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ChasnotRobert
Nef
My core Christmas memory is from a few years back. All of my family stuffed into my parents house. Brother in law dying of cancer, too many people for the house, lots of young kids. Uptight parents, a love of stuffy ceremony, and an atmosphere you could cut with a knife.
I exit to the kitchen to ask mum if she needs a hand with any of the cooking. She mentions that the mash needs doing.
So I square myself away with the tatties and a litre of port. I send the full bottle in an hour.
For some reason I ended up blaring Pavarotti on my portable speaker (despite no previous affection for opera), just something about a large amount of port in my blood, and a large powerful Italian singer just seemed to be right.
Everyone kept popping their heads in (no doubt to escape the tension next door) bewildered by the scene. I was so pissed by the end I couldn’t even mash the taters . Good times tho.
When in doubt, send it.