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| credit Tania Tirraoro to re-use non-commercially |
This blog is for the slightly random stuff about life that doesn't fit on my fairly awesome, award-winning site, Special Needs Jungle
Showing posts with label Christmas. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Christmas. Show all posts
29 Dec 2013
21 Dec 2013
Christmas, loss, love & friendship and hopes for a better 2014.
Ah, Christmastime, eat, drink and be merry. I said BE MERRY, damn you! Peace, goodwill and all that.
2013 has not been the most auspicious of years for me. Actually it's really been quite horrid, with an occasional hint of a bright spot that has just about made it bearable. One of those included speaking at MumsNet Blogfest, which was quite a large bright spot.
I'm not a religious person, but I am spiritual and to help survive the bad parts of this year, I've been trying to listen more closely to my psychic intuition.
In fact, something I read by Wayne Dyer the other day has changed my thinking even more. Dr Dyer wrote in one of his many books, You'll See It When You Believe It,
that we are "not a body with a soul, but a soul with a body."
This concept has helped me enormously after the death several weeks ago of my wonderful friend Gulshanah. I understand now that she is not gone, but simply released from a body wracked with disease and pain. This does not, of course, make it any less painful for her family and friends, me included, that she is no longer here physically, but I have a peaceful feeling that I believe comes from her. It was incredibly distressing to witness, but I did my best to be a good and supportive friend and she knew that I loved her and will continue to do what I can.
So, life has been tough for both me and for my husband this year. This time last year I was acutely ill. A year on, my Ehlers Danlos Syndrome & POTs has become chronic with increasing joint pain and I am a part-time wheelchair user. If it hadn't been for the support of family and friends, including Gulshanah, as well as online groups such as RareConnect, I am seriously not sure that I would still be here to write this.
Another misery of 2013 is that my husband was out of work for five months and while it was devastating for our bank balance, having him around to rely on to take care of everything, and me, gave me a chance to rest, although a return to health isn't yet on the cards.
The losses, of a dear friend, my health, and temporarily, of our family income, have meant 2013 has been incomparable in terms of the amount of stress being heaped upon our heads. And of course, there are always the inevitable challenges of raising two Aspergic adolescents through the hormonal highs and lows of their teenage years.
Despite my illness, there have been people who still did their best to make life even more difficult for me, but I have been fortunate to have friends, both near and far, who have been there with good words and kind deeds.
I have learned that you must never underestimate the power of love, friendship and kindness. It has literally saved my life this year. Support, whether via a hug, a kind word, a thoughtful email, Facebook message or a Skype chat, or just by bringing me a cup of tea during a meeting so I don't have to get up, has made a huge difference. Even someone just thinking ahead to make sure I can get where I need to be in my wheelchair makes a difference and means I don't feel like I'm a nuisance or in the way.
If you have a friend who has a long term illness, a better way to show concern is instead of asking how they are, show them that you care about them. Asking "How are you?", means I can either say, 'Fine' (which is not true) or just shrug and give a wry smile, because I'm pretty sure that you don't want a lengthy run-down of how I actually am.
I'm hoping for a much better 2014 and that I can be a good friend to my friends when they need me and be well enough to support my family.
Although, as I said, I'm not religious, I have found that a particular passage from the Bible, I Corinthians 13:4-8 to be precise, can help us all with caring for others. You don't need to be a Christian to agree with it, either.
It's about love, but it goes just as well for friendship. They are also words I try to live by, though not, it has to be said, with total success at times. After all, I'm only human and far, far from perfect.
If you are trying to be a better friend or a better partner to the one you love, perhaps let these words guide you too. Please don't look at your other half and ask them why they aren't like this to you; just try to be like this to them and see what happens.
Read More »
2013 has not been the most auspicious of years for me. Actually it's really been quite horrid, with an occasional hint of a bright spot that has just about made it bearable. One of those included speaking at MumsNet Blogfest, which was quite a large bright spot.
