The first curse came with the Finding of the Pudding Tins, an annual ritual which usually ends in tears. And it did. They were discovered cunningly hiding behind a tower of cake tins, but my triumph was short-lived. One of the tins had two tiny holes in the base, rendering it useless. So there I was with enough mix for two puddings and only one tin. The Spouse made a quick dash to our daughter's home a few blocks away and returned with the Rolls Royce of pudding tins. The mixture was poured into the tins and it was only then that I realised that the largest saucepan I own was too small to accommodate the guest tin. Back to our daughter's home drove Mr Fudge for a pasta pot which made mine look like the runt of the litter.
Finally they were steaming away and if nothing else, we will have pudding for Christmas Day. The second pudding is sitting smugly in the freezer ready for next year, because who wants to go through that every year?
I'll spare you the dramas of the glacé fruit cakes. Suffice to say the Mayans are a cruel bunch. However, they are now baked and ready for Christmas Day, along with the traditional cake and shortbread.
All that is left now is a sewing project and ... oops ... I almost uttered those fatal words again.
Have a happy and safe Christmas surrounded by your loved ones. We will be traveling north to hug our Brisbane grandchildren very soon after Christmas and that will make our season complete.
