NG2 Dec/Jan 2021

The
Fairy Lights
and Feta Tale
Christmas is most definitely not going to be the
same this year, even for a grinch like me, it’s going
to be a bit weird. If you have ever read my tales you
will know that this isn’t my favourite time of year.
Having said that, as I’ve got older, I do now quite
enjoy some of the traditions a bit more.
I have always dreaded putting the tree up. With
the decorating skills of a toddler, it’s a job I detest.
Getting the fairy lights right has always been my
achilles heel. However, this year after one failed
attempt, enough was enough. I googled the question
and sat watching a YouTube video while some
American guy showed me that the lights need to
be put on from the bottom up. WHAT??? Why did
I not know this??? 26 years of tantrums and tears
all for the sake of a quick video clip. So, I gave it a
go. Calmly, with George Michael telling me that last
Christmas he gave me his heart. And it WORKED!!!
Bells rang out, angels sang and Noddy screamed ITS
CHRIIIISTMAAAAS. You can thank me later.
Fully fired up with a totally misplaced sense of
confidence in my new found decorating skills, I
decided to go all crafty and Kirsty. After collecting
some holly sprigs from the woods, I attempted to
arrange them in a pretty wreath. What a waste of
time. After getting pricked to within an inch of my
life, it was a pathetic thing to behold. Determined
not to be beaten, I re-hashed them into some little
posies and hung them around the sitting room. Noone
noticed them for a few hours, then after some
guffawing and head shaking, Gary quietly collected
them up and chucked them in the compost bin
and they were never spoken of again. The ups and
downs of Christmas, right there.
Another firm festive favourite of mine is a good
mooch around a Christmas market while sipping a
mulled cider or two.
They do have a habit of turning me into a
spendaholic lunatic though. Three bars of chocolate
for a tenner – go on then. Scented candle for £30 –
I’ll have two please! Mysterious wooden object for
£40 – errr no thanks. If you have to ask what it is,
you probably don’t need it and neither will anyone
else.
Talking of spendaholic lunatics, Gedling put on a
really good Christmas market last year. Loads of
lovely stalls with some delicious goodies. While
discussing the merits of various chocolate brownies
with an old mate, Gary headed towards the olive
stall, like a lamb to the slaughter… Five minutes later
he wandered towards me looking
dazed and confused holding a
stack of plastic tubs. Now the
proud owner of a huge block
of feta cheese, a selection
of fat olives and a ton of
marinated garlic cloves.
Marinated garlic cloves???
What in the name of all things
Greek do I need them for???
Trying not to start a row in the middle of town, I
calmly asked how much it all cost. Only sixteen
quid, came the sheepish reply. Only. Sixteen. Quid.
And he wasn’t even drunk! Totally bamboozled by
the excellent salesman who kept popping sample
after sample into his gullible face, Gary then felt
obliged to buy half the stall! What an idiot. Those
flipping garlic cloves sat in our fridge for weeks,
reminding me every time I opened the door that I
was living with a halfwit.
M.C.A.A.H.N.Y!!
© A W