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| My Blogfest session Photo: Anna Gordon |
I'm not a religious person, but I am spiritual and to help survive the bad parts of this year, I've been trying to listen more closely to my psychic intuition.
In fact, something I read by Wayne Dyer the other day has changed my thinking even more. Dr Dyer wrote in one of his many books, You'll See It When You Believe It,
that we are "not a body with a soul, but a soul with a body."This concept has helped me enormously after the death several weeks ago of my wonderful friend Gulshanah. I understand now that she is not gone, but simply released from a body wracked with disease and pain. This does not, of course, make it any less painful for her family and friends, me included, that she is no longer here physically, but I have a peaceful feeling that I believe comes from her. It was incredibly distressing to witness, but I did my best to be a good and supportive friend and she knew that I loved her and will continue to do what I can.
So, life has been tough for both me and for my husband this year. This time last year I was acutely ill. A year on, my Ehlers Danlos Syndrome & POTs has become chronic with increasing joint pain and I am a part-time wheelchair user. If it hadn't been for the support of family and friends, including Gulshanah, as well as online groups such as RareConnect, I am seriously not sure that I would still be here to write this.
Another misery of 2013 is that my husband was out of work for five months and while it was devastating for our bank balance, having him around to rely on to take care of everything, and me, gave me a chance to rest, although a return to health isn't yet on the cards.
The losses, of a dear friend, my health, and temporarily, of our family income, have meant 2013 has been incomparable in terms of the amount of stress being heaped upon our heads. And of course, there are always the inevitable challenges of raising two Aspergic adolescents through the hormonal highs and lows of their teenage years.
Despite my illness, there have been people who still did their best to make life even more difficult for me, but I have been fortunate to have friends, both near and far, who have been there with good words and kind deeds.
I have learned that you must never underestimate the power of love, friendship and kindness. It has literally saved my life this year. Support, whether via a hug, a kind word, a thoughtful email, Facebook message or a Skype chat, or just by bringing me a cup of tea during a meeting so I don't have to get up, has made a huge difference. Even someone just thinking ahead to make sure I can get where I need to be in my wheelchair makes a difference and means I don't feel like I'm a nuisance or in the way.
If you have a friend who has a long term illness, a better way to show concern is instead of asking how they are, show them that you care about them. Asking "How are you?", means I can either say, 'Fine' (which is not true) or just shrug and give a wry smile, because I'm pretty sure that you don't want a lengthy run-down of how I actually am.
I'm hoping for a much better 2014 and that I can be a good friend to my friends when they need me and be well enough to support my family.
Although, as I said, I'm not religious, I have found that a particular passage from the Bible, I Corinthians 13:4-8 to be precise, can help us all with caring for others. You don't need to be a Christian to agree with it, either.
It's about love, but it goes just as well for friendship. They are also words I try to live by, though not, it has to be said, with total success at times. After all, I'm only human and far, far from perfect.
If you are trying to be a better friend or a better partner to the one you love, perhaps let these words guide you too. Please don't look at your other half and ask them why they aren't like this to you; just try to be like this to them and see what happens.
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| c: NotAsAdvertised2013 |
24 Dec 2011
Jamie's Flavoured Butter Turkey - for a tasty moist turkey
Now the gravy is frozen and Youngest has strict instructions to remind me to remove it early on Christmas morning (which of course, he won't), it's time to turn to the turkey.
My favourite recipe is, once again, from the god of chefs, Jamie Oliver. It makes for an incredible flavoursome, moist turkey that practically bastes itself.
Ready? Here's the ingredients, taken from the recipe page on the JO website
• 1 x 250g pack of butter • 75g dried cranberries, really finely chopped • a few sprigs of fresh thyme, leaves picked • 4 fresh rosemary sprigs, leaves picked • a few sprigs of fresh sage, leaves picked • sea salt and freshly ground black pepper • 1 clementine.
First, I took the butter out for an hour to soften it, then added it to a food processor with the cranberries, herbs, zest and seasoning. JO says to mix it by hand, but whizzing it up in the blender on pulse saved me time.
