It started early – much earlier than I would have liked. I awoke at about 4:30 AM on Christmas Day but unfortunately it was not the sound of sleigh bells that had roused me. Outside there was the sound of gentle but persistent rain. It also felt considerably milder that the temperatures of late. So, no more sleep for me it seemed. All I was going to do from that point on was fret about the goose not being cold enough and having to fire up my precious, hand-imported-by-Keith-and-Marlene, Kingsford charcoal in the rain. I turned the light on and read my book but my mind was only half on it, the remaining half being outside messing with a wet Weber grill. All I really succeeded in doing was disturbing Carol, of course.

Eventually the hands of the clock clawed their way around to time for relief in the form of tea. Carol went and put the stockings left by Santa for Keith and Marlene outside their door and we set about our own stockings. What big kids, but then, that’s what Christmas is for, mostly, isn’t it?

Following the luxury of tea and stockings in bed, we arose to get our fix of coffee with a splash of rum, an addition reserved for Christmas festivities, and to heat some of Carol’s absolutely excellent home-made sausage rolls. These would be used to nibble, along with a few glasses of Cava while we all gathered around the tree in the conservatory to hit the main presents. There were a lot of new mugs which seemed to be something of a theme this year. Both couples had also made gifts to each other of framed photographs from our trip to Virginia of November, 2006. Great minds, apparently, really do think alike.

It’s not unusual for the weather to turn from being pleasantly clear and cool to being muggy and damp for Christmas Day. It was the Victorians, not Bing Crosby, that invented the amazingly rare white Christmas. It was much more to do with Charles Dickens and snowy-scened Christmas cards. At 11:30 AM in the real world, however, the rain was continuing but it was time to bite the bullet and start preparing the bird. I managed to borrow a large sunshade, which doubled as a large umbrella, from neighbour Paul. It wasn’t me, I was concerned about but rather the charcoal. No problem though, good ol’ Kingsford fired up under the protection of its purloined parasol and goosey loosey was soon in for what I expected to be about a three hour roasting. Scoring the skin and using a Weber is a great way to cook goose (and duck, for that matter) ‘cos most of the abundant grease runs out. You need a large drip pan, though.

Meanwhile, Carol and Marlene set about the vegetables. The brussel-sprouts-on-a-stalk provided a source of fascination, K&M never before having seen them on the plant. Parsnips and roast potatoes a la graisse d’oie (goose fat) would complete the main course, while a Christmas pudding, together with brandy butter and/or cream and/or custard would fill in any carelessly left gaps. After the expected three hours of tending the BBQ by occasionally feeding in a few extra briquettes of charcoal, my jealously guarded 1993 Cabernet Sauvignon from Caymus Vineyards was a perfect (and, apparently, now expensive) accompaniment to a splendid goose with suitably rich, crispy skin. The hapless bird had not died in vain. Any room room left for a little cheese and port, anyone? Well, perhaps later.

Keith struggled gamely to get a fire going so that we might “roast chestnuts on an open fire” but, although he succeeded in getting flames going, our logs really weren’t seasoned sufficiently to create the required red embers. Carol loaded up the chestnut roaster and gave it a go but the results were not great; there just wasn’t enough heat, even though we, ourselves, seemed to feel overheated. Maybe the logs will be dry enough for next year.

All in all, a successful day despite the chestnuts. We hope everyone’s Christmas Day was as good as ours.

This was a pretty quiet day; everyone seemed to want to take life slowly after the preparations of the previous week. In the afternoon, Carol and I went visiting Carol’s sister and mother (who was down from Scotland) to exchange presents and our second day of Christmas occured. We left Keith and Marlene to enjoy some quality time with each other while we were gone for a few hours – except that they very kindly figured out how to use a Dyson and vacuumed the entire house. Some quality time!

We returned to find that the kids had made themselves at home and had raided the cellar (under stairs cupboard) for some wine and a Jack Daniels or two. Quite right, too, they deserved it. Then it was time to consider dinner. My heart was in my mouth as I tried to cook some ribeye steaks. I was a little nervous, both because Keith is very adept at cooking steaks and because American steak is, in my view, a hard act to follow. Nonetheless, it went quite well and the results appeared to be appreciated, especially when washed down with a 1986 Clos Rene Pomerol which I had been saving for just such guests on just such an occasion. I would hate to die prematurely and leave that in the cellar for someone else to polish off.

