We’re nowhere on a pudding.
This phrase “we’re nowhere on…” comes from a time when Best Friend, Old Friend at Work and Heavily Sweating Planner (as well as Account Director Who Over-Shares About Her Menstrual Cycle) worked at an Agency whereat the Managing Director enjoyed nothing more than running into the Creative Department the day before a big meeting (ideally a pitch) to return some time later screeching “We’re nowhere on [insert relevant brand here]!” with a mixture of smugness, panic and awe. He loved the sheer drama of being lamentably under-prepared for a meeting, which was lucky, as he presided over an Agency that was unprepared for anything at all… Old Friend at Work and I (in particular) have adopted “We’re nowhere on…” as a handy descriptor of our position on, readiness for, or attitude towards any number of subjects: thus “I’m nowhere on this four hour research review”, “I’m nowhere on Mondays in general” and “I’m nowhere on the entire judging panel of “Strictly Come Dancing”.”
Anyway, the fact remains that we are nowhere on a pudding for Christmas Day.
The main course is Goose (although quite how we’re going to cook it is up in the air, as Wife is very anti any “fruit plus meat” combination – and trying to find a recipe that doesn’t use apple, orange or even apricots is like finding a heterosexual at a Bette Midler concert – so any suggestions would be gratefully received), and it’s coming with the usual accompaniments of roast potatoes, parsnips, sprouts, red cabbage, carrots: so it’s not like everyone won’t be pretty well fed by the time pudding comes round.
It’s partly for this reason that we have eschewed Christmas Pudding. Quite how anyone could eat anything quite so leadenly heavy after such an enormous meal is slightly beyond me – especially if one’s going to have cheese, and if you’re not going to have cheese then WHAT is the point of doing it at all? I can’t remember what we did last year, when Father in Law, Bearded Decorator and Good Friend in PR were here – I’ve got a strange feeling that it might have been ice-cream, or sorbet (which though unseasonably cold is more refreshing and light than anything else I can imagine). Oh well, fuck it. We’ve got our work cut out this year already, with an apparently endless string of invitations, which appear to overlap (which is lovely) and leave no time at all to do stuff like cook the food, or wrap any presents (which isn’t).
Don’t worry: I know all of you look to this site for many things other than a sardonic smile, a wistful dream that you actually knew me, and a laser-like analysis of the communications industry – and one of those things is an update on what my family and I eat. I shall NOT disappoint you.