Then, using a spoon, I carefully separated the skin from the breast as far back and across as I could, making an opening for the butter.
Then I pushed half the flavoured butter in the space I'd made. James says to use your hands, but I have this hands slim soft spatula from Pampered Chef that does the job and is much less messy.
Then I used the remaining butter to cover the top of the turkey, finally covering it with clingfilm and putting it back in the fridge until tomorrow morning. Make sure yo get it out when you get up so it has time to warm up a bit before you put in the oven.
We had this last year as well and I can safely say it's the best, moist and flavoursome turkey I've ever had.
Read More »
My favourite recipe is, once again, from the god of chefs, Jamie Oliver. It makes for an incredible flavoursome, moist turkey that practically bastes itself.
Ready? Here's the ingredients, taken from the recipe page on the JO website
• 1 x 250g pack of butter • 75g dried cranberries, really finely chopped • a few sprigs of fresh thyme, leaves picked • 4 fresh rosemary sprigs, leaves picked • a few sprigs of fresh sage, leaves picked • sea salt and freshly ground black pepper • 1 clementine.
First, I took the butter out for an hour to soften it, then added it to a food processor with the cranberries, herbs, zest and seasoning. JO says to mix it by hand, but whizzing it up in the blender on pulse saved me time.
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| Whizz up the ingredients |
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| Separate skin from breast starting from the arrow |
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| Carefully stuff half the butter mixture in the space |
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| Smother the top with the rest of butter |
A reminder of the recipe page on the JO site. And to make The Best Turkey in the World, check out this page for cooking the bird.
All that's left is for me to wish you all a fantastic Christmas. If you like this blog, please follow, or subscribe by email or RSS so you never miss another post. (At the top of the site)
There are several other recipes in past posts such as:
Merry Christmas!
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| My well-used Christmas JO 'Bible' - note greasy smudge marks! |
All that's left is for me to wish you all a fantastic Christmas. If you like this blog, please follow, or subscribe by email or RSS so you never miss another post. (At the top of the site)
There are several other recipes in past posts such as:
- It's more faff than Bisto, but Jamie's Get Ahead Gravy is worth the effort
- Asparagus, Watercress and Pan Roasted Cherry Tomato Risotto
- Asparagus, haddock and smokey bacon fishcakes with herby mayonnaise
- Smoked Salmon and Cream Cheese Pate
- Goat's Cheese and Swiss Chard Tart
Merry Christmas!
23 Dec 2011
It's more faff than Bisto, but Jamie's Get Ahead Gravy's worth the effort
So, 23rd December, and I've started the gravy for the big day. This may seem extreme, but it's to save me the hassle of it on Christmas Day and to make sure I serve up the best gravy of the year.
I'm making Jamie Oliver's Get Ahead Gravy. As far as I'm concerned, Jamie Oliver (my fondue disaster not withstanding) should be knighted in the New Year's Honours and then made Prime Minister, or perhaps King. Or both.
Here are the ingredients:
Starting
• 2 celery sticks, trimmed and roughly chopped • 2 carrots, roughly sliced • 2 onions, peeled and quartered • 5 fresh bay leaves • 5 fresh sage leaves • 4 sprigs of fresh rosemary • 2 star anise • 2 rashers of smoked streaky bacon, the best quality you can afford • 8 chicken wings • olive oil • sea salt and freshly ground black pepper •
Finishing:
4 tablespoons plain flour • optional: 60ml sherry or port • 2 heaped dessertspoons cranberry sauce, for finishing.
How I did my best impression of the great J.O
So first, I put all the staring ingredients (see above) in a roasting pan, added some fabulous olive oil that we brought back from Tuscany this year, then some salt and pepper. I put it in the oven for an hour at 200c.
When I got it out, it was all golden. I got a non-scratch masher as Jamie instructs, and mashed it all up hard.
