We call it Yule

During the last few days of snow, we were a little bit anxious that our plans for Yule might have to be postponed for a week. On the 23rd, the MIL called from South Mimms to say she would stay there for the night. The Small Boy and I trudged into town to do last minute food shopping, and wondered if we would need it at all.

When Pete went off to work on the 24th, we set about tidying the house and starting to prepare food. Bernard spent a little time playing out in the snow in front of the house, and then came in to help out with the cranberry and mincemeat baklava. The MIL arrived mid-morning and was most irked to find that there was nothing left for her to do.

Our street was an ungritted ice-rink, so I was glad when Pete’s sister and her boyfriend (collectively known as BryTom) arrived. Everyone was instructed to deliver their present cache directly to the garage, out of sight of Small Boy’s eyes. Since it was under 5 degrees in there, that’s where Mr Pepperdine the Turkey spent the night as well.

And then, as if Bernard wasn’t excited enough, Daddy arrived home and got the tree out of the attic. The real/fake tree argument is a non-starter for us, as Pete bought the plastic tree before we lived together and it still looks sufficiently tree-ish. The team decorated the tree, and then BryTom rearranged every single piece of lametta until she was happy with it. I have no idea how long we have had that stuff, but it keeps on coming back.

Finally, my dad arrived, Bernard had his tea and went to bed, and we arranged the presents under the tea, had a curry, and argued good-naturedly about whether or not the wine was corked.

Bernard woke around 5:30 and we stalled him until 6am, when Pete snuck downstairs to put the lights on. There were many fabulous moments in the day, but watching the Boy come down the stairs with an expression of wonder at the colourful, MASSIVE pile of presents beneath the glittering tree, had to be the best. And for a little while, it was just the three of us.

By the time the others arrived from their hotels, Mr Pepperdine was in the oven and there was still an impressive quantity of wrapped items under the tree. Fortunately Bernard still likes to play with everything very thoroughly before moving on to the next. He is also as deeply impressed by a parcel of socks as he is by vast quantities of playdough. In fact, the most absorbing toy seems to have been a second-hand puzzle-game that I got in the Nearly new Sale back in September. It has six pieces missing, and yet it has received more attention than any of the other toys. Once again, Grampy’s elaborate and OTT gift has not had much impact yet. But as soon as it’s charged up, I’m sure the orange plastic quad-bike will be a big hit.

Lunch was planned for 1pm, and as I had done so much preparation the day before, I only spent the last hour hovering in and out of the kitchen, and managed to get it on the table bang on time. Mr Pepperdine was cooked perfectly, dressed in a lattice of streaky bacon, and accompanied by chipolatas, stuffing balls, red cabbage stewed in port and redcurrant jelly, baked apples stuffed with poached cranberries, brussel sprouts with chestnuts, roast parsnips, roast potatoes, mashed carrots, bread sauce and gravy. We ate in the conservatory, where we had pushed two dining tables together and draped them in red fabric. Everyone had a candle to celebrate the return of the light (although I don’t think this was explicitly mentioned) and a cracker hand-made by BryTom.

The afternoon is a blur of presents and paper. Someone must have washed up at some point, and I took a shift on the Breastfeeding Line at 5pm, but there were no calls so I was able to watch The Gruffalo as well. The whole day went so smoothly, most of the presents were good, no-one got stressed out at any point, and Bernard behaved himself beautifully. I might call that the best Yule ever, and of course the first one that was officially not known as Christmas.