We put the turkey into the oven...and then forgot about it
Look, I knew it was never going to be plain sailing, this Christmas dinner lark, but I never thought I'd be on the verge of divorce because of a bird - of the feathered variety anyway!
And don't even get me started on the ham, which was five times too big for any pot we owned and resulted in us having to hack it to pieces to squash it into a suitable receptacle.
Relations started to go pear-shaped the day myself and Himself decided to do the Christmas grocery shopping together. We don't go grocery shopping together. I now remember why. He strides into a supermarket like a sergeant major and marches down the aisles ticking items off his list. I prefer to browse, taking my time, examining various goods, seeing what's on special offer and tasting the free samples.
But as far as Himself was concerned if it wasn't on the list it wasn't going in the trolley. He tried to put a bag of sugar back on the shelf because it wasn't on the list and when I hit the cheese counter (my favourite section) he nearly had a stroke when I started lobbing my brie and comté in with mighty abandon. 'How much feckin' cheese do you need?' he cried.
'You can never be too rich, too thin or have enough cheese. Although obviously if you eat a lot of cheese staying thin is going to a problem,' I replied.
We were giving out to each other so much, that I thought a time-out was necessary, so I sent him to get the cocktail sausages while I made a beeline for the smoked salmon. He came back proudly waving 24 cocktail sausages at me.
'You do realise we have 13 adults and four children on Christmas Day?' I pointed out. 'What is this? One for everyone in the audience?'
He stormed off in a huff to purchase a five stone bag of spuds. See, as far as he was concerned as long as we had the spuds we'd be grand.
And it was grand - well, the spuds were anyway, all five types that he insisted on doing on Christmas Day because, let's face it, everyone needs five different types of potato - garlic, mashed, roasted, boiled and croquettes.
The rest of it was a bit of a balls! The turkey, was too big for the fridge so we had to leave it in the boot of the car overnight. I was hoping someone would rob it but no such luck. There it was staring up at me the next morning, all fleshy and plucked looking! We shoved it in the oven and kind of forgot about it. Due to my prosecco pouring skills, our timing may have been a bit out... Well, very out, in fact.
Himself was inconsolable. 'It's only Christmas dinner,' I said, pouring him a large brandy.
'This is all your fault! If you hadn't gotten me drunk I wouldn't have overcooked the turkey,' he said. I suppose technically he was right.
'Well there's only one thing for it - keep drinking. At least we won't be able to taste it then,' I said, topping up his brandy.
'And there's always the cocktail sausages!'