Christmas shop, cheese and fluff

Brian and I bunnied down to the shop and blew way too much money on Christmas this morning. There’s a bird. There’s blinis. There’s veg. There’s salmon, prawns, scallops. There’s an unbelievable amount of cheese in the fridge now. Reblochon, vacherin, camembert, good cheddar and brie for the more traditionally minded. There’s wine – including Bandol and St Emilion. There’s a few magnums of prosecco. There’s the remains of the 96 beers, but sadly it’s down to half. We’ve been busy. There’s gammon. There’s saucisson. There’s Christmas things made of quorn. There’s a pudding and custard. There’s whisky. There are fucking quail’s eggs. Can’t have someone saying “where are the quail’s eggs?” There’s potatoes. I’ll have to get up early and peel those bastards, as I’m goose fat roasting them. We are only expecting about 6 to 8. We’ve catered for more to be safe.

We haven’t got a tree. I think I’ll probably borrow the fake one from Carol that I brought down in the van, unless I can shoot over to Battersea Park in the morning and see if I can pick one up there. Tomorrow will have to be about making the flat into Christmas. There’s a lot of work to be done. A lot. We will manage, despite me having a four o’clock show and Brian being in Sheffield tonight.

I have no clear idea who will be coming over but the doors are open. There’s going to be some complete strangers and some friends. One last time I’m shouting out. The tubes are open on Christmas Day! Multiculturalism at work for positive outcome… It’s an actor’s schedule, so doors at ten, turkey at 4. Everything else until we all fall down. The tubes are running. We hope for silly games, stories, laughter and fun. We’ll see how it pans out. But pm me if you know anyone stuck, or if you’re in London and fancy a change of scene. I live in Chelsea, darling. South West.

Apparently I was on Radio 4. According to Natalie “There was a bit of me doing stuff, then you doing your Scroogey bit, and then they’re talking about immersive shows.” The journalist recorded two entire shows, so who knows which of the many potential Scroogey bits they ran with. I know I deliberately threw some of the well known Dickens towards her mic, assuming that the beeb would like the classical text. But whatever they got, that’s {Achievement unlocked: Go on radio 4. 10 points.} Considering the hours I’ve spent listening – mostly while driving vans around – I’m chuffed. If only I could find the link to it. I’m also just pleased that this lovely show has gained traction. As I am pleased that my last two show day before Christmas is over. I’m pretty much spent. I was growly Scrooge for the second show. Two days off after tomorrow. Luxury. Although I’ll be experimenting with how much cheese and booze I am capable of shoving into my own face.

Ahh Christmas. You really are coming hard and fast now. Hmmmm. I only wrote that last sentence to take me over the word limit. This one is surplus to requirements. I’m exhausted so I’m trying to expedite the end of this blog. Which is unnecessary since I hit 500 words a few sentences ago and now I’m just exposing my own habit of occasionally fluffing sentences of no import into being purely in order to get myself to sleep quicker. Watch out. You’re all being duped. It’s a scam! Run while you still can! What the hell has this blurry photograph of candles got to do with the things I’ve been reading?

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“Dear Al, I’ve wasted almost a year reading this weird story and it doesn’t seem to be going anywhere. I mean, it’s interesting occasionally, but it gets ranty. And sometimes it just flies off somewhere unexpected and stops making sense. Can we have some action please? Maybe a love interest? Or some fighting? Or maybe he could develop super powers? Also, it’s not realistic. Your protagonist is an actor from a major drama school who has been working gainfully for 15 years. Do you honestly expect me to believe that he has never, in all those years, had an audition even for any of the major regional theatres, let alone somewhere bigger? Nonsense. It’s not possible. He’d have jumped in the Thames by now if he hadn’t had the chances. Yours faithfully, Disgusted of Tunbridge Wells.”

Author: albarclay

This blog is a work of creative writing. Do not mistake it for truth. All opinions are mine and not that of my numerous employers.

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