I scraped the bottom to make sure it was all mixed in. Then I added two tablespoons of flour bit by bit and made sure it was all stirred in well.
Then I added two litres of hot water and boiled for ten minutes, then simmered for 25 minutes, stirring occasionally.
After than I added a glug of port. This is optional.
Then sieve. I first sieved in a colander as my sieve is quite small. This got rid of most of the mashed up ingredients. Then I strained it again in my sieve into a freezer box, let it cool and popped it in the freezer until Sunday.
On Sunday I will get it out first thing, defrost it and put it in a pan. When the turkey is done, Jamie says to add 2 large dessertspoons of cranberry sauce (which is good as there's always too much) and the skimmed juices from the turkey.
Read More »
I'm making Jamie Oliver's Get Ahead Gravy. As far as I'm concerned, Jamie Oliver (my fondue disaster not withstanding) should be knighted in the New Year's Honours and then made Prime Minister, or perhaps King. Or both.
Here are the ingredients:
Starting
• 2 celery sticks, trimmed and roughly chopped • 2 carrots, roughly sliced • 2 onions, peeled and quartered • 5 fresh bay leaves • 5 fresh sage leaves • 4 sprigs of fresh rosemary • 2 star anise • 2 rashers of smoked streaky bacon, the best quality you can afford • 8 chicken wings • olive oil • sea salt and freshly ground black pepper •
Finishing:
4 tablespoons plain flour • optional: 60ml sherry or port • 2 heaped dessertspoons cranberry sauce, for finishing.
How I did my best impression of the great J.O
 |
| Put all the starting ingredients into a big roasting pan |
 |
| When they come out of the oven, mash them up |
 |
| Scrape the bottom of the pan |
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| Add 2 litres of water, then boil for 10 mins and simmer for 25mins |
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| Add port if desired. I desire very much. |
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| Strain it, put it in a freezer box and freeze until the big day. |
Decant into a gravy boat, and there you have it, Jamie Oliver's Get Ahead Gravy. It's a lot more faff than Bisto gravy granules, but it's Christmas!
And click here for the link again to the full set of instructions from the Jamie Oliver website
Images on this post are All Rights Reserved c. Tania Tirraoro. Use Contact form to request reuse.
Images on this post are All Rights Reserved c. Tania Tirraoro. Use Contact form to request reuse.
12 Dec 2011
Term ends - with a teenage party. Gulp.
So here we are, the last week of school - well part of a week anyway - before the Christmas holidays. Term ends on Thursday lunchtime after a carol service, collection for a good cause and a round up of the autumn term from the Headmaster.
It has been something of an eventful term after what turned out to be, thankfully, a malicious call resulted in all boys and staff being locked down int he PE hall for five hours, surrounded by armed police. The police were fantastic and someone was tracked down and arrested before the day was out. Can you imagine the aroma of an already smelly PE hall stuffed to the gills with 500 people, most of whom are adolescent boys?
Everyone is exhausted. Youngest has been ill with a virus, but has spent the weekend moving into a new, bigger bedroom, or Technolair, after we made some internal alterations. We then had to get a range extender for the router which took me an hour and a half to make it work. We found one in Maplins which is like a magical emporium. He plans to get a part-time job there when old enough.
Youngest turned 14 this term. We took both kids and eight friends paintballing. We hadn't been before so we naively expected there would be somewhere warm to wait. We were mistaken. My husband also had to make a dash to the nearest supermarket to stock up on drinks and snacks for the boys between each session because teenage boys are rather like locusts, devouring everything in their path. We also shelled out, rather unexpectedly, a small fortune on extra paintballs - something anyone considering such an outing should factor in to the overall cost.
And so, can I relax after Thursday? You're joking. My sister arrives on Thursday afternoon, so I have to make sure the spare room, formerly Youngest's bedroom, is set up and tidy.
