The Moveable Christmas Feast

It's that time of the year again when everything seems just a bit more magical. Over here on the other side of the Big Puddle, the lovely month of December finally heralds a sweet cool though sadly brief respite from the intense scorch of summer blaze.

Which is the time I usually plan for my annual Christmas Fête in Netherfield. Unlike many of my more youthful noncontemporaries who blindly worship potluck parties for vague reasons unkenownst, I generally hire professional caterers - since I don't see how discomfiting my guests by forcing them to bring a dish could possibly be conducive to mischief and merrymaking. Isn't it easier to just focus on dressing up for a party?

Though clearly a stubborn handful would differ since they truly prefer slaving over a stove for the potluck; soon after appearing sadly tardy and inappropriately bedecked in salt, soot and scum. Ho, ho, ho, indeed.

Potluck! What a very quaint idea!

So cater please. After all it's a party for rational adults and it's time we left cold chicken wings and soggy crisps back in college where they belong.

That said, I've never actually prevented guests from bringing their own culinary delights if that's their wish. Which is what a potluck-obsessed millennial promised for the feast so I begrudgingly gave my consent and struck the item from my planned menu. After all, he did fervently promise that the fried chicken would be sizzling hot and crispy as the vaunted advertisements touted. At least that's what we all hoped.

Yet when he finally arrived with said parcel, we all looked into his Christmas bag with glee only to find something only a shade better than parsimonious coal.

Paul : There are only nine pieces of chicken here.
Friend : Yes.
Paul : Are you doing a sad reeneactment of the Christmas Carol?
Friend : No ah. Don't we all usually only eat one piece of chicken each? 
Paul : Maybe when I was three. 
Friend : Eh?
Paul : It's a feast. Not a fast. 

Really.

A piece of chicken each usually? Tis the season of dieting this Christmas?

In the midst of such parsimony, one would have thought we were in the midst of severe food rationing during wartime. Basically with the twenty or so starving guests, that would come up to half a piece each. Not sure what kinda thrifty household he came from but with that kinda generosity in a Fuzhou family, he would probably have been tossed out the backdoor with that measly box of chicken.

Thanks to age and maturity though, I at least managed a dismissive shrug with a light taunt about his baffling peculiarities.

Perhaps he thought it was a Christmas Fast.

Last Christmas

With the entire family spending Christmas over there, how could we possibly not call up the cousins?Specifically the Thai ones - the various children from my late uncle's unlikely trio of warring stepwives. No doubt the last time they actually shared a decent meal together on one communal table was during their departed patriarch's funeral. Or maybe after when they battled passionately over the meagre estate left behind.

But Christmas is a time for family after all. Knowing that it would please my mother very much, I embarked on this intrepid mission months before, knowing fully well that certain components would surely irk me to no end.

First step was obviously making contact with the eldest of the lot, the Samaritan, which I did dutifully more than a month before we arrived.

Paul : Hey, we're coming over for Christmas. 
Samaritan : That's great!  
Paul : We'll be staying in town for a week. All of us. 
Samaritan : Weather's nice. 
Paul : Are you going to invite us for dinner or do I have to? 
Samaritan : Sure, let's meet for dinner. 
Paul : Call up the rest of your siblings. 
Samaritan : The rest? 
Paul : All of them, even the half sibs. 

Gotta say the Samaritan never fails to disappoint me. Perhaps if he ever initiates an invitation to dinner of his own volition, I might possibly faint from shock. Don't know about the rest of you but as the dedicated host - wherever I am - I would usually take that first step, not only in arranging any coming dinners but also to ensure everything goes smoothly right up to the discreet bill reimbursement at the end. Playing host is something I do almost without thinking.

The Samaritan? We're the same age and he has never ever picked up the check. Ever. Don't be fooled into thinking that he's pathetically destitute having to beg for spare change on the grimy streets of Bangkok, the man earns quite a decent living. Then again, he hardly offered a miserable penny to cover his father's funeral expense so I doubt even the vaunted Christmas miracle could change that.

Well guess who I left out on the Christmas list. 

But hey, there's always second - third - and fourth chances. He might change? Season of giving after all.

