Uh-oh

At around the age of three, most kids learn to tell the difference between kilograms and pounds. Not me.

So when, a couple of weeks ago, I walked into the consistently excellent Lavergne Meats and Deli in Navan and asked for a turkey, frozen is fine, I took the 9-10 kg one thinking it would be nice for Christmas Eve and there'd be enough for left overs on Christmas Day and perhaps a nice turkey soup for Boxing Day.

It wasn't until I got it home and Mrs. Ottawacker was helping me rearrange the freezer (new stuff to the bottom) that I became aware of a potential problem. She was standing behind me handing me the new items of meat when I was jolted out of a particularly pleasant reverie involving Nigel Farage and a chainsaw.

"What the fcking, what... what is this?" she said, grimacing under the weight of the frozen turkey. I've always been kind to those not quite on the same wavelength, so I explained carefully.

"It's a turkey," I said. "For Christmas," I added. "You asked me to get one." Then, more helpfully: "It's frozen."

"Yes, I can see it's a turkey, it is written on the label. Alongside the weight. 9.75 kg. I said to get a small one. How the hell do you think we will eat 9.75 kg of turkey when there are just the three of us, and when I am supposed to be vegetarian?" she asked, quite unfairly, I thought.

"There'll be leftovers," I said. "That way we won't have to cook on Christmas Day or Boxing Day."

"We'll never have to cook again, you idiot," she said. "This is for a family of 10, For a week. We don't just eat turkey you know. There are potatoes and sprouts and carrots and sweet potatoes and a whole load of other things that make a Christmas meal special. You can't just cook a turkey - which might not even fit in our oven - and put it on the table and sit there and pick at it for the next month. And how long will it take to cook...?

To be honest, I tuned out a little after that, and went back to Nigel. But the truth of what Mrs. Ottawacker was saying came back to me a little today as I staggered up the stairs from the basement with the newly defrosted turkey, and prepared to, erm, prepare it. Five-and-a-half hours later, it was done... and if anyone wants to swing by for a kilo of turkey over the next day or so, then feel free.

Ah! Christmas Eve. En famille. As Mrs Ottawacker's family is of Danish origin (you might have guessed from her somewhat Viking approach to a small error), we celebrate on the 24th. Dinner, small present exchange, drinking everything that can be found in the house. Tomorrow, we will have the main present exchange for Ottawacker Jr. and do the family call around. 

We might even have turkey for lunch. And dinner. But now I must sneak up the stairs to the bedroom of a sleeping 8-year-old and try to put Santa's stocking on his bed without waking him up. Wish me luck.

Merry Christmas everyone.