Whatever, we were in Cambridge by 6.30, for home-cooked dinner with the Margarita Man. Mild hangover the next morning was no more than we expected, and didn't impinge on the drive north to Cheshire. Brief stopover to visit les nièces et neveux, before arriving chez la belle-mère early on Christmas Eve for a special treat - Christmas Pudding!
Christmas day dawned bright and frosty, like most other days during the holiday, and was spent chez le beau-frère, who as usual was chef for the day. And as usual, he produced enough food to feed an army of relatives rather than the mere eight present. Despite heroic efforts, notably on the part of his beau-père and two greedy labradors, turkey leftovers seem likely to be on the menu for weeks to come.
After lunch, once digestion was sufficiently advanced to allow movement, the exchange of gifts took place. In my case, exchange is a relative term, as I always seem to receive a lot more than I give. But it would seem impolite to demur, so I never do. And for once someone else got more than bargained for. La belle-mère du beau-frère (even in French there's no simple term for the mother-in-law of one's brother-in-law) was delighted and horrified in equal measure to be given a life-sized black bear (stuffed of course).
Boxing day we returned to east Cheshire to distribute presents to les nièces et neveux, meeting up with le frère ainé at the same time. As most of the rest of the day was spent playing racing car games on a games console with a name bearing a close resemblance to a bodily function, no prizes for guessing what theme most of the presents came with. All raced out, in the evening we formed a more sedate convoy with le frère for the drive back across Cheshire.
The following day was one of the best of the holiday. La bienheureuse et la belle-mère packed le frère et moi off to undertake a brisk 3 hour stomp along the Sandstone Trail, while they meandered round Beeston Castle and retired to the pub to await us drinking mulled wine in front of a roaring fire. The 7 mile walk however was worth braving the sub-zero temperatures for. With the sun shining down from a clear blue sky on a countryside covered in frost, some of the scenery was spectacular. And we reached the pub in time for a late, very late lunch and more mulled wine.
Sunday was the day set aside to celebrate two milestones - la quarantaine de la bienheureuse (again) and la cinquantaine du frère ainé. La bienheureuse celebrated in her own fashion by staying at home with her mother to cook the evening meal for ten, while my 50-year old brother and I swanned off to meet the rest of the available family at Delamere Forest. When we eventually all got there we enjoyed a pleasant stroll through the trees in the golden late afternoon sunshine, and had fun skipping stones across the frozen lake. Easy to skip stones on ice, you might say, but the principal attraction for doing so was the musical resonance of the ice as the stones skipped across it. So there.
As dusk fell we formed a three car convoy back to east Cheshire where the cassoulet feast cooked by la bienheureuse et la belle-mère awaited us. And the food and party, complete with party hats, crackers and presents (including my favourite of all - a hamper of Marmite and English cheese), was much enjoyed by all. Though exactly how many of the clean plates were due to parental command only the interested parties know. Thanks are due to la belle-mère for providing us with the venue.
Le frère et la soeur returned from whence they came the following day, and la bienheureuse, la belle-mère et moi enjoyed a quiet time over the next couple of days, filled mainly with eating, sleeping and another visit to north Wales to view the soon to be acquired woods of prospective landowner le beau-frère. New Year's Eve was quiet too, though I made the mistake of suggesting we teach la belle-mère how to play tête-de-merde. My disastrous run of luck continued over from Saba to the point where my first new year's resolution ought to have been to never play the wretched game again. But it wasn't...
On the second day of the new year it was time to kiss la belle-mère goodbye and head back down south. After another stopover chez le jardinier in Cambridge and a traditional pub, beer and curry evening, on Saturday it was time to visit the new home of football for the first time since early November. Warmed by the somewhat stuttering but ultimately satisfactory victory over the Pilgrims, we headed down to Kent for an overnight stay chez les docteurs C, ate more curry and drank more wine, and then were up at 7.30 the following morning for the long drive home. 900 odd kilometres and eleven hours later we were back, in a cold apartment and an even colder Lyon. And it's forecast to get colder...
