Falalala fa la la la.............

Thanks to an unseasonal thaw, we successfully managed to negotiate our ice road of death and get to the Tesco Superstore for a few last minute bits and pieces for Christmas.

B I G mistake.

As the lift doors opened onto the shop, the scene resembled nothing so much as Dante's 7th Circle of Hell.  

Honestly, if the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse had ridden roughshod through the store nobody would have batted an eyelid, so great was the chaos already ensuing.

It took 4 hours to do our 'minor' shop.

FOUR HOURS!

I suspect that with the continuing forecast for more snow/freezing temperatures/ice etc, everyone who has been snowbound since last Friday and was only able to get out today, are hedging their bets and getting their whole Christmas shop a few days early just in case.

There was a proper rugby scrum round the fresh parsnips and sprouts display, which took up a major section of the fruit and veg area with people madly shovelling hundreds of sprouts into large bags.

The fresh turkey section was a circle of hell all on its own.  I saw one woman wrestling not one, but two massive turkeys, the size of a small ostriches into her trolley, while her husband looked on dead-eyed.

There was not a soupcon of goose fat in the entire shop, although I head a rumour that there might be some next to the lard, which caused a minor stampede to no avail.  

I blame Delia/Jamie/Gordon/Nigella/Hugh/Heston et al for the fact that at Christmas we all suddenly lose the ability to trust to our own judgement on things we've been cooking for years, like sprouts,roast potatoes and parsnips.  It's just not good enough to use beef dripping, it has to be poncy goose fat.  And the parsnips have to be roasted with whole garlic cloves and rosemary then drizzled with honey. 

As if it isn't already hard enough synchronising a full Christmas dinner WITH ALL THE TRIMMINGS.

Don't even get me started on pigs in blankets.

Or cranberry and hazelnut stuffing.

Or carrot and parsnip mash.

The BEST thing about Christmas Day is that first glass of Buck's Fizz with breakfast.  I try to maintain a level of light intoxication throughout the morning, taking care not to peak too early and ending up in the foetal position under the table before the turkey is carved.

However, after Christmas Dinner all bets are off and it's every woman for herself.   

If I sound like a grumpy old woman it's because I am.

Christmas....?


Bah humbug and buggrit.