Christmas Is Coming...

First, I think, today just has to be covered. Something like today has to come first.

An early morning, started in the most agreeable way in which to wake up in my parents' house - "Stuart? Keith has cooked some breakfast."

All presents were gratefully recieved - I am now the proud owner of a visual guitar tutor book (which, considering that I own a guitar older than I am, is a touch overdue), a couple of books on writing (which, with my bipolar ego/id writing persona, I'm sure I'll be able to find a use for at least 50% of the time), the new Travis album, PS2 game LOTR- The Two Towers, a laptop carrying bag (probably designed for post-1996 laptops, and in for one hell of a shock when I introduce it to the much-loved 'one-upgrade-from-Stonehenge' style beastie that I currently write on), a pack of Playboy playing cards (not sure what was meant by this), a cracking mug from GHD, and a goddamnedly funky little bottle opener.

Out of the few that I bought that could be opened today, my presents to my parents went down well - Keith (my Dad) loved his sheepskinesque coat, and opened the rest of his presents wearing it over his dressing gown, and Mum loved her Roger McGough Anthology and various musicky CDs.

....The Goose Is Getting Fat

After breakfast at around 9am, and despite picking at snacks and whatnot at Lin and Len's (owners and runners of The Ventnor Fish Bar, and great family friends), by 5pm I was a touch hungry. So as you might imagine, if you let me get that hungry and point me at a lobster, things could get messy.

Not to mention dangerous for the other people at the table, in a uniquely...ballistic crustacean way.

What was the surprise, and only Lin and Len could possibly get away with it, was that the lobster (with salmon roulade, guacamole and a light salad) was the starter.

It was followed up with the arrival of a combined roast joint made of venison and wild boar with plum stuffing from a chap on the Island, and...separately, a boned goose, roast in its own fat, stuffed with a chicken...which in turn had been stuffed with a pheasant. This had been ordered from a farm somewhere, somewhere in a field in Hampshire.

To go with these (picture me sitting, shocked but beginning to grin, at one end of the table at this point) came steamed romanesco, roast potatoes and shallots, asparagus tips, roast pickled onions (yes - I hadn't heard of them either) more plum stuffing, and goose gravy. A small plate of Cumberland and Cranberry Sauces was looking around the faces at the table, hoping to get a look in.

At this point, Mein Host decided to open a suitably refined bottle of wine, and settled for a Gran Reserva Rioja, Faustino 1; 1988. My jaw dropped.

Needless to say I'm not really used to this sort of thing, but hot damn was it good. At this point I was eating slowly, trying to take it all in (take this comment any which way you see fit - all the ways I can think of do apply).

It was bloody gorgeous.

The teenage Rioja was enormously appreciated, but disappeared rather quickly and was followed up by a pair of twelve year-olds. Amazing.

Pudding took the form of a number of different desserts including trifle and tiramasu, but centre stage was given to the Christmas Pudding, ordered especially for the occasion from The Carvéd Angel in Dartmouth. The blue flame on the brandy whizzed in circles on the surface of the plate around the pudding...with Brandy Cream...astounding.

Whisky and Cigars were then produced. I was convinced I was living in some sort of 1920s upper class dreamworld by now, and thought I ought to be sporting a monocle or maybe cultivating a pipe.

My parents have gone straight to bed. I wanted to get all this down onscreen (as opposed to on paper) before hitting the sack, purely because I am still in awe. Come to think of it, I suspect I will be getting more comments from Fulminous aka Biscuit over this meal...

...And In Other News...
Yesterday's journey home was uneventful...one of the non-events was recieving an SMS from GHD just outside Haslemere, making non-progress just outside Haslemere for thirty minutes, and then getting underway again ten seconds after getting a text from Shiv. Draw your own conclusions...

Going out in Newport in Christmas Eve was also much fun - the Chicago Rock on the Island, whilst a SERIOUS contender (along with all the other Chiccy Rocks in creation) for Cheesiest Club Ever, has bizarrely become a part of home. Looking around the place and seeing so many familiar faces...so many...is earthing in a very personal way, even if I wouldn't speak to most of the people in there...or even remember their names. They've just been around, and a part of where I grew up, for a long time. Sharon, GHD, Lizzy, Vicky, Anna, Nick, Natalie, James (eventually, after he'd woken up), Laura et al were all having a few drinks and a dance to see each other before heading home for Christmas. It made me feel more at home to see them.

There's a lot planned, and I have a feeling The Autoblography may even expand over the holidays...in much the style I will be aiming not to.