to achieve the following:
1. An extra tyre on the tummy.
2. Visit every single Scottish friend or family within driving distance.
3. Retrieve ALL of the gossip from high school friends.
4. Find a cure for the hangover (FYI Irn-Bru is classed as treatment not cure).
The plans to achieve this are thus: hop aboard the East Coast train two days prior to Christmas, armed with flasks of mulled wine, Christmas playlists and tinsel on our cases. Arrive into Waverley gleefully singing, collected by Father Mac who will inevitably say “What on Earth are you wearing?”
Upon arrival open fridge and inspect contents, open packet of smoked salmon only to hear Mother Mac behind you: “Lisa if you are going to eat that, put it in a sandwich please, it’s a waste!” Sorry mum, but we have never understood the logic of this – encasing it in bread does not make it multiply, nor does it make it taste nicer!
The following day is dedicated to the childhood chums we’ve all been best friends with from when the Play-Doh was first cracked open at nursery to the last detention of high school and beyond. Hanams is going to house this reunion, heard great things, apologies to anyone also dining there that night!
Ah Christmas Eve, the mince pies are warmed for Santa, Rudolph’s carrot is neatly peeled and chopped, onesies warming on the radiators and the Baileys bottle has slowly made its way out of the back of the cupboard. The day will be spent trying to appease Mother Mac in her duties and quickly do as she says before she implodes/puts you on Santa’s “bad list”/chases you with the hoover.
The evening is all about the yearly Boroughmuir Reunion, hugging people, saying “you’ve not changed a bit!” and reminiscing about throwing soggy boggies at the toilet ceiling.
SAAAANNTAAASSS BEEENNNN. Mum and dad still get this alarm clock from us, aged 25 with sore heads, on Christmas morning. We all trundle downstairs, dad gets his socks/golf wear/Bruce Springsteen CD, mum gets, well hopefully not the foot spa a la 1995 that went back to Argos on Boxing Day and we get pyjamas/Mac makeup/whatever we’ve sent mum the links to on Amazon. The wrapping is away, the Bucks Fizz is in, and round come the Muir side of the family. The rest of the day goes as follows: silly banter, stuff faces, stuff faces, drink, play game, stuff faces, banter, undo trousers, stuff faces, laugh, laugh, laugh, Baileys. Shall report back on level of achievement on four aims once the turkey sandwiches have cleared. Christmas Cav anyone?
Macs over and out x
get a handle on
If, like us, you’d rather you just made a pact with your chums to exchange hugs instead of gifts at this time of year and are at a loss for ideas, we’ve got a few suggestions to give you a nudge in the right direction. We can all agree bespoke, practical and chic are all targets we aim to hit when purchasing pressies: Zatchels’ engraved satchels bullseye all of these.
Head to www.zatchels.com to bag yourself one (sorry, couldn’t resist!).
Similarly Zara Taylor’s handmade jewellery will NOT fail – www.zarataylor.co.uk. Thank us later.