Since the Samaritan lives there, I figured he would know best where to dine like a king in the food paradise that's Bangkok but he hemmed and hawwed without giving any proper reply. Moment the Samaritan deferred from picking the restaurant, I already figured out who would be footing the bill. Bah, humbug.

Paul : Guess who is buying us dinner!
Brother : Not the Samaritan of course. 
Paul : Guessed it right. 
Brother : Merry Christmas to us then. 
Calvin : So who's paying?
Paul : Obviously my brother and me. 

The season of giving. Though I would find it hard to offer much forgiveness.

Coming Out on Christmas Day

In case you didn't know, Diffident David is gay.

Shh.... don't say it out loud 'cause someone might hear! Part of the discreet closet case comrades here, David vehemently insists that he passes as 'normal' despite being quite painfully obvious to the rest of us. I mean, surely nattily fussy fellow with painstakingly coiffed hair and perfectly rolled up sleeves still reeks of pink suspicion, no? Evidently he doesn't think so - and blithely believes the rest of his erstwhile colleagues remain utterly oblivious to his apparently deviant sexual predilections.

David : I'm not gay! They think I'm metrosexual.
Paul : My present to you is allowing you to keep your cherished illusions. 

Ever the game changer, Mad Madison has taken it upon herself to make sure things get better.

By outing him for Christmas.

Paul : Did anyone check Facebook? 
Kat : What happened? 
Paul : Apparently Madison appreciates all her gay friends. 
Kat : That's nice!
Paul : All her gay friends including David. 
Kat : He's tagged?
Paul : Oh yes. 
Kat : Talk about blowing his cover! He's going to have a cow.
Paul : He doesn't check his phone so that would be several hours of being outed before he comes to that particular realization.
Kat : Oh that Madison.   

Like some other friends on Facebook, they maintain supposedly 'straight' lives on Facebook where anything even vaguely homosexual being posted would drive them up the hysterical wall. Even the random shot of a half-naked hottie would probably trigger their hypersensitive homophobic alarms.

So imagine Madison thanking him for being a great gay friend. With an appreciative tag.

Obviously getting him out of the closet is her novel idea of a Christmas present.

Remarkably took David less than an hour to become conscious of the fact that his crouching homo hidden gayness was being recognized by one and all, courtesy of the ever-accessible Facebook wall! Perhaps one of his burlier patients sent him a salacious wink? Cue his overwrought wail of distress that was heard for miles on high, amped up even louder when the tag couldn't be removed.

David : What if everyone knows!
Paul : Providential! I do have a song for Coming Out on Christmas! 

Bah Humbug

Cooler December days are here again with cloudy climes bringing some soothing respite from the usual tropical burn. Advent calendars are already counting the days till that wonderful time of the year. Even people on the streets seem quite a bit more cheery as they hurry home from work, sometimes with hidden packages in their bags.

Ah, more Christmas gifts to send!

And like all traditions before Christmas, I've already found my first Grinch so far. 

Or should that be a Scrooge? 

Several weeks back, one of my work colleagues suggested having a Secret Santa for this year. To those who are wondering, Secret Santa is a Christmas tradition where members of a group are all randomly assigned a person to anonymously hand a gift on that special day. Think of it as a way to save cost as a group since each person only purchases one individual gift rather than a whole lot of smaller gifts for everyone. 

Receiving nary a protest, we had already set out happily to write down a list of participants when a little miserly whine came from the corner. 

Scrooge : I don't think I want to join. 

Paul : That's entirely your choice. We're not making you do this. 

Scrooge : What if I don't know that person very well? 

Paul : Well, then you'll have to get to know them better.

Scrooge : What if I don't like them?

Paul : Then the gift would be twice the charity, no? 

Scrooge : Meh. And what am I getting? Something equal in return?

Paul : No one can promise you that. But we did set a maximum price tag. 

Scrooge : Bah-Humbug. I'd rather buy my own gift.

Paul : Suit yourself. If you think I'm going to spend my time persuading you to join, you're quite mistaken.

There are times when I think I'm quite the stingy, self-absorbed lil shit. Then not soon after a far more egregious creature creeps out of the shadows - like our odious Scrooge here - just to remind me that I'm not that atrocious at all! 

