The Christmas I was named

The tree was shimmering, the house smelt of turkey and wine flowed as Mum kept busy in the kitchen on that magical Christmas Eve.
My mum was holding Christmas that rememberable year, all the family were coming to ours, for plates full of turkey and all the trimmings.

As we prepare to go to Christingle, followed by Christmas drinks and nibbles, Mum puts the freshly cooked turkey in our what seemed to Jane, Alex and I our huge shed.
How we loved that shed, we would spend hours upon hours playing happily in there, we would crush petals and make perfumes, bottle them up and give them as Christmas pressies to our grandparents and other unlucky relations. 😂
So off we went for an evening full of Christmas joys, carols, party games and way to much alcohol. 🍷
On our return home, Jane and I ran to our shed to carry on the game that we had unwilling left.
On opening the door we weren’t met by the smell of turkey that should have been cooling inside, instead we were greeted by every cat from our neighbourhood as well as some other cheeky buggers that gate crashed the feline Christmas party which was in full flow around our turkey 🦃
As they fled from the scene, leaving behind bones where once sat our Christmas dinner. 🤣
Jane and I roared with laughter as we made our exit from the underground feline Christmas party 🎈 Running as fast as we could to tell Mum all about the naughty kitty’s, my feet skid from under me as I fall face first down the stairs of our shed, smashing my nose as I hit the icy path below.

Christmas Eve turned manic as John (my step dad) chased cats out the garden, Mum became my own personal nurse as I covered her party dress in blood and our turkey sat in the roasting tin, naked.
It definitely was a sight to see.
Tears flowed, giggles exploded into ear-piecing laughter and Christmas was declared, cancelled.
So off to bed I go, feeling sorry for myself with my bright red nose.
As I awake to the, ho, ho, ho of
Christmas morning, Santa has come and gone, milk, mince pies, carrots have been consumed, presents filled our front room.
As we sat opening presents, an unexpected ring of our door bell sends us young ones to the next level of excitement. Standing on tiptoes, I manage to pull open the door to be greeted by a gathering of our neighbours, friends and family with dishes and dishes full of turkey and the words that would stay with me a lifetime.

“Happy Christmas Rudolph”

A Christmas nickname that would stay with me a lifetime but more importantly, memories of the not so perfect Christmas becoming the memory that first comes to mind when I think of Christmas past, the Christmas I was named Rudolph.

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