Ciccone Christmas Memories

Even though I’ve been busy laying the foundations for my forthcoming launch as an author of YA fiction, I’ve also been taking it easy and getting Christmas out of the way.  Christmas is never easy.  While people enjoy their festive time with family, I’m in a perpetual state over What Could Happen when my family get together.  Here are some Christmas tales for you to enjoy:

1)      My then estranged sister once telephoned my mum on Christmas Day to reveal a Big Secret.  “You’re married,” my mum said cautiously.  “No!”  So mum tried again.  “You’re pregnant.”  “No!”  I cut into my Brussels sprouts and forced myself to eat a mouthful as mum tried over and over again to guess the Big Secret.  Finally my weary mum said, “You’re pregnant.”  “No,” my sister responded, “I’m a lesbian.” I’ve never been able to eat Brussels sprouts since.  I connect the taste of them subconsciously with Christmas lesbianism.  The power of memory is a potent thing!  Mum was terribly upset – she isn’t a bigot of course but it was a shock at the time.  She’s fully recovered now!  I think I’ve always known ever since the day my sister claimed devotion to Annie Lennox.

2)      My brother made a timely appearance for Christmas after being let out of prison for one of his numerous armed robberies.  ‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, except for my brother who was after some leftover turkey.  Cold turkey.  How apt!  I wandered downstairs and innocently asked, “Have you got the munchies?” only to be chased by my brother with a knife in hand.  Was it something I said?  He’s much better these days, in case you are interested.

3)      Mum bought me my first Roald Dahl books for Christmas and I also got an Atari 2600.  My sister and brother got a hatchet put through their skateboards in retribution for stealing chocolate from a cupboard.  A bit harsh, I think.

4)      The Krankies and John Barrowman at the panto.  John Barrowman tells the audience one day he’s going to marry the princess and kiss her.  The audience responds with laughter.  What else can you do?

5)      My gran buying me Enid Blyton books only to be told by my ungrateful self that I hate Enid Blyton books.  I’ll never forget the upset on her face.  It is one of those memories that I’ll never forget yet always regret.  I don’t like Enid Blyton books but at that age I was a bit blunt (I still have that tendency but have evolved thanks to that one day at Christmas) and didn’t want to lie.  How stupid of me!  She was a fabulous person, my grandmother.

So there it is, folks.  If the world doesn’t end tomorrow then I hope you have a fantastic Christmas.

K x


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