No one expects to find a Tiffany bracelet for a Secret Santa exchange here. A gift for a tuppence or two is all we're looking for, just a simple gift to cheer someone's day. Yes, even a total stranger. Surely that's not too much to ask for?  

Christmastime has always been doubly special for me since it gives me that extra excuse to max out my cards shopping for presents for all my loved ones. In fact, quite a few get gifts in multiples since I keep finding things that would be just simply perfect for them. And no, I don't ask for something equal in return. Have we all forgotten the wonderful gift of giving?

The Scrooge obviously has. Guess who's getting coal in their stocking this year.

'Twas the Month before Christmas

Been a pretty hectic week here for me! Hardly any time to settle my brain for a long winter's nap.

Not only has the dreadful work been piling up for a few days, I only have two short weeks to prepare for the annual Christmas fete which is coming up soon enough. Entrusting some of the tedious work of preparation to my fellow tenants in Netherfield would certainly help to lighten the load - but with my intensely finicky micromanaging approach, I doubt I'd be able to leave them to their own devices.

At least not without breathing down their necks barking out strict specific instructions. Simply can't trust the kids to have the stockings hung by the chimney with care!

Wow, that bracelet would look great on my sister-in-law. Wonder where she got it. 

Which is why every year the task of taking down - and placing up the Christmas tree falls to me. Though I do sometimes - reluctantly - relinquish the simpler assignments of placing the odd bauble to Charming Calvin and my niece, I'll admit I tend to reorganize every single bauble on the tree to my utmost satisfaction much, much later at night when the children are nestled all snug in their beds while visions of sugar plums danced in their heads. Monstrous. I know.

With the future demesne of Hartfield looming not too far in the horizon, I realized it was time to furnish the home with a tree far more generous in size - certainly wouldn't do to have the judgmental neighbours find us lacking - which of course called for the crucial purchase of several dozen more baubles of different shapes and sizes. Candelabras are taking the stage this year as ornaments around the house - and even as the tree topper.

Though it's a month before Christmas, my gift list is being filled up as I write. Board game for Fabulous Felix. Toys for my nephew and niece. Shorter list this year as I'll be spending Christmas away with family but still quite a lengthy proposition nonetheless. Caterers have been handed our orders of puddings and pies.

Which only leaves me with my own Christmas list this year full of odds and ends as usual. Let's hope that right jolly old elf with that broad face and a little round belly, that shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly, would see fit to fill up my stocking.

Well him and his eight tinny reindeer.

Christmas List

• Ted Baker leather satchel
• Lego Santa's Workshop
• Gramophone Music Station
• Jo Malone Wood Sage & Sea Salt perfume
• Guardians of the Galaxy Bluray
• The Chef Bluray
• One Hundred Foot Journey Bluray
• Faking It Season One
• Penny Dreadful Season One
• Marvel's Agents of Shield Season One
• Funko Legacy Action Figure - Book of Life Manolo
• Gianfranco Ken Doll
• Earphones
• Push up bars

Of course I'm sure I'll end up with the unexpected shirt or two. Along with some knick knacks that I'd wonder about for weeks to come. It's all good though - it's the sweet wonderful anticipation that counts.

Still my favourite Christmas ad ever. If only we all looked that wildly glamorous trying to get everything spick and span for the holidays.

Candy Cane Christmas

Taking the time to write some lines here in the triumphant aftermath of our annual Christmas fete in Netherfield. Striped candy canes line the halls, wine glasses tipped on every irregular table and the perfectly wrapped presents under the tree have been tossed all over by guests on the hunt. Don't you just love Christmas parties!

This year with our regular party caterer taking a brief hiatus for the season, I was left with little choice but to scout for a nearby teahouse to deliver food - all of a shockingly non-halal porcine nature.

Fortunately for me, my non-kosher guests didn't seem to mind. In fact I think they actually relished the sinful taste of some ham and bacon. 

And nothing says Christmas quite like a roast pig all dressed up in festive red and white. 

New guests on the invite list this year, one of whom came with some delicious notoriety seeing as Mad Madison was erroneously painted as the highly despicable ex-girlfriend of someone we once knew. At least that was the sum of the stories we were told - which I tend to listen with half an ear since malicious gossip tends to tear down reputations bit by bit with each salacious retelling. Always two sides of the story in any breakup, no matter how outwardly cordial. 

