Today was the whole family day thing. As a rule, I don't do the family thing. Love my mum to bits and get on brilliantly with my dad but, not coming from the traditional 2.4 kids background (as Jilly Cooper once said, my home's 'not so much broken as a jigsaw') I'm lucky enough not to have any of the duty stuff to contend with. My mum runs her own business and is as busy as I am (at the moment, she's working on one holiday business, is an antique dealer and makes designer dresses. She's still pretty skint but most of that's down to investing all her money back into the business and refusing to screw people over in business, so is cool). As a result, there's none of the nasty guilt stuff that you get with a lot of families; she's as likely to be unable to meet up as I am. So 've been doing non-family Christmases for the last 11 years (and yes, they are as nice as you'd imagine them to be. Even the one I spent on my own was cool.).
Anyway, my mum and sister were scheduled to come up at 1pm today. My gran then decided she wanted to come too. This was cool but rather kiboshed the plans for a mates' piss up as the alcoholic carnage planned + 70 year old woman thing would have been bad. (My mum is very young - in attitude and looks anyway - and her last boyfriends have been nearer my age than hers. Or possibly even nearer my younger sister's age. Sister is 25. Therefore mates+mum and sister not a problem) But no probs about my Gran coming; haven't seen her for a couple of years and she's nice. Didn't cancel the one mate we had invited but it was much toned down.
Now my mum is *always* late; has been for the whole of my life. So when I overslept till 12.30, I was worried, but not overly so. So of course, she turns up 20 minutes early. Cue me ducking into bathroom and figuring out how the hell to get food sorted out in minus time.
I'd got a buffet style thing planned, with roast beef, which I hadn't cooked for years (cos every time I tried, it turned into leather) so had got lots of cooking tips from my Stepmum (the world's best cook). She suggested 18 mins per pound plus 18 minutes (first 18 minutes on uber-hot, the rest on about 150) and it worked brilliantly - actually got that 'cooked all the way through but tender with a pink bit that isn't bloody in the middle' thing going on. (NB: It was still running very bloody when I pierced it so ignore that as a guide cos if I'd have waited till the juices were pink/clear it would have been overcooked.) There was also the usual spread; leftover chicken, pork pie and pickles, plus mini salmon en croute (bought cos they were reduced and seemed like a good idea) and about a gazillion salads of various varieties.
The beef was a total nightmare. I never realised how much harder work it is than other stuff - checking it every ten minutes to make sure it wasn't overcooked - but it tasted gorgeous so was worth the effort.
So we pigged out and then my mum wanted to see my press clippings. Fair enough. But showing my gran articles entitled 'I've got the best job in the world as a sex toy tester' was something I didn't feel appropriate. I was wrong. She saw them, read them, loved them. At one point she asked me if I did 'jobs' for the people I met. I assumed she meant freelance and said 'yes, as often as possible.'. She looked shocked (whilst still smiling) and I realised she meant shagging them. I set the record straight. Although I'm convinced she'd have gone 'that's nice dear.' if I had said I was a hooker.
Biggest shocker was 'the dress'. My mum wanted to see it so I put it on, again, nervous of my gran's response. My gran said 'Oh, don't you look pretty in that (butt-cheek high, black leather) dress dear.' I was pleasantly surprised.
Have come to the conclusion that my gran is cool. Either that or the drugs they're giving her are warping her mind.
Posted by emilyd at December 26, 2002 07:15 PM