Blue Christmas.

J

Sunday, three days before Christmas, I staggered home from Tesco’s exhausted. A couple of people were actually close to fighting in there. Hey, I’m not even having a Christmas this year, people don’t know how lucky they are. As I fought my way through I couldn’t help thinking how unimportant it all is really. Just to help my mood, for lunch I had half of last weeks pizza exhumed from the freezer. Afterwards I visited my Mum in hospital, then on the way back I went to see a band but because I don’t do bad reviews, I won’t do one this time.

Pompous pumped up power ballads for the portly middle aged – that just about covers it. Or another way of saying the same thing is that it was a load of P.

I got home and in a fit of madness I started to cook a Christmas cake, which was not clever. I didn’t have all the ingredients – last time I did a cake I didn’t have them all and winged it. I replaced the missing ones – now different ones are missing.

I was too tired, started it far too late and got more tired doing it. I’m not even doing Christmas this year; what came over me? I ended up using too many bowls, too many spoons, making too much mess. Not enough raisins or spice in the mix.

It’s in the cooker now, spoiling. It went in far too late and I’ll be sat there waiting for it to finish. I don’t even know who is going to eat it.

Perhaps if I was to smother it in Brandy? Then again it may be better just to drink the brandy and put the cake in the bin.

And if any of you say ‘Aaaah, its Christmas’, I will come round and sort you out. Remember I know where you live.

Monday and a trip to my clinic, struggling through a storm and happy crowds on their way up to town. The result? A no score draw - no test result. Two weeks time and there will be. Hmmmmh.

And then in the evening I went back out through a wild storm of branches crashing down and flooded roads– to the Red Lion, Isleworth for my jazz club.

 

You don’t miss a chance to hear Martin Shaw on trumpet and flugelhorn – he’s a star of stage and screen and Sam Mayne is a great saxophonist. Together it added up to a whole lot of Thelonious Monk and that suited me.

I’ve got a really busy day tomorrow – after the fiasco of the cake I’ve got a ham to cook amidst a general struggle of not doing Christmas.

Let’s see what a mess I can make of that.

Neil Harris

(a don’t stop till you drop production)

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