Madison : Quick! Tell me what the bastard said!
Paul : Do you care?
Madison : Not really. 

Glad to know that the raging rumours aren't entirely true since I find our lady in red, Mad Madison absolutely delightful - far from the grasping temptress I had been led to believe. Someone I would no doubt be proud to call friend one day. 

Madison : So what have you heard from him? 

Paul : Your ex? 

Madison : Some horrible things no doubt?

Paul : Isn't that what exes are meant to do? 

Madison : True. 

As soon as I start getting to know her better of course. 

Something another guest - our Diffident David - is unlikely to do since he seems mortally terrified of women. Poor fellow crouching furtively in a darkened corner of the party room nursing his drink hoping no girls would come close with probing questions - a bit hard to do when I kept dragging him into the limelight. No doubt if Madison or any of my comely nurses had approached him with a suggestive come-on, David would have jumped out of his skin. 

Unusual for a budding homosexual! Maybe David needs to grope some boobies to be convinced that girls don't actually have cooties. 

Deck The Belles

Time again for the annual Christmas fête in Netherfield. Carried that tradition over from back home - been doing it for three years since. Figured since I won't be here to celebrate with my friends and neighbours, I might as well throw a celebratory bash the week or two before.

Sweating ignominiously during the arduous preparations for dinner simply isn't for us so we've always hired caterers. Gives us more time to play dress up, something me and the other two tenants of Netherfield, Kool Kat and Fabulous Felix, simply adore. Don we now our gay apparel indeed.

Unfortunately that doesn't seem to be the case for everyone else invited.

Paul : OMG.
Kat : I see it too.
Paul : Flip flops? Crocs? 
Kat : Well I never!

Though the invitation card for the Netherfield Tea Party might read smart casual for the dress code, almost none of the guests come appropriately dressed. Most appear to have rolled out of their beds only to pull on the closest rumpled tee and shorts from the laundry basket and a pair of dirtied flip flops.

Paul : Good God. 
Felix : Ratty denim cut-offs? Seriously.
Paul : Maybe that's highly formal for them. 
Felix : What happened to Suit Up!
Paul : Used to think that dressing up for a tea party was inherently obvious. Maybe they mistook the invitation for a beach picnic. 
Felix : Don't you miss the days when we had themed parties?
Paul : And friends who would actually adhere to the theme?

Snotty much?

Hardly jolly but just let me rant a bit here. Look, I'm not deriding their choice of clothes - well, not much - but when there's a dress code clearly implied, shouldn't there be some intuitive need to follow? When did we all collectively start to think that scrubby casual wear can be suitably appropos for every sort of social event?

The halls are decked with boughs of holly, shouldn't you be similarly glammed up too? Suit up and join the chorus!

Here We Come Assailing

I think most would find me quite unflappable. Become so sadly inured to the little horrors of human life, painful little vestiges that pass through the hospital corridors, that very little surprises me.

At least that's what I used to think. Till this morning when I opened the door for the patient only to let out a chilling, blood-curdling shriek worthy of a histrionic scream queen. Well, I almost did. Still had enough presence of mind to bite my lip.

Unsurprisingly very little prepares you for an ex-boyfriend coming in with his pretty young wife, visibly enceinte. If I hadn't taken the Hippocratic Oath to heart a while ago, I might have shoved his heavily pregnant missus aside only to wallop the swinging bastard on his handsome nose.

Yes, I was gonna go Assailing.

But the unrecognizing look on his face gave me pause. Surely after sharing such intimacy as we have had, he wouldn't have forgotten me - short of a lame amnesiac episode courtesy of a badly-produced television drama.

And he called me doctor.

No, my ISO has never called me that. Not even during roleplay.

Definitely not him then, this shockingly identical doppelganger right down to the riotous black curl on the back of his neck. Such amazing similarities that I had to further confirm by checking the name on the medical notes handed to me. Apparently this firmly heterosexual fellow bearing a striking resemblance to my ISO had brought his wife down for a caesarean section.

Who's Your Daddy!

Doesn't mean my ISO got off scot-free though.

