WELCOME LETTER
How I wish my Christmas table looked like the one on our cover. If we have the full Christmas Day contingent – my parents, Mark’s parents, the four children, my grandmother – the set-up resembles a bric-a-brac store more cover. All the kids have to bring their desk chairs out; even the outdoor chair that sits at the front door so football boots can be removed before coming inside gets a run on Christmas Day. The fold-up trestle table that spends all year under the house gets hosed off and is butted up to my battered old silky oak dining table. The outdoor sofas are pushed out of the way as the temporary mega-table extends out onto the back deck, much to the excitement of the dogs. Then the table decoration begins. The white linen tablecloth with embroidery and matching napkins is located after being stored away since last Christmas, and its beauty covers both tables, but that doesn’t last long as mismatched plates, cutlery and glasses of all shapes and sizes are pulled out of cupboards and drawers. Everyone gets a cracker so bad jokes can be shared and paper hats can be worn. I add in a vase or two of Christmas bush. Then, of course, space must be made for the food: platters of prawns and oysters, a glazed ham, salads, duck fat potatoes. After all of that, the pièce de résistance – the Christmas pudding, which I flame – appears. Bowls, spoons, jugs of custard and cream, a tub of ice-cream and a box of cherries are brought to the table. By this stage, my tablecloth is a little worse for wear and the mega-table is a right mess. It may not be pretty but it sure is fun, which is the point of any celebration after all.
