Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
passing farmer told me that it was right to get it out of sight, 'otherwise the Roma might have
it away.' But by now the thing was useless, so in the end I decided to leave it in full view and
hope that the local Romani population would indeed live up to their stereotype and 'have it
away', that's not me being lazy you understand, that's just recycling.
My Christmas Eve 'unemployment' also meant that everything was ready. The presents were
all bought, wrapped and hidden, though Natalie's was, as ever, a trial as she veered violently
between 'I don't want you to buy me anything' and 'I'd love a Pomeranian puppy'. The dogs
had had their visit to the 'Doggy Parlour', a twice-a-year shampoo and set which tends to
leave them a bit confused. Natalie had returned from the parlour with horrific tales of what
the Spanish do to greyhounds - apparently Sylvie, who owns the parlour, belongs to a rescue
charity and greyhound foster home which is good news for greyhounds, but I suspect bad
news for me. Thankfully, Natalie hadn't returned with an actual greyhound this time, though
I feared a New Year Crusade coming on.
She actually missed an opportunity. I was so pleased to be home, so happy to be back, that
she could have turned up with half a dozen and I probably would have just laughed it off; I
was full of festive spirit. I love being part of big family Christmases. Christmas is a control
freak's time of year: so much to plan, organise and delegate. Orders to be barked, strops to be
thrown - I love it. And the boys are obviously excited too. Samuel and I had already done the
final big supermarket run.
'Daddy,' he asked as we cut a swathe through Christmas-shopping dawdlers, 'is this shopping
list in the same order as the shop layout?'
'Yes,' I replied, a touch defensively, 'otherwise it's just chaos.'
'Good,' he said. 'It's the only way.'
He really was becoming more like me, which while no doubt flattering, isn't necessarily the
best way to go for his own sanity. He had even started performing.
The highlight of this particular Christmas Eve was Samuel and Maurice singing 'One More
Sleep 'til Christmas' from
The Muppet Christmas Carol
, which is, in my view, the best Christ-
mas film of all time (sometimes I veer towards
It's A Wonderful Life
, but Samuel and Maurice
haven't acted out those scenes yet). They had secretly been practising for the previous week
with Natalie's dad on guitar and it was tear-jerkingly lovely. It's something of a tradition at
French family gatherings, or this French family at least, that people get up and 'do a turn',
something which I know to my cost. The first time I met Natalie's extended family (and there
are hundreds of them) was at the wedding of an uncle and it was felt that the best way for me
to ingratiate myself with the entire clan would be to perform. This wasn't my idea obviously
- I would have been happy to write a card of introduction and buy each of them a drink, but
that wasn't an option, so I had to sing a song. It was quite, quite terrifying - and long before
I'd started stand-up. Even now I feel like I was the victim of some grand practical joke, part
of some elaborate initiation test. I performed a drunken, mumbling rendition of Elvis's 'Love