Paul : Damn you.
My ISO : And a Happy Holidays to you too.
Paul : Bastard.
My ISO : What did I do now?
Paul : You got a girl pregnant!
My ISO : Me? Lordy, sounds like a Christmas miracle to me. 
Paul : The patient's husband looks exactly like you!
My ISO : Surely not! Take a picture.
Paul : No! But he does look like you.
My ISO : Impossible! Surely I am better looking!
Paul : He's in his early twenties. 
My ISO : So am I. 
Paul : In your dreams. 

Always wondered what I would think if I were to meet my ISO and his new partner, if ever. Though he has forever eschewed companionship and commitment, I wouldn't hold him to his word.

Obviously I would start out screaming - and then a-wassailing.

Oh Christmas Tree

With sighing carols playing everywhere you go, you simply can't miss the beginning of December over here. Shops compete to come up with the glitziest storefronts while towering evergreens laden with shiny baubles start cropping up on almost every street corner.

Damn, you mean it's Christmas already?

And it's time for me to clean off the dust on the boxes from last year and unearth my own tree to set up in Netherfield. Obsessive compulsives like me would know what a pain it is to keep the Christmas baubles every year - and what a bigger pain it is to unpack the box the year after. Inevitably, some helpful but thoroughly bumbling hand would let slip a precious trinket made of Murano hand-blown glass.

And then those same clumsy hands would turn the already horribly entangled, knotted and tortuous twinkly lights into an impossible Gordian knot that would surely frustrate me for hours. Or place all the decorations on a particularly fortunate branch leaving glaringly empty spaces bereft of glad tidings.

So yes, I do silently grinch to myself every year about decorating the tree - but though I frequently bemoan the pronounced lack of help, I still suffer through it all on my own. Obviously finicky micromanaging control freaks like me simply can't stand by while someone else does a poor job of the tree.

Calvin : I can help put up the tree. 
Paul : Sure, no problem. Go ahead. 
Calvin : You sure? You're not just saying that?
Paul : Yes, take some of these and go hang them. Heck, you can take the entire box.
Calvin : Hmm... you're just going to wake up in the middle of the night and move everything around, aren't you?
Paul : You know me too well.

This year though rather than the pink paper cranes I did for Netherfield before, I shall rely on green paper wheels to form a theme. Maybe even a hanging mobile from the chandelier. Perhaps even mini paper wheels to clip on my coat.

Hmm... maybe I do need some handy elves for that.

And that's only for the first of my Christmas trees.

Dragon Comes Knocking

Since both arrive around the new year, I call them fraternal twins.

One is quieter, gentler, more subdued with just a touch of sparkle and glamour around her. While the other is bold, brazen and brassy with a whole lot of flash. One has silent nights with perfectly decorated trees full of tinsel and gold, with tables full of brandied puddings and roasted turkeys galore. The other has raucous days with far flung relations reunited at the table, with firecrackers popping and cymbals clashing.

Doesn't make one better than the other, just breathtakingly different and I love them both equally.


Do we even have to choose?
However dedicated fans of the classy Noel decry the innate tackiness of Spring, staring aghast at the jarring shades of gold and red that adorn her, shutting their ears to the discordant tunes that she adores.

Paul : Can't wait! The Spring Festival is coming!
Buddy #1 : Ugh, why do you like it?
Paul : Why wouldn't I!
Buddy #1 : If given the choice, I would extend Christmas and hold off the Spring Festival for as long as possible.
Buddy #2 : Everything about Christmas is calm and peaceful, while everything about the Spring Festival is noisy, intruding and tacky.
Buddy #1 : Like our relatives..thankfully. Most of us only see them once a bloody year!
Buddy #2 : Don't forget the horrible tok tok chiang music!
Paul : But all that blinding tackiness makes it unique!

Fine. I can see how gay men would find the family reunion synonymous with the Spring Festival extremely exasperating - especially with the endless probing questions from the nosy relatives. Over here, Christmas can be spent with a select group of like-minded friends but come the Spring Festival, there's simply no escaping blood relations.

But apart from that inevitable aggravation, surely the Spring Festival offers quite as many reasons to love it!

Tacky? I'll readily admit some of the tasteless bling associated with the Spring Festival 春节 - or Chinese New Year - is almost impossible to incorporate into any quietly tasteful home decor. Brilliant scarlets and flashy gold in the living room all year long immediately brings to mind the gaudy tastes of a nouveau riche Chinese towkay.

