Salad days...

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So the ghost of Christmas past is still lying prostrate on the sofa, feebly demanding cups of tea, small slices of sausage plait and decongestant tablets.  Such is the lot of a woman with a sickly other half.  Like I don't have enough to do over Christmas...

Luckily, the husband managed to rally sufficiently to join me, several children and other family members at the pantomime on Friday night. Two hours of laughter courtesy of Bradley Walsh, and two hours of drooling thanks to Martin Kemp seemed to work for us ladies, but the men had Tinkerbell.  A rather annoying girl in pink spandex shorts, clip on wings and a lot of zhuzhed up net curtains.  The way the husband looked at her, it might be a look to adopt on his next birthday....or not.  I'm not sure that there is enough net left in the world to drape around my post Christmas bulk, and I might have to resort to a pair of flesh coloured Spanx instead of the sparkly shorts, but hopefully, he'll get the idea of what I am trying to achieve.

Anyway, my house has all of a sudden gone very quiet (except for the husband's spluttering and wheezing) as none of the children are here, and Mr and Mrs W have vacated the premises and headed back Oop North.  This wasn't before Mr W had test driven my new vacuum cleaner with a view to getting an idea as to whether it might be a good buy.  I came home to find that the whole of downstairs had been done which was a lovely surprise.  Shame I don't live in a bungalow as the whole house might have got the full Mr W treatment.

So what about the ghost of Christmas present then?  This would be me.  Staring into my fridge looking for inspiration as to what to eat which doesn't involve any of the following:

Turkey - in any guise - no good trying to trick me with a curry.  I'll know...
Mince pies - disallowed due to the lack of accompanying brandy butter which I polished off already
Quality Street - only the toffees left which are not suitable for someone with only two teeth of their own
Sausage Plait - having stoically ploughed my way through two and a half plaits, I do not want to see a sheet of ready rolled puff pastry this side of August

What I really need is lettuce, but oddly enough, this wasn't on my Christmas shopping list, having been unceremoniously pushed aside by a Chocolate Orange Mousse Cake.

So this ghost of Christmas Yet to Come is resembling a space-hopper, inflated to its utter maximum, with a grimace stretched across three quarters of its circumference.  No amount of Gaviscon is going to help, I'm sorry to say.

There are hard times ahead, mostly involving more of the ubiquitous lettuce...


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