CAROLS IN THE VILLAGE

Through two feet of snow we turned out in the dark and frosty night at 5.30pm for Christmas festivities at the village shop. Santa, carol singing, lollies, hot drinks and a BBQ ( a BBQ??) had been extensively advertised.
With knowledge aforethought that for some mad reason this party would take place outside, Tess and I wrapped up in thick scarves, woolly hats, fur gloves and for me, my mink coat of course.

First up was mulled wine in the village shop, which meant a certain amount of de-robing as we became gradually more over-heated. Paul was playing the role of Santa, handing out lollies to the rather small number of children who had turned out, as most of the villagers were unable to get out of their houses because of the snow. Small children would doubtless have been up to their little waists were they to try walking down the hill to see Santa. This year Santa had a pillow shoved up his jacket because he's been on a major diet - the global problem of obesity has even reached out to this plump benefactor who now has to pretend to be fat. Ho ho ho.

Sally then amassed our rather small group outside the shop to sing carols. A sheet with ten (ten!) carols was handed out, and we began singing, somewhat slowly Away in a Manger. By the time we reached Carol No. 3, Hark the Herald Angels Sing, I decided to speed up the singing before we all froze in a little circle, immortalised forevermore, statue-like, on the shop forecourt. The assembled singers immediately picked up speed, but by this time our glasses of hot mulled wine had chilled and we were stamping our feet to keep warm.  By Song No. 6 Sally was saying "Let's skip this one". We sang a fast-paced Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer before battling with Little Donkey which no one seemed to have heard off, and skipping carol No. 9. We finished with a rousing We Wish You a Merry Christmas.

"What is figgy pudding?" I asked.

"A pudding with figs," said a wag.

Actually, no one seemed to know. So we all dashed back into the shop for more mulled wine. Earlier in the day, due to the severe weather conditions, the BBQ was cancelled. Thank heavens, sanity prevailed!

But the evening was yet young. So Paul, Gilmour, Mahri, Tess and I went up main road, still slushy with snow, to the hotel for a few more drinks. A snow plough came roaring down, taking up the entire middle of the road, the only part which was cleared for traffic. As I was finding my way in the dark by following the central white line whilst trying to avoid the ice, my only life-saving option was to dive into the roadside verge which was banked up with several feet of snow. I arrived at the bar very wet and with white, snowy legs.

In front of the log fire we downed a few glasses of beer, whiskey and wine, and listened to visitors' increasingly heroic tales of how they had navigated the appalling conditions to make it safely to the village for Christmas. We all crossed our fingers that there wouldn't be another dump because that would surely bring all transport to a complete standstill. Then we merrily headed home to finish our gift wrapping, baking and final preparations.