Press-ganged into cooking Christmas dinner

DIARY OF A DRAMA QUEEN
By Mairead Wilmot
I WOKE myself up with a snore last night. I’m very traumatised. In my defence, I do have a cold and I was lying on my back ... but, really, I’ll be the first to admit it was very unladylike.

I was quite shocked. I didn’t think such a thing could happen, although bodily functions have disturbed me before.

Hmmmm, the memories are now flooding back … yes, I recall going through a terrible sleepwalking phase in my youth. I could find myself in all sorts of places. I’d suddenly awake as I was strolling up our hall … sometimes I might be in the kitchen or even standing over my parents’ bed. It was all very horror-filmesque for them – not for me, I didn’t care because I was asleep.

Once, we were on holiday in France, staying in some sort of funny campervan and I was discovered heading out the door in my nightdress on a bit of a jaunt. Who knows what sort of mischief I would have found myself in had mother not discovered me struggling with the lock. I’m not sure how my sleep-walking phase ended. I presume I just grew out of it, given that I don’t do it anymore. That’s a great parenting tip there for anyone whose child sleep-walks – they’ll grow out of it. I might add “Write an advice book for parents” on my to-do list. So what if I don’t have kids? Neither does supernanny.

Thinking about it, the snore occurred when I was lying on my back – and I never sleep lying on my back – but last night I did. I was out of sorts, you see, because I received some bad news. Some very bad news.

It turns out, sister and I have been tasked with preparing Christmas dinner. This has never happened before.

Mother broke the news quite recently but I ignored her, thinking she was pulling some sort of crazy, hilarious stunt.

It seems not.

She decided, without consultation, that it was about time sister and I stepped up to the mark. It was time for us to repay her for years of slavery.

This has caused widespread panic. I presume she has opted not to cook dinner because she will be spending Christmas Day staring adoringly at little brother, who is making his grand return from New Zealand for the festive season.

Obviously, she can’t waste her time with trivial matters such as preparing the family meal, so it has been left to sister and I.

“We need to talk,” sister said in hushed tones when she called.

“About what?” I whispered back. “This Christmas dinner thing.” “But why?” I asked. “It’s not like she is actually serious.”

“She is. We have to cook dinner.” “Nooooooooooooooooo,” I wailed. “We’ll never be able to do it like she does.”

“I know, I know,” she admitted. “But we have no choice.” “But, but … I’ve never cooked a turkey or a ham, I just don’t know how.”

“We’ll have to divide things up. Like, we will need to sit down, make a plan and stick to it.”

“Oh, Jesus,” I said, feeling the pressure mounting as we spoke.

Sister and I do not have a good track record when it comes to working as a team. She bullies me terribly. Who can forget the Christmas tree “situation”, which developed circa 2001? We were literally moments away from an almighty fist-fight, which was only broken up when a knock came to the door. Since then, we have refused to work together under any circumstance.

“I’m going to ring you tomorrow at precisely 4pm,” she says. “I want you to have a pen and paper and your thinking cap on. We are going to come up with a Christmas Day plan of action.”

Needless to say, I’m more distressed at the thought than I can actually verbalise. Christmas is not supposed to be about fear … now excuse me, I’m considering ringing the Samaritans.