And surely no one can listen to the cacophonous Chinese New Year songs 24/7 throughout the year without turning certifiably insane.

But celebrated only once a year for fifteen days with all that crazy pomp and ceremony - isn't that the very reason we all love the Spring Festival? Plastering the entire house with auspiciously red paper cuttings? Having the entire rambunctious family gathering at one table to duel over dumplings and meatballs? Waking up early the next morning to dress in our spanking new clothes to receive the cherished red packets?

Honestly I don't think I'd like the Spring Festival half as much if it were celebrated in hushed, subdued moderation. Replacing the dissonant Chinese New Year songs with a reverent carol would be nigh sacrilegious! Even right now I have the strident songs blaring from my laptop speakers - and will probably do so till the day itself.


The fact that it's loud, lively and lusty is why I love it! So bring on the cymbals, the drums and the crackers. In fact I think I'll have a party of my own to celebrate as well!

Boxing Day

Fortunately that doesn't mean my burly cousins ganged up to punch my boyfriend out. Quite a relief since our redoubtable hero Charming Calvin stands relatively slight compared to my stocky corn-fed cousins.

Playing peacemaker on Christmas certainly wasn't in my immediate plans.

But with my indolent cousins unexpectedly taking me up on a long-forgotten standing invitation followed by Calvin's sainted mama making insidious plans to head down my way, I was starting to think that my own astute mother had concocted a baffling stratagem to confound me. Could the fact that I had come out barely a month ago be somehow linked to these unrelated visitations?

Were the Ghosts of Christmas Tea Parties Past coming back to haunt?


Here we have all the evidence we need.
Something had to be afoot. How else to explain the sudden mysterious convergence of mismatched relations? Not to mention the fifty-odd creatures my mother had seen fit to invite to the party. Toss in a long-lost sibling and we'd have all the makings of a Sherlockian mystery.

As expected my brother and sister-in-law couldn't be more pleased with the series of unfortunate events. Avid spectators waiting for this game of shadows, they were positively bursting with anticipation. Perhaps they have all come together to help organize an intervention, she crowed while my brother chortled unhelpfully.

Since I was the reluctant host of the coming festivities - and already had my suit perfectly pressed, escape seemed to be an impossibility. In any event it would have been base of me to abandon the phlegmatic Calvin to the baying hounds. All I could do was brace myself for the worst.

However in the nick of time - could it be a Christmas miracle? - Calvin and I were both called in to collect a misplaced sushi order for the Christmas soirée. Quite inexplicably saved by my mother's absentmindedness.

Paul : Let's go. We have to collect the sushi.
Calvin : Go where? I am hungry and I wanna eat.
Paul : That's what you think. You see, but you do not observe. The distinction is clear.
Calvin : No it isn't!
Paul : Well let me paint you a picture. My loud, inquisitive cousins are all arriving here en masse. Your impetuous mama might be making an unwished-for appearance. My own mother might be relatively docile at the moment but who knows what she has planned.
Calvin : Surely she doesn't have anything planned.
Paul : How often have I said to you that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?
Calvin : Hmm... so how soon can we leave?
Paul : Immediately. Though I am wondering whether the sushi party set could be a duplicitous diversion set by my mother. A trap?
Calvin : Your mind works in mysterious ways.
Paul : Quite elementary, my dear Calvin. Life is infinitely stranger than anything which the mind of man could invent.

Expecting on return to find a raging homophobic mob armed with flaming pitchforks, I was a tad miffed to find my guests armed with meatballs on sticks from the flaming grill instead. My earlier thoughts of pelting them with sashimi before making a run for it seemed ridiculous. Rather than talk of brutal ways to strap practising sexual deviants to the pillory, my cousins were rather busy tippling vodka while re-arranging the gifts under the tree. Even my mother had her hands full sorting out her mystery guests.

And despite all my fears, Calvin's disingenuous parent begged off at the last minute citing familial obligations.


Now that's a Christmas present worth waiting for.

Cousins of Christmas Future

Every year around this time, we have our usual intimate Christmas gathering with friends and family. Although we all groan, grumble and gripe about the tedious party preparations on the days before, it has become quite the tradition in our family. And one we all look forward to, despite our endless litany of complaints.

