Friday 1st January 2016
Last night’s Hogmany party at Cara’s was great fun. The party wound up around 4.00am so Me, Ross, Claire and Debra decided to stay the night.
At 7.00am, a phone rang. No-one answered it. It wasn’t mine – it was an iPhone ringer.
It rang a total, I think, of 11 times. Eventually, I called out “Could someone please answer the damn phone?” It turned out to be Debra’s mum calling to pick her up. She couldn’t find her shoes, so she had to borrow a pair of Cara’s to get home – and left rushing out the door in a hurry.
We woke up properly at 8ish and chatted. Some were hurting; I was fine. Cara came into the living room and began cleaning – as you do. She was hungry, as were we, but the only thing she had in was chips. We weren’t eating chips at 8 o’clock in the morning – New Year’s day or not!
We hung around chatting, discussing the party of the night before. The people who came; the conversations we had; the events that occurred.
A few seconds into 2016, during Auld Lang Syne, someone managed to knock over the Christmas Tree. The playlist that Claire had spent time planning and compiling, was overtaken by people amending to their own tastes. It was the first Hogmany Party in the last 4 or 5 years that was just…normal.
At 11 it was time to go. My dad offered to give me a lift home. Claire wanted to change into her dress – but couldn’t find it. Cara, it turned out, had put it in the washing machine…which was now on. This, obviously, presented problems. Cara, to make up for this premature laundering, offered Claire alternative clothing…a pair of blue denim dungarees that seemed to be straight out of a B*Witched video.
We got home (taking the rubbish out to the midden with us) and went home. I jumped online and found a really compelling picture of drunken revelers in Manchester. I am tempted to get it printed onto canvas. I loved it so much, I shared it twice.
We were heading to my Aunt Berny’s for New Year’s Day Dinner (Steak Pie, naturally). The soup and main course were great. The dessert however, not so much.
My Uncle was preparing the ‘main food’, my Aunt’s sole responsibility was the dessert. A trifle. She said it hadn’t set yet, but was sure that it would by the time it was needed. I grew concerned though when my aunt came in and asked how many milliliters were in a pint. This, being the kind of thing I know, said 568ml. My aunt immediately said I was wrong and said she thought it was 1000ml. This rang alarm bells.
She took me in to help with the topping, sure that there were 1000ml in a pint. I had to look it up on my phone to convince her otherwise. She then showed me the jelly she had made, and the metric/imperial translation difficulties were clear. If you moved the bowl, waves formed in the jelly. Spoons would not be sufficient; straws would be required. We made the topping, and Berny brought it through. By this time, her liquid confusion was known, but we were all forced to drink the trifle. There was a lot left at the end of the meal.
After dinner we played games and people began to leave. My Mum, Dad, brother and I were the last ones left, and my aunt made us coffee. As we sat drinking and chatting, Stephen asked Bernie to tell us her favourite joke. I repeat it here in it’s entirety for posterity:
How do you hide an elephant in a Cherry Tree?
Paint its toes red.
She proceeded to belly-laugh for a solid 2 minutes at this joke most cracker companies would think twice about. i then wanted to carry out a test. I asked her an equally awful joke:
How do you know there’s an elephant in your fridge?
There’s footprints in the butter.
Again, she laughed at a terrible, terrible joke. But twice is merely a coincidence. Three times would denote a trend:
How do you fit 4 elephant’s in a mini?
2 in the front; 2 in the back.
Once again, laughter. The conclusion to be drawn from this research was clear. My aunt finds elephants inherently funny.
What a start to the year!