15: Moonshine

Day 15 is hung by the chimney with care.

Bless their little cotton socks. 

Come Christmas Eve and children nestled snugly in their beds, I suggest a little sugar plum vision for the grown-ups. What better way to gather courage for morning's barbaric assault on the Christmas tree? Indeed, what better way to put the sparkle back in Santa's eyes and return the rosy to his cheeks, than to leave him a little of the home-made winter warmer with his plate of cookies?

He works a devil of a long shift after all, out in the cold with no elfin safety legislation to protect him across international airspace, dodging Airbuses, circling Heathrow, spelunking down centuries-old chimneys and smack-dab into coal fires. All this with only a poxy red coat to protect him against the elements. So give a jolly old elf a break. And some plonk.

Welcome Santa, bring your cheer. 

There is of course the classic option: sloe gin. This is ideal if you happen to live by a blackthorn-infested wood and own some heavy gloves. Sloes, very tart on their own, create a delightful, fuchsia drink when drowned in gin and lashings of sugar and left in a dark closet for several months.

Morello cherries, also readily available out in the boonies, create a beautiful deep red tipple, with a nose full of nutmeg and overtones of happiness. Damson plums (above) are nearly as divine for booze as they are for jam. Strawberries, blackberries, rhubarb (kudos to Dawn for this suggestion) and raspberries all drown well. But the best of the lot by far is greengage rum, a golden drink reminiscent of mead. We call it ambrosia in this house, and it is the official Christmas Eve drink.

Ambrosia begins.

Fruity Christmas moonshine couldn't be easier to make. Begin in late summer, as your low-hanging fruit of choice grows ripe. Fill a preserving jar or empty bottle with fruit. Pour sugar over to about a third of the way up. Fill to the top with medium-quality rum, vodka or gin and secure the lid tightly to ward off any space invaders.

The fruit absorbs much of the alcohol, so the resulting drink is more liqueur than liquor. Give it a shake every so often, but mostly leave it alone in the dark until Christmas. Or until a reasonably bad day at least six weeks down the line. Share and enjoy. Remember to leave some for poor Santa, because the guy is subject to the maniacal whims of short people and he doesn't even get a full state pension.

A special toast to Sticky Fingers for suggesting a handful of sparkle to combat the cold, dark days of Christmas anticipation. Cheers.

Translation hazard!

Ana, harbinger of destruction, needed a garden swing like a hamster needs a hamster wheel. So I ordered one online without putting much thought into it. Upon arrival I discovered that my hastily-selected swing was an import from Molvania. This was apparent from the safety instructions, clearly a collaboration between Babel Fish and Borat. Here's an excerpt:

Warning! Adult assembly request. Adult supervision required at all limes when using this product. Suitable for children aged. DO NOT loosen the rope, otherwise the seal will fall and cause injury. DO NOT allow children 10 get off the swing when it is stilt moving. This item is for Family donestic use only. Avoid swinging empty swings. Try and orientate swing to avoid swinging directly into sun.

No kidding--printed right there on the box.

Now I'm an imaginative speller and a monoglot, so I can't have too much fun with this--glasspots in kettlehouses shouldn't lob seals, etc. And whereas elfin-safety glop is usually so tedious, I enjoyed this and must salute the person responsible. Humour is the only glue holding the various bits of my sleepy brain together right now. So I wonder, legal disclaimery aside, if there is so little actual information contained in kiddie safety warnings that they can be written in Mad Libs, why not hire comedians for the job? Or if comedians are too expensive and expletive-laden, perhaps the introduction of a standard label would both warn parents and eliminate future translation hazards. I reckon this would cover the bases:

You know this stuff like the back of Junior's cute widdle hand and it's pretty condescending of me, a mere safety label, to regurgitate it back to you in small words, but frankly you're so tired right now that you can't remember your own name, and you're too embarrassed to ask your spouse for clarification, so read on. Your snowflake is currently attempting serious self-injury and permanent world-damage on a vast scale and in five ways that you haven't thought of. So keep your eyes on Bambina until your vision goes all wonky and you get pinging dots across it diagonally (no this is not normal, if you mention it to other people, they will give you spare change for a sandwich). And don't even think about having any hobbies or sitting down because all that nonsense is for grownups, a group from which you are hereby quarantined. If you and Angel survive the first three years it will be a small miracle and you will receive a complimentary Molvanian cake and two free psychotherapy sessions with a seal of your choice. Now go play with this toy and stop reading this rubbish. Your name is Fred.

Silliness aside, I really wasn't sure how to interpret these instructions. So in the interest of elfin-safety, I let Creepy Dog (still surviving) have the first swing. No injuries to note. 'You're funny!' implied approval to my ears. Guinea pig test done, over to Monster Dog.

Here comes the sun dog.

Fearless-pirate Ana and wise-sage Ali both make me wonder what part of childhood is supposed to be healthy or safe. I hate to indulge Ali's paranoia but I'm inclined to agree with her--the tall world handles short people with kid gloves, only to shove them off the deep end and into life one day. Life being that eternally rough thing that adults never get a comfortable grip on.

As I write this, I hear Ana's whoops of delight from the garden as she swings directly into the sun. How it should be. I give the swing three Molvanian thumbs up.