bad diet

oh god. I forgot that with Christmas comes major nibble food galore overload and wine flowing out of every possible oozible-place and parties and more cakes and oh, just have a small one for the Christmas cheer... and then by New Years Eve everything in the body is heaving and sighing and moaning and pleading STOP STOP no more - not another drop, not another raison soaked in brandy, no more Quality Street (not even the green triangle ones) and your head is saying, well, y'know, I mean, you've already eaten 3/4's of the tin and drunk nearly 2 bottles of Claret in less than 48 hours what does one more wee-snifter really matter?
And then like that fat bloke in Monty Python Mr Creosote, you, in your head at least, feel that last sip of Baileys slip down the throat and ignite the fuse that results in spontaneous combustion and the walls of your mothers house are covered in 4 days worth of partially digested food, a couple of chocolate wrappers (sometimes there is no time to unwrap them completely... you just shove 'em in and hope that like chewing gum, it won't block the gut for 40 years as the urban myth suggests), a few hair balls and maybe even a couple of pennies you swallowed as a child. All out in a big fat-man-explosion.
And that is what Christmas is all about. Surely? Nothing to do with Virgins, Bright Stars, Wise Men (that's a mad idea! Wise Men! It must be the undoing of the whole Christmas Story...Like the tooth fairy, Wise Men Do Not Exist) and a small wee babe in a cot of straw... No! Its just about food. Drink. Piles of wrapping paper. Getting over the cold you contracted on Christmas Eve. And wondering how inpolite it would be to return the unwanted strange looking items from John Lewis which have piled up at your feet.
(Talking of colds. All the girls in the Mothers Ruin Family caught colds last week. And by Friday we were sort of feeling a bit less dreadful. [Husband now has it I believe - its before 11pm and he's sloped off to bed. Not a good sign.] But the point to this small side-chat is that on Friday I went to collect Liz from her school-nursery and bent down to give her a tender motherly loving kiss, at which point I managed to injest a mouthful of freshly-run-snot which was surrounding her mouth/nose area. And because it was in front of a lovely gentle teacher, and this is true, I felt I simply couldn't spit in the middle of the classroom. Yes. I slugged it back. Eyes shut. And thought of Britain. Or something. OH TOTAL VIOLATION! 30 seconds later and I nearly did a Mr Creosote there and then in the school playground. So. Watch out for those tender motherly moments when children have colds. Its just not worth it.)