To forestall the annual Christmas whine list this year, I have decided to call in the troops - and by that, I mean our lovely caterers. No more slaving away in the heated kitchens getting that last cake frosting perfected, frying up that last plate of fried noodles or heaving the punch bowl out of the cabinets.

And certainly no wild-eyed madcap matron waving her hands frantically trying to ruthlessly micromanage every last detail of the preparations.

So yes, God bless the caterers. Though I have to say hiring them turned out to be a fortunate coincidence.


Paul : So what's it gonna be? You coming? Do I have to wrap one extra gift?
Cousin : Maybe I'll come, maybe I won't.
Paul : Maybe I'll toss you out the window.
Since quite unexpectedly a decidedly large portion of my extended family has decided to descend on the party en masse. Though I extend a cordial invitation every year - after the usual nagging prompt from my well-meaning mother, the reply is usually a firm repudiation citing other pressing engagements. Which has been the expected norm for the past five years at the the least.

So you can imagine my growing consternation when I received this call from one of the cousins barely a few days back.

Cousin : Your Christmas party is on the weekend?
Paul : Think I sent out the invitations on the family newsletter a while back. Dates and details all there.
Cousin : I think I'll be there.
Paul : You will?
Cousin : Yes. Is that going to be a problem?
Paul : No prob. Will get the gifts ready for you.
Cousin : Thanks. And also my parents, my husband, my baby, my sisters and their respective spouses.
Paul : ...Excuse me?
Cousin : And my little dog too.

That's not even the last cousin on the list. A few more left cryptic messages via email and messenger telling me that they might be able to make it for the party as well.


So many years of silent absentia and unexpectedly they all decide to converge at my place for Christmas? Starting to think it's some wild incomprehensible conspiracy? Are these kings of orient bearing gifts traversing afar, field and fountain, moor and mountain, following yonder star?

Gift of the Magi

The magi, as you know, were wise men – wonderfully wise men – who brought gifts to the new-born King of the Jews in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication.

There are those who dread the holiday season - hiding under the covers gnashing their teeth in growing desperation as the fateful day creeps ever nearer while they bitterly contemplate the vicious unrelenting crowds on the very last few days of the Christmas sales. Faced with the barbaric hordes of desperate last-minute shoppers clamouring for that last perfect present, I would certainly find myself cowering as well.

Bet even the Magi must have had some problems securing gold, frankincense and myrrh at the last minute.

Which is why I'm the opposite of that.


It's a time for giving!
I usually finish my Christmas list weeks in advance. Hell, I sometimes find myself picking up a few choice pieces early in November. Sometimes even before if the item is eminently suited for the intended recipient at the right price. Yes, I am one of those obsessive freaks with a stash of immaculately wrapped presents hidden under the staircase all year round.

Think I should have considered a career as a personal shopper. Nothing pleases me more than reuniting someone special with the perfect gift that was invariably missing in their lives! Probably would do it for minimal wage even now!

Which is why I get calls like this on a regular basis.

Calvin : What should I get for Lanky Lex for his birthday?
Paul : All depends on the budget.
Calvin : Well he did say that friends get gifts around a hundred bucks.
Paul : Since he does like to read non-fiction novels, I believe a trip to the bookstore would be best. Something oddly blasphemous denouncing the existence of God?
Calvin : Think we got him a book last year?
Paul : If not, perhaps some of the tight tees that he wears. From NUM?
Calvin : Think someone is already getting him that.
Paul : Perhaps some cologne?

And the conversation continues. From miles away in the boondocks, I help so many others pick out the perfect gifts.


Makes me wonder if they'll find the same for me. Writing out the annual Christmas list helps of course ... but I've always loved the keen anticipation over the unknown. Some things are better left to the imagination, don't you think? Isn't that what opening presents on Christmas morning is all about? Giving the box a hearty shake to ascertain the secret contents, thoughtfully untying the knots on the pretty bow and then patiently peeling the wrapping paper open to reveal the bounty within?

Christmas in Netherfeld

In what appears to be an ongoing tradition here in Netherfield, we held our annual Christmas party again. Albeit a couple of weeks before the actual date since all of us tend to head back home for the holidays.

