Friday, 27 December 2013

Cherry Pie

So my Grandmother has come to visit.
A very sweet, old delicate looking lady. With the attitude and tongue of a minor she-devil.

First and foremost, she is the biggest neat freak in the world. Whenever she comes to visit, my Mother ends up in a frantic cleaning frenzy for 3 days in order to get the house up to Grandmother’s standards.

This year… Grandmother informed my Mum she was feeling bored and had decided to come down 2 days early and would be there at lunch time.

Complete panic ensued. 

My poor Mother whipped herself up into such a state that she accidentally broke a glass and slashed her poor fingers to ribbons and spent the rest of the day in A&E waiting for stitches.

Don’t get me wrong. My Grandma always has the best of intentions and always means well. She’s just a master of back handed compliments. The first thing she told me when I got back from Germany was that I looked so much nicer now I wasn’t chubby any more.

Thanks Nan.

Christmas day itself wasn’t so bad, as very early on my sisters and brother and I started the game called “how much can we secretly drink in front of Grandmother without her noticing?

It’s a fantastic game.

Amaretto coffees. Whisky cokes. Gin and orange juice. And at one moment of desperation, just plain vodka masquerading as water.

It was amazing. 

(And also led to my Mum fondly reminiscing about how my Grandpa always drank Coke because my Grandmother hated it, so would never take a sip from his glass and discover it was 50% vodka. Bless my Grandpa.)

Recent days have been filled with me baking obscene amounts of booze into desserts. Brandy in the mince pies. Limoncello in the meringue. Cointreau in the cherry pie. And then convincing our Grandmother to have second helpings of them.

But now Christmas has come and gone and my Grandmother is happily knitting in the corner with a big smile on her face, consoling me on my poor choice of degree subject.


Although my sisters have returned back to their corners of England and abandoned my brother and I, things are rather lovely being back home.

There’s something unbeatably nice about spending hours gaming with your brother, then falling asleep in front of the TV, waking up with a fat, fluffy, purring cat on your lap and your Mum asking if you want a cuppa.

So while my brother and I are bumbling through the remainder of the holidays in a slightly drunken haze, my poor Mum is trawling through hour long conversations about different types of wool and trying to look pleased when my Grandmother announces she’s going to stay for an extra day or two.

Bless my Mum.

She should have some more dessert.

Hope you guys all had suitably boozy holidays too.