I've been wondering what to post for a while, and was inspired by Mali's post on her Christmas.
So this is what I did over the holidays.
On Christmas Eve, we had canapes with the Boy (bearing in mind the Boy is still little enough to be filled up fairly quickly), and then had teriyaki duck breasts when he was in bed.
We had a heated argument about what to do with the Boy's presents. Really! My husband's parents used to get all his toys out of the box and set them up, thus saving much tedious fiddling with batteries and "insert tab A into slot B" instructions. Smaller presents went into a stocking.
Mine used to wrap everything and put as much as would fit in a pillowcase, with larger items under the tree.
We ended up compromising and having a small stocking (the Boy pulled out the orange and looked at us in utter disgust, clearly trying to fathom what was driving us to do such odd things), presents under the tree (I went a bit mad and accidentally bought him a wooden train set instead of a small stocking filler), and his main present, his slide, was set up.
We went for a walk down the beach in the driving wind, which I remember always doing in my childhood. The Boy started howling so we went home.
Lunch was smoked salmon on oatcakes, roast venison on the bone with all the trimmings, and trifle.
I think the main point of not setting up the presents in advance is to keep husbands out of the kitchen and out of mischief; mine appeared and started throwing a Gordon Ramsay strop about the bloody trifle topping when I was trying to simultaneiously plate up, carve and make gravy.
All the leftovers got turned into a massive hot crust pastry pie.
Then, because we are where we are, we had another big celebration on New Year. Which was the first time I'd had any number of people in the new house.
On Hogmanay, we had Chinese takeaway. This is because I remember really enjoying having the same at my granny's house on New Year when I was little. Everyone stayed up for the Bells apart from the Boy, who was too little to understand.
My husband, who had his kilt on for the occasion*, scrubbed the front step, to welcome the new year. The cat got fed up with him not being in bed so crept down the bannisters to above where he was sitting, and started hitting him on the head to express her general displeasure.
Then it was New Year's Day. I made potato scones and fried eggs, and most of us had a brisk walk to the beach to recover.
Then it was back for 70s style things on sticks, followed by roast beef on the bone, Yorkshire pudding, sausages, bacon, roast potatoes and then, after a rest, creme brulee.
Better still, the Boy was occupied by his cousins while the grown ups made a serious dent in the red wine.
And the 2nd is still a holiday here, which is handy for napping.
It all seems a while ago now; I've been detoxing for a fortnight after all the rich food. But it was fun.
* This seems to always cause some interest to those who are not native to these shores, but blokes generally wear underwear only with a hire kilt. My husband owns his, but normally wears trousers, so I had to hiss to him a few times to not sit with his legs akimbo.