Christmas cheer

The most hilarious thing has just happened.

In my family we always start Christmas day with a cooked breakfast—you know, the ‘Full English’: sausages, bacon, fried eggs… that stuff. I’ve probably never had a full Full English since I insisted I hated all forms of mushroom and tomato until I became vegan. Such a meal for me now comprises beans, fried mushrooms, plum tomatoes (I still don’t like them raw or fried), and appropriate sausage and bacon alternatives (Linda McCartney and Redwood respectively). Oh, and hash browns.

It’s a tradition my dad and I keep even after mum has moved out, and of course we’ve shopped for all the things we need. But I forget all about hash browns; I fell in love with the first time I tried them just over two years ago, but I’ve since decided they’re quite pissy, unimpressive things in their most basic form. So it was up to dad to produce them. He boiled the potatoes, then mashed away at them for a jolly good time, with me never bothering to lift a finger.

Then there’s a crack and the container (fortunately plastic and intact) he’s used for mashing is on the kitchen floor, and all the beautifully silky smooth mash has spread over the tiles. Much swearing ensued, but all I could do is try to stifle my laughter.




Yeah, you had to be there, but it’s cheered me up a bit.