And then on Friday... it's Son1's first TEENAGE CHRISTMAS PARTY. The capitals are supposed to convey anxiety and trepidation on my part. It was supposed to be a joint one with his brother, five people each. But Youngest isn't interested and wants to go out instead, so Son1 decided that meant he could have ten, now, eleven.. how about fourteen.. people of his own. Mind you, I'm not sure he's actually invited anyone yet. Am I supposed to hear back from people's Mums at this age? I have no idea.
But, in theory anyway, there will be girls as well as boys, including his newly acquired girlfriend. I'm rather looking forward to that bit - I will, of course, be utterly charming.
Mainly, I will remain busy in the kitchen, providing the locusts with food and soft drinks and will be otherwise invisible but with my ears open over the sound of my new Michael Bublé Christmas album.
My biggest concern is whether to place throws over my two brand new sofas and where to put the dog for his own safety.
If anyone has any tips for me - please leave them in the comments section - they'll be much appreciated!
Read More »
It has been something of an eventful term after what turned out to be, thankfully, a malicious call resulted in all boys and staff being locked down int he PE hall for five hours, surrounded by armed police. The police were fantastic and someone was tracked down and arrested before the day was out. Can you imagine the aroma of an already smelly PE hall stuffed to the gills with 500 people, most of whom are adolescent boys?
Everyone is exhausted. Youngest has been ill with a virus, but has spent the weekend moving into a new, bigger bedroom, or Technolair, after we made some internal alterations. We then had to get a range extender for the router which took me an hour and a half to make it work. We found one in Maplins which is like a magical emporium. He plans to get a part-time job there when old enough.
Youngest turned 14 this term. We took both kids and eight friends paintballing. We hadn't been before so we naively expected there would be somewhere warm to wait. We were mistaken. My husband also had to make a dash to the nearest supermarket to stock up on drinks and snacks for the boys between each session because teenage boys are rather like locusts, devouring everything in their path. We also shelled out, rather unexpectedly, a small fortune on extra paintballs - something anyone considering such an outing should factor in to the overall cost.
And then on Friday... it's Son1's first TEENAGE CHRISTMAS PARTY. The capitals are supposed to convey anxiety and trepidation on my part. It was supposed to be a joint one with his brother, five people each. But Youngest isn't interested and wants to go out instead, so Son1 decided that meant he could have ten, now, eleven.. how about fourteen.. people of his own. Mind you, I'm not sure he's actually invited anyone yet. Am I supposed to hear back from people's Mums at this age? I have no idea.
But, in theory anyway, there will be girls as well as boys, including his newly acquired girlfriend. I'm rather looking forward to that bit - I will, of course, be utterly charming.
Mainly, I will remain busy in the kitchen, providing the locusts with food and soft drinks and will be otherwise invisible but with my ears open over the sound of my new Michael Bublé Christmas album.
My biggest concern is whether to place throws over my two brand new sofas and where to put the dog for his own safety.
If anyone has any tips for me - please leave them in the comments section - they'll be much appreciated!
6 Dec 2011
Read an excerpt from a FREE Christmas anthology
I've got together with a group of fab women writers to publish a sparkling Christmas anthology of short seasonal stories, Season's Readings. You can download them for FREE from Smashwords in any ebook format, PDF or just read online.
I also designed the cover which I hope captures the festive feeling that will soon be grabbing us all.
Eleanor surveyed the scene of quasi-devastation in the living room. Gaudy wrapping paper torn away and then carelessly discarded, littered the floor. Presents were piled up untidily on the coffee table. And her husband of twenty years, Roger, slumped groggily in the armchair, mug of tea balanced on his rounded stomach that was wrapped in a tartan robe.
Under the robe, he wore pale blue cotton pyjamas that he preferred to be ironed, even though they were the non-iron variety. Roger was the chief financial officer of an insurance company in the City. He worked long hours and had amassed them a considerable fortune that had made it unnecessary for Eleanor to find paid employment ever since she'd given birth to the first of their two sons, now aged fifteen and seventeen.
