Every girl experiences creepy guys. Some of them murder us, some beat us, many rape us. If you're lucky, your experience is limited to catcalls, unwanted staring and probably some groping attempts. Sometimes, it feels like "life as prey".
But this is Christmas memories. Feels like the only culinary success in my mother's year. She made the Christmas cake in November, along with two steamed puddings, one for each of Christmas and New Year's Day, to be served with hard sauce and custard. If we had an appetizer, it was a packaged shrimp ring. The turkey was fine, sometimes a bit dry, but two stuffings and nice gravy. Mashed potatoes, very overcooked brussels, a can of corn, a tin of cranberries which she almost always forgot until we were half finished. A sherry glass of white wine with dinner. Tea afterwards, perhaps with a glass of bailey's or creme de menthe. Then a boatload of dishes (the good ones with the good cutlery), by hand with the roasting pan left to soak. Game (cribbage rummoli scrabble) and day officially over which meant permission to begin devouring Christmas book(s).