So why not share some rum balls and egg nog in love, peace and brotherhood before the day itself?


Looks like it's time for a Christmas Party!
All three tenants of Netherfield, namely Kool Kat, Fabulous Felix and I, hate to get our hands dirty so of course we had the entire party catered. So much easier to have the professionals have everything perfectly prepared while we take our time leisurely getting ready for the party. However as it turns out most of the elderly crew of my trusty catering company had been called away to attend the haj so I had to scout around town for a new caterer.

Fortunately my dance classes came in handy since my erstwhile salsa partner actually was starting a new business venture. With a nod to local traditions and produce, we added local delicacies such as Laksa Sarawak and Kek Lapis to spice things up. Back home, I spruced up the tree, hung up some trim and laid out the welcome mat.

Uncannily enough on the day itself, work called me away. That's becoming quite a tradition as well. Somehow I have a feeling the wicked ghosts of hospital past seem to know exactly when I'm planning to hold a party since invariably something shockingly medically dire crops up from out of the blue. So my nurses and I fumed and fussed the entire morning over an entire train of ill, impaired invalids while we dreamt longingly of fruitcake and vokda shots.

So much so that I had to conceive a fictitious case just to halt the progress of poorly infirms.

Nurse : Good God, the surgeons are thinking of adding one more case in the evening!
Paul : They can't. There's a scheduled tonsillectomy in the evening.
Nurse : There is? When did that come about?
Paul : Just a moment ago.
Nurse : It did? I could have sworn there were no tonsillectomies in the ward.
Paul : Trust me, there is. So they will have to do the case now, not later in the evening. That time is booked already for the tonsillectomy.
Nurse : Oh, well we should check whether the tonsillectomy is...
Paul : Will you just let it go?
Sorry but there's only so much nose jobs I can do. Yes, the incidence of non-essential elective surgical procedures climb up during the holidays. Guess everyone wants to look especially attractive under the mistletoe for Christmas. And the Grinch surgeons are far too willing to capitulate to their inane wishes.



No, I'm definitely not on Santa's good list this year with my litany of lies. But yes, we had the sham tonsillectomy at my place at the end of the day. Finally informed the astonishingly oblivious nurse of my wicked duplicity and handed her some rumballs to ponder upon.

Double, Double Toil and Trouble

SCENE I. A kitchen. In the middle, a boiling pot.

Thunder. Enter the three Witches

First Witch
Thrice the weeping boy hath mew'd.

Second Witch
Thrice and once the weeping boy whined.

Third Witch
My psychic powers say 'Tis time, 'tis time.

First Witch
Round about the boiling pot we go;
In the poison'd entrails throw.
Toad, that under cold stone
Days and nights has thirty-one
Swelter'd venom sleeping got,
Boil thou first i' the charmed pot.

ALL
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and cauldron bubble.


The witches three?
They say it takes time for a broken heart to heal. I could only wish there was an instant cure.

Till then however Kool Kat has taken to boiling soothing porridge with frog's legs. Claims the frogs would act as a panacea. Served best with the occasional hug in the kitchen. We all have our separate roles to play after all. Piratin Patty acts as the sounding board while teaching him all the intrinsic healing magic of Big Fish Small Fish Cardboard Box.

While I hold the unforgivable Slap of Shame card. Simple enough. Tears are to be confined to a one-week period after which slaps will be administered. Haven't had reason to use it yet though.

Fortunately Fabulous Felix will have none of it so he has asked for a new project to play with. The better to get his mind off things. Hence the Santa project. Nothing like buying gifts galore for his nearest and dearest. And to fill up our Christmas tree.

It's a Lush Christmas

With my new colleagues generally being saintly do-gooders ( not to mention regular church-going, God-fearing Christians ), it's quite obvious that we share nothing in common apart from work. Even cracking an inappropriate joke at wholly appropriate moments would earn astonished stares from the grim lot.

Belonging as they do to a previous generation - yes, they are men of a certain age! - they have different preoccupations in life.

Paul : Good God. I don't think that crotchety old lady would survive a sneeze!
Doctor : But we must try our best. God willing she will survive!
Paul : God willing she would be having tea with St