The teenagers had returned to their lairs, otherwise known as their bedrooms, after they had ravaged the Christmas wrapping paper that she had so carefully folded over their expensive ipods, computer equipment and designer clothes that she had bought for them.
Roger was pleased with his aftershave, new leather briefcase and Cartier cufflinks. Eleanor was happy she didn't seem to have made any faux pas, present-wise.
"Darling, you haven't opened your present yet." Roger's voice broke through her thoughts. He indicated a bulky package that was far too neat to have been wrapped by him.
Eleanor smiled. "Thank you," she said, perching on the arm of the sofa as she carefully opened the parcel. Inside was a fluffy robe from...she cast a closer look at the label…Marks and Spencer. Eleanor's smile faltered and forced it to remain on her lips. "It's just what I wanted," she said, a little too brightly.
Seemingly satisfied, Roger went back to reading the sports section of yesterday's Telegraph. Eleanor felt like screaming. She had worked so hard to think of nice things to buy him. The briefcase had his initials embossed on it, the cufflinks had cost a small fortune.
Then she thought of the expensive Prada wallet she had bought for his personal assistant on his behalf. She knew without asking it wasn't Roger who had chosen the robe. She glanced at it again. Pale pink, size 16. Eleanor was a svelte size 10. She shouldn't be ungrateful, she told herself. Roger provides for us so well and she could always go and buy what she wanted whenever she wanted. But as she rose and turned away towards the kitchen, the long silk robe she had bought for herself just months before swishing around her, she couldn't stop her lower lip from trembling, just a little.
The problem, she reasoned, was the lack of thought that had gone into it. It wasn't that she had wanted something expensive, but it would have been nice if Roger had actually thought, just for a few moments, what she might like as a gift. He rarely did these days. When they met and they had both been newly minted accountants, they had had so much fun going places together, being spontaneous. Flying off on a short break on a whim.
After they married the good life had continued, working and playing hard. Roger was on a fast-track promotion route and when Simon was born, it just made sense for Eleanor to give up her job and devote her time to looking after the baby and Roger. She became the perfect corporate wife. Coiffed, toned and tanned, despite producing two babies, two years apart. That had been their life ever since.
She had spoiled the boys, given them all her attention to make up for the fact that their father worked long days and often weekends. They repaid her by leaving their dirty clothes scattered on the floor wherever they took them off, just as they had done since they were children. They often took dishes of food they had asked for upstairs and rarely brought the empty plates down again. They hardly ever said thank you when she took them to sports practice and picked them up again. They seemed to think the clothes fairy picked up their things, washed and ironed them and replaced them neatly in their drawers.
Eleanor never chided them for their slovenliness. They were only children for such a short time, she told herself. Now, as she tossed the half-wrapped M&S robe on the chair in the hallway and set about preparing the Christmas lunch, she regretted letting them treat her like part of the furniture. To them, she was largely invisible, just a wispy outline behind the wheel of the Range Rover, a chauffeur come housekeeper.
The actual housekeeper, Mrs Jarvis, always tutted at her for letting them treat her with such disregard. Eleanor usually just gave a wan smile and a small, defeated shrug.
But today, Christmas Day, she felt differently. She took out the potatoes she had peeled the night before and left in a pan of water. She cut them into odd shapes so the corners would be sharp when they came out of the goose fat, all brown and crispy, and put them back into the pan in fresh water for par-boiling later.
She checked the turkey, which had been in the oven for some time already. It was basted in cranberry butter that she had forced under the skin for added succulence carefully following a Jamie Oliver recipe. Satisfied that everything was on track, she went up for a shower.
Eleanor paused at the top of the stairs listening to the various sounds coming from each boy's bedroom. Simon was strumming his acoustic guitar and 'singing' along as he played. Jonathan, her fifteen year old, was playing his new shoot 'em up game on his X-box. Neither of them had bothered to buy her a gift or a card.
She put her shoulders back, lifted her head up and crossed to the large bedroom suite she shared with Roger. It was beautifully fitted out and she had a large dressing table upon which sat her expensive Crème De La Mer moisturiser and her Chanel make-up bag.
