The goose got too fat

I’ve just been called by my goose-supplier to tell me that they can’t source 3-4 kg geese, and are we all right to take a 5kg one?

Does no one listen to nursery rhymes these days?

It’s my fault I suppose for wanting to stage that crucial Rite of Passage of all housewives… preparing a Christmas roast. Unfortunately my dad (top-notch housewife, when it comes to roasts) has put his foot down and insisted on stuffing his entire clan with turkey on the 25th. So I am left to consider doing something out of Good Housekeeping and entertain my brother and his clan with a goose during their stay. A large one, as it happens. (I was going to prepare a turkey for Thanksgiving, but missed the date and forgot. This is something I think we must all be thankful for. I’ve never cooked anything larger than a chicken).

I have a feeling that goose is healthier for the heart than some meats, but I may be wrong. I will have to ask dad, or assume he remembers to correct me next time I see him.

Given that I have recently discovered a pregnancy aversion to small feathered game and a craving for kangaroo (surely the bounciest and most exciting meat ever), I feel I may need a bigger oven in due course, but Suffolk delis apparently don’t sell it. Something about food miles I figure. How inconvenient. We ship lamb over for Easter all the time from the antipodes.

In other festive news, we beat the rush and bought our tree just before our local tree-suppliers ran out. Then realised that these big trees need more decorating, and had to ask should we decorate the window-side (for the neighbours) or the room-side (for ourselves and guests)? The jury is out, and so is the tree, until the room is ready for it.

We are sending very few cards this year and intend to do a letter next year, by which time we may have thought of a name for the baby (you have to put this sort of thing in Christmas cards). He or she is due at Easter and by Christmas will hopefully be learning piano and harp and playing tennis regularly with a view to Wimbledon by the Olympics. It’s not that we don’t love our friends and family. We just forgot to listen to the rhymes, and by all accounts Christmas is coming.


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