We failed to continue several traditions this year. We didn’t get out for an early morning walk in the park (although we did go for a walk near our flat, and saw some chickens). Our daughter didn’t turn her tongue black by trying to eat Christmas cards. And my wife didn’t make cinnamon rolls that didn’t rise because the yeast wasn’t activated, unlike last year.
On the positive side, La Serpiente Aquatica Negra enjoyed opening presents (it took a while before she grasped that there were good things inside the shiny wrapping paper) and both I and my wife got some lovely presents. My wife bought me a copy of Games Workshop’s reissue of Space Hulk, a game I was obsessed with as a youngster, a quarter of a century ago, so I’m looking forward to playing that again soon (what could be more festive than super futuristic battle monks fighting monstrous horrors in Spaaaaaaace?) and there’s lots more books in the house, along with a substantial haul of chocolate.
To get in the Christmas spirit we watched A Very Harold & Kumar Christmas, the third part of the multiracial stoner series that began with Harold & Kumar Go To Whitecastle. It’s a ridiculous film, with Neil Patrick Harris injokes, a small child high on cocaine, Ukrainian gangsters and some moments of utter filth. But it made us laugh, even if our daughter interrupted us after an hour when she woke from her nap and wailed at us.
We hung out with friends all afternoon, then had a short break in the evening when we prepared dinner, and had more friends over later on, who I tried to make eat my mother’s Christmas pudding. This was a relic from 2013, but it had survived well in our freezer (the booze in a Foremanpudding is probably enough to preserve it beyond my lifespan) and adding brandy butter to it only made it more lethal. Now, as I type this I’m lying on the sofa, hoping that I don’t burst.
I miss snowy Christmases. While an advantage of Singapore is that I’m always warm and my body doesn’t hurt, it would be nice to get cosy and see the freezing weather outside. It would also be nice to go outside between 11 in the morning and 4, but with the harsh sun here that’s pretty much a no go. Still, perhaps next year we’ll be some place else.
So, as the brandy butter and the cake and everything else send me into a food coma, there’s nothing else to do but wish all a happy Christmas. Until next year, then.