She opened her top drawer and slid out a packet of blister-wrapped tablets, popping one out and swallowing it without water. Prozac, mother's little helpers. She sat to brush out her hair, feeling miserable and taken for granted.
Her face reflected in the mirror was unlined, thanks to regular non-surgical face-lifts and her honeyed bob had been perfectly highlighted and cut at Vidal Sassoon in Sloane Street just the day before. Securing it back with a band, she shrugged out of her robe and matching silk night-slip and crossed into the en-suite wet-room.
The water took seconds to heat up and Eleanor stepped under the powerful jets. Before she knew what was happening, before she could rationalise her misery any further, her face crumpled and huge tears rolled down her cheeks. Her head dipped forward, the fierce water jets wetting the hair she had meant to keep dry. Eleanor angrily snatched off the band keeping it back and threw it to the floor of the shower.
She knew what she was, she was a bloody Stepford wife and she hated it. She hated her life in a gilded cage, doing just what was expected of her while no one cared how she felt. She was 48 years old and a walking stereotype of a well-heeled woman.
Over the hammering of the water, she suddenly hear Roger calling, "Darling, are you almost finished? Mother will be here soon."
Bugger, she thought. Bloody Regina. Why couldn't the old bird just hurry up and die? Roger's mother always came for Christmas lunch. Regina was 79 years old, a widow of a more than a decade, after her own husband had worked himself into an early grave. She was the epitome of health and showed no signs of following her husband to the world beyond. Or the world below, more likely, thought Eleanor, grimly.
Read more by downloading the book for FREE or read it online - just choose your preferred format
Read More »
I also designed the cover which I hope captures the festive feeling that will soon be grabbing us all.
ELEANOR'S CHRISTMAS SURPRISE BY TANIA TIRRAORO
 |
| Click the image to go to the book page |
Under the robe, he wore pale blue cotton pyjamas that he preferred to be ironed, even though they were the non-iron variety. Roger was the chief financial officer of an insurance company in the City. He worked long hours and had amassed them a considerable fortune that had made it unnecessary for Eleanor to find paid employment ever since she'd given birth to the first of their two sons, now aged fifteen and seventeen.
The teenagers had returned to their lairs, otherwise known as their bedrooms, after they had ravaged the Christmas wrapping paper that she had so carefully folded over their expensive ipods, computer equipment and designer clothes that she had bought for them.
Roger was pleased with his aftershave, new leather briefcase and Cartier cufflinks. Eleanor was happy she didn't seem to have made any faux pas, present-wise.
"Darling, you haven't opened your present yet." Roger's voice broke through her thoughts. He indicated a bulky package that was far too neat to have been wrapped by him.
Eleanor smiled. "Thank you," she said, perching on the arm of the sofa as she carefully opened the parcel. Inside was a fluffy robe from...she cast a closer look at the label…Marks and Spencer. Eleanor's smile faltered and forced it to remain on her lips. "It's just what I wanted," she said, a little too brightly.
Seemingly satisfied, Roger went back to reading the sports section of yesterday's Telegraph. Eleanor felt like screaming. She had worked so hard to think of nice things to buy him. The briefcase had his initials embossed on it, the cufflinks had cost a small fortune.
Then she thought of the expensive Prada wallet she had bought for his personal assistant on his behalf. She knew without asking it wasn't Roger who had chosen the robe. She glanced at it again. Pale pink, size 16. Eleanor was a svelte size 10. She shouldn't be ungrateful, she told herself. Roger provides for us so well and she could always go and buy what she wanted whenever she wanted. But as she rose and turned away towards the kitchen, the long silk robe she had bought for herself just months before swishing around her, she couldn't stop her lower lip from trembling, just a little.
