Christmas and Curry
To the Editor,
As I sit here in my living room, watching the Christmas lights twinkle feebly against the backdrop of what can only be described as April weather masquerading as December, I am struck by two bewildering realities. First, this Christmas Day feels less like a wintry wonderland and more like an overambitious spring audition. Second, my Christmas dinner — if it can be called that — is currently spinning lazily in the microwave, accompanied by the faint hum of culinary surrender.
Let us begin with the weather. Is it not Christmas tradition to gaze wistfully at frosted windows, imagining snowflakes falling gently onto a hushed, Dickensian street? Instead, I find myself considering whether I should pop out to mow the lawn or perhaps host a barbecue. My neighbour has been spotted in shorts and sandals, and I swear I saw a daffodil nervously poking its head out of the flowerbed. Even the robins look confused, as if they’ve accidentally flown into the wrong season.
And then, of course, there is my festive feast — or lack thereof. I had grand plans, you see. Visions of roast turkey, golden potatoes, and a gravy jug so large it could double as a birdbath. Instead, I am faced with a Chicken Tikka Masala Ready Meal for One, which came free with my grocery delivery after I forgot to complete the Christmas order form. The microwave pings cheerfully, as if oblivious to the magnitude of its failure, while the Brussels sprouts I bought in a fit of optimism remain untouched, their destiny cruelly denied.
Naturally, I can’t help but wonder if these two events are connected. Has the warm weather sabotaged my Christmas spirit? Or has my decision to forego a proper dinner somehow angered the seasonal gods, who have retaliated by giving us a festive heatwave? Perhaps the entire nation is being punished for its collective over-reliance on pigs in blankets.
Then again, there is a certain poetry in this mild-weathered, microwave-dinner Christmas. It is, after all, a time for simplicity and gratitude. Who needs snow when you can open a window without shivering? Who needs turkey when you have a perfectly adequate curry swirling around at 800 watts? And who, I ask, needs tradition when you can replace it with mild confusion and a decent naan bread?
Yours, basking in both the unseasonable warmth and the faint glow of my microwave,
Euphemia Crumpleton
(Champion of Currymas and reluctant gardener in December)