Then, a quick episode of House and it was off to bed to wait for Santa, assuming we had been good enough.

(Well, “Wild Goose Chase” would have been a little too obvious as a title, wouldn’t it?)

On the day I wandered into Waitrose intent on ordering a goose for Christmas, they were unable to take such orders due to their supplier being in a restricted area because of a bird flu outbreak at another farm. Not knowing how long the restrictions would last, we chose a more local supplier with a good reputation, Franklins at Thorncote, and phoned them. They were happy to take an order but their delivery schedule was full so we would have to collect our bird on December 23rd. Waitrose would have been the easier option but circumstances probably played in our favour since the resulting goose was likely to be a superior product. Time will tell.

Franklins is about 20 miles away from us so we set off en masse at 11:00 AM on Sunday to track down our Christmas dinner. We knew of Franklins from their visits to our local farmers markets in Leighton Buzzard and Woburn but had never actually visited the farm before. Senior astro-navigatrix Carol directed us to the farm without any trouble. It turned out to be a substantially larger business than any of us was expecting, I think, and Keith was particularly surprised at the scale of the operation. Throngs of people were collecting all manner of dead animals, or parts thereof, for the Christmas season. There was cheese also, which I have not seen on their market stalls but which looked particularly attractive to a cheese-aholic such as myself. Their Christmas order book was vast with three or four pages devoted to surnames beginning with “C” alone. (I wonder if they sell shares in the business?) Once at the head of the queue, the order book was searched, our goose was swiftly located and, weighing in at 5.6kg, was neatly boxed along with its valuable fat and giblets. “Quick draw McKeith” rapidly flashed the required £53 and we were soon back on the road with our festive booty. I really must take Keith shopping more often!

We paused relatively briefly to play Santa at Carol’s niece’s family on the way back. Then it was goose liver on toast for lunch and an afternoon making stock from the goose giblets to lessen the culinary burden of Christmas Day itself. We can’t have work getting in the way of presents, after all, can we?

Saturday morning got off to a poor start. There seemed to be a dispute brewing within BAA (British Airport Authority – it looks after the running of Heathrow and Gatwick airports, amongst others) and an intention to strike on January 7th was being mooted. The work force is apparently irritated about the closing of their pension scheme to newcomers even though those who are currently members should be unaffected. Be that as it may, guess when Keith and Marlene were scheduled to leave Gatwick; exactly, well done – January 7th. Although the strike was yet to be confirmed, it seemed prudent to try to reschedule their return and avoid disruption if at all possible, so Marlene called American Airlines and managed to get seats two days later for January 9th. Flight sorted, now Keith needed to amend the rental car booked for their return from Raleigh/Durham airport home to Richmond. Whoops – accidentally cancelled it; silly web site! Not disastrous, there were plenty of cars available to rebook, albeit at a slightly higher price. So, bottom line, we have company for a couple more days in January and Keith is not, now, a fan of National’s web site.

Time for some relaxation after the stresses of the morning. This time of year brings the Shell Wildlife Photographer of the Year photographic exhibition to Tring Natural History Museum. We were a little concerned about going on a Saturday, the rug rats having just broken up from school, but it looked like a good opportunity. So, off we went and, surprise of surprises, the tiny car park was half empty and there were very few people in the museum itself. The photos always make us feel completely inadequate with a camera but its great to see something to shoot for, isn’t it? You can see the winning entries here.

Calendars get pretty full around Christmas so family gatherings can be a little difficult to coordinate. However, Friday evening seemed to be free for both my mother and cousin so Friday had been set for our traditional exchange of presents followed by dinner. Somewhat less traditional was the dinner itself. Mother visited Italy in the summer and surprised me by declaring that she now liked spaghetti, particularly with a Bolognese sauce; and, yes, she would like it if I made that for her. So, Friday morning was taken up for me with the three hour process of Bolognese sauce preparation. To make the meal completely eclectic, Keith volunteered to struggle bravely with foreign ingredients and produce an American sugar-rush classic for desert, pecan pie, for which Carol made the pastry case. To complete the menu, Marlene and Carol also set about assembling some appetizers: cream cheese with spiced cranberry chutney together with blinis topped with sour cream, smoked salmon and caviar (fake, I hasten to add). So, that was pretty much everybody tied up in preparation for the day making it a real team effort.

All came together smoothly and we kicked off at 6:30 PM when mother and her friend, Tony arrived. Cousin Mark and his partner Linda arrived just after 7:00 PM and the serious business of presents-around-the-Christmas-tree began accompanied by some very pleasant Spanish Cava. We managed to squeeze eight around our extended dining table and everyone seemed to enjoy the food; at least, there wasn’t much left at the end. Six casualties were sustained in the continued assault on the European wine lake, which isn’t too bad for a gathering of eight (two of which weren’t drinking). Proceedings drew to a close around 11:00 PM and the weary kitchen team could retire for some well-deserved rest.

Christmas had come early this year and began on the shortest day, December 21st.

About fifteen miles away from us lies Waddesdon Manor, a mansion styled on a classic French chateau and built by the Rothschild family towards the end of the 19th century. At this time of year, its many visitors are particularly attracted to its display of Christmas decorations. Carol and Marlene were no exception; Thursday looked like being a dry day that might brighten up so they planned a visit along with Carol’s mother. The only remaining question was, would Keith choose to accompany them or find some alternative diversion keeping me company?

Linslade is not famous for much but Bridego bridge, just outside town, is the site of the notorious Great Train Robbery of 1963. A mail train was stopped over the bridge at Ledburn junction and relieved of a cool £2.5 million (which must be worth about £50 million by today’s standards). Close by in Ledburn itself is the Hare and Hounds pub which displays memorabilia in the form of framed newspaper cuttings reporting the dastardly event. at the time of the robbery, I seem to recall that the villains came to be regarded as something approaching folklore heroes, sort of latter day Robin Hoods, by the populace even though a guard was seriously injured in the attack. “There’s now’t so strange as folk”, as they say. Anyway, given Keith’s interest in railways, I tried tempting him into lunch at the pub to take in some of the local history.

It probably comes as no surprise that Keith eventually settled on the pub option. So, while the ladies went to soak up the atmosphere and Christmas decorations at Waddesdon Manor, Keith and I did a brief local tour around the lanes to see Bridego bridge followed by soaking up a pint and ham sandwich at the Hare and Hounds in Ledburn. It’s true: men are from Mars and women are from Venus.

On Wednesdays, when we are at home, Carol joins in with a group of volunteers that helps maintain various local natural habitats for the Greensand Trust. Recently, as well as the more usual scrub clearance (much too much like gardening, for my taste), she has been constructing habitats designed to attract England’s only poisonous creature, the adder or viper, which sounds much more exciting. (Now, where’s that insurance document?) Wednesday was their last gathering prior to Christmas when they apparently traditionally have a large bonfire accompanied by baked potatoes for lunch. (By all accounts, there are several pyromaniacs in the group which frequently has large bonfires.) Family members and hangers-on were invited to join in provided they came armed with their own spuds to toss in the embers.

So, while Keith and Marlene wrapped themselves against the chill of the winter English woodland, I chopped up some fresh chives and stirred them into some soured cream, packed up some butter and, as lunch time approached, we set forth with with our potato toppings to join the bonfire party. When we arrived, Carol was still working away dragging cut scrub to feed the fire but, since potatoes need very little time at gas mark 28, the ranger’s subtle oven-to-table-ware (a wheelbarrow!) was soon full of baked spuds rescued from the embers of the fire and lunch was on. I haven’t been near a bonfire for many years and I was surprised just how far away the heat from this one could be felt.

As is traditional on the last working day prior to Christmas, the workforce was released after lunch and a very grubby Carol was free to return with us for a reviving shower.

There are ways in which Milton Keynes seems like a clash of cultures. Its network of roads, for example, appears to have been lifted from an American city in that it forms a largely orthogonal intersecting grid with the roads bearing labels such as V7 (V for vertical) and H3 (H for horizontal), supposedly as an aid to navigation. However, at the many intersections of the network there is almost universally to be found one of the plethora of roundabouts for which Milton Keynes has become justly famous, roundabouts being something of an anathema in the States. Given the rather mundane nomenclature of the roads, it comes as something of a surprise that many of the roundabouts sport relatively colourful names, one such being Bottle Dump Roundabout.

Having generated a sizeable collection of casualties from our various alcoholic skirmishes with Keith and Marlene, it would have been a little more interesting to be able to introduced Keith to a variety of burial grounds for our dead soldiers. Hitherto, they had been stored rather unceremoniously in the garage and it was necessary to reclaim space for the expected carnage of battles to come. Somewhat regrettably, therefore, there does not actually appear to be a dump for bottles anywhere near Bottle Dump Roundabout; perhaps the name is historic, predating the development and expansion of Milton Keynes. Thus it was that Keith had to endure yet another scintillating trip to our local Household Waste Recycling Centre (a.k.a. Tidy Tip) to bury 54 casualties with full military honours, all having served faithfully and fearlessly in the European Wine Lake War of December, 2007.

Various battles are over but the war continues. Following in the footsteps of our heroic forebears, our allied Brirtish and American force will carry the fight to the heart of the enemy with an invasion of Normandy, France on December 28th, following further essential training exercises and rehearsals on the run up to Christmas – but that’s another story.

Monday was essentially a lazy day recovering from flights from Prague and Stansted Express runs. Apart, that is, from not one but two trips out to buy tinsel (which actually turned out to be garlands) for the poor, partially-dressed Christmas tree. Carol and I had planned a traditional roast for after the Sunday Stansted run but, following our pub lunch en route, nobody could actually face a large dinner so we did our best to emulate the American delicacy of BLTs, instead. [Note to self: in future, use fatty streaky bacon rather than the good stuff.] That left us with the traditional roast, though hopefully not so traditional as to overcook everything, for Monday.

So, while Keith fought with his point-and-click digital camera to try to understand its logic (it must have been bad, ‘cos Keith resorted to reading the manual), Carol and I fought over the cooker to prepare the Aberdeen Angus, roast potatoes, roast parsnips and, yes, Yorkshire puddings. Let’s see what southern American digestive systems would make of that. I’ve always been very nervous about serving beef to Keith because I know he likes to eat it while it’s still breathing! However, apart from our getting in the way of each other and the Yorkshire puddings being a little on the heavy side, it all finally came together and everybody seemed to enjoy the lightly cooked Angus and his friends. A vet is currently attempting to revive the left overs. 🙂

Well, not exactly express, perhaps; on Sunday morning the roads were seemingly full of Sunday drivers. Nonetheless, the kids were due back and we were to drive over to Stansted airport to collect Keith and Marlene from their 11:50 flight returning from Prague. This would complete our tour of all four London Airports in two weeks. Yeah! The journey went well despite the dawdling traffic and we arrived about 15 minutes before they emerged from the international arrivals area. Fortunately, they did not suffer the same lengthy delays at immigration this time that Gatwick had dealt them two weeks earlier. In little more than half an hour, we were on the road and heading home with some very pleasant winter sunshine to accompany the drive home through the rolling countryside. Keith very kindly bought us lunch on the way at a country pub/restaurant in Cottered and then it was back for some refreshing tea.

Now the serious business of Christmas could begin and, later in the afternoon, Carol and Marlene set about decorating the Christmas tree in the conservatory. Out with some of that bargain Spanish Cava and on with the tacky Christmas music just to give some additional atmosphere and to encourage the ladies. Keith and I were called upon once or twice for some height advantage but we were mainly able to relive the Danube river trip on good ol’ Google Earth while the ladies got on with it. Quite soon, it seemed, we were two bottles down and the tree was done – apart, apparently, for requiring another shopping trip tomorrow to buy some tinsel before the choccies could be put on. Of course!