The problem, she reasoned, was the lack of thought that had gone into it. It wasn't that she had wanted something expensive, but it would have been nice if Roger had actually thought, just for a few moments, what she might like as a gift. He rarely did these days. When they met and they had both been newly minted accountants, they had had so much fun going places together, being spontaneous. Flying off on a short break on a whim.
After they married the good life had continued, working and playing hard. Roger was on a fast-track promotion route and when Simon was born, it just made sense for Eleanor to give up her job and devote her time to looking after the baby and Roger. She became the perfect corporate wife. Coiffed, toned and tanned, despite producing two babies, two years apart. That had been their life ever since.
She had spoiled the boys, given them all her attention to make up for the fact that their father worked long days and often weekends. They repaid her by leaving their dirty clothes scattered on the floor wherever they took them off, just as they had done since they were children. They often took dishes of food they had asked for upstairs and rarely brought the empty plates down again. They hardly ever said thank you when she took them to sports practice and picked them up again. They seemed to think the clothes fairy picked up their things, washed and ironed them and replaced them neatly in their drawers.
Eleanor never chided them for their slovenliness. They were only children for such a short time, she told herself. Now, as she tossed the half-wrapped M&S robe on the chair in the hallway and set about preparing the Christmas lunch, she regretted letting them treat her like part of the furniture. To them, she was largely invisible, just a wispy outline behind the wheel of the Range Rover, a chauffeur come housekeeper.
The actual housekeeper, Mrs Jarvis, always tutted at her for letting them treat her with such disregard. Eleanor usually just gave a wan smile and a small, defeated shrug.
But today, Christmas Day, she felt differently. She took out the potatoes she had peeled the night before and left in a pan of water. She cut them into odd shapes so the corners would be sharp when they came out of the goose fat, all brown and crispy, and put them back into the pan in fresh water for par-boiling later.
She checked the turkey, which had been in the oven for some time already. It was basted in cranberry butter that she had forced under the skin for added succulence carefully following a Jamie Oliver recipe. Satisfied that everything was on track, she went up for a shower.
Eleanor paused at the top of the stairs listening to the various sounds coming from each boy's bedroom. Simon was strumming his acoustic guitar and 'singing' along as he played. Jonathan, her fifteen year old, was playing his new shoot 'em up game on his X-box. Neither of them had bothered to buy her a gift or a card.
She put her shoulders back, lifted her head up and crossed to the large bedroom suite she shared with Roger. It was beautifully fitted out and she had a large dressing table upon which sat her expensive Crème De La Mer moisturiser and her Chanel make-up bag.
She opened her top drawer and slid out a packet of blister-wrapped tablets, popping one out and swallowing it without water. Prozac, mother's little helpers. She sat to brush out her hair, feeling miserable and taken for granted.
Her face reflected in the mirror was unlined, thanks to regular non-surgical face-lifts and her honeyed bob had been perfectly highlighted and cut at Vidal Sassoon in Sloane Street just the day before. Securing it back with a band, she shrugged out of her robe and matching silk night-slip and crossed into the en-suite wet-room.
The water took seconds to heat up and Eleanor stepped under the powerful jets. Before she knew what was happening, before she could rationalise her misery any further, her face crumpled and huge tears rolled down her cheeks. Her head dipped forward, the fierce water jets wetting the hair she had meant to keep dry. Eleanor angrily snatched off the band keeping it back and threw it to the floor of the shower.
She knew what she was, she was a bloody Stepford wife and she hated it. She hated her life in a gilded cage, doing just what was expected of her while no one cared how she felt. She was 48 years old and a walking stereotype of a well-heeled woman.
Over the hammering of the water, she suddenly hear Roger calling, "Darling, are you almost finished? Mother will be here soon."
Bugger, she thought. Bloody Regina. Why couldn't the old bird just hurry up and die? Roger's mother always came for Christmas lunch. Regina was 79 years old, a widow of a more than a decade, after her own husband had worked himself into an early grave. She was the epitome of health and showed no signs of following her husband to the world beyond. Or the world below, more likely, thought Eleanor, grimly.
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