Christmas Day

The season is here, as we cook for 600 when only about 30 will be coming for lunch.
Dad is only ashes so he can’t have a drink, so Mum gets the box with him in it and has a drink.
The siblings are at it, as the hunger pains start roaring, and the little children have turned into terrors.
Over the pond, they’ll be as cold as a bear; yet here it is mild, and the sun shines a bit.
The BBQ is running, and the men gather around for it’s a team effort out there to ensure the meat isn’t charred.
Bossy boots orders everyone around in the kitchen, so Mum takes Dad and flops on to the couch.
Lunch will be served soon enough, yet there’s always time for a chocolate or two, a mince pie, white Christmas, a rum ball or two, strawberries with cream, a tea or two, a coffee, some punch, biscuits, and, and …
Lunch is served, and the chatter runs wild; no one says grace because this isn’t the Lord’s day, it’s only Christmas Day.

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