A Festive Celebration
George Bastow
The day arrives and with it brings a sense of childlike euphoria, the transportation back in time starts as the eyes flicker and the smell of meat travels up the stairs. A multitude of flavours mingle and entwine as they delicately infuse into the simmering roast. After weeks of planning and anxiously wondering how to fit such a gargantuan poultry into the oven the feat is accomplished.
The many accompaniments of the festive feast now begin to steam, marinating simultaneously upon the hobs.
As the first gift is opened, the infantile joy is obvious within the souls of all. After embarking upon a light breakfast, the rest of the morning is spent sampling and testing the culinary pleasures shoved into the mouths of the unaware from wooden spoons or steaming saucepans.
The sense of chagrin grips as the fact sets in that the festive television selection is a wasteland of laborious programmes and period dramas. Loved ones scurry into the house with cards and presents in their shaky grasps as lunacy ensues. The possibility of snow is questioned as the paper is torn from sweaters, socks and chocolates. Laughter rumbles as drinks are poured and with a cry from the kitchen it’s time to feast. Hungry mouths crowd around the cheerful table like giddy animals; gradually the surface begins to fill with countless condiments and assorted festive appetisers.
As the majestic beast is brought forth the folk around the table hold out their platters and look ravenously at the food stacked high upon it. Observing the plate, wondering how to approach it with the strategy of a warrior in battle, they feast. Reaching wildly for an array of pots they add every possible condiment to their towering meals except for one lone container, redundant and unloved.
The house is transformed into a realm of paper hats as stories already told a thousand times are again performed. Groans of exhaustion fill the air and cries of ‘Couldn’t eat another thing,’ are heard throughout the house. The elders of the family debate over empty plates happily inebriated as the first of several puddings approaches.
A hand reaches for the chocolates. ‘Just one more,’ a voice mutters as the day draws to an end and the celebrators depart.
The weeks of excitement and preparation had been worth it. As the air settles and peace looms, the world’s jubilant festive friend was gone, leaving a New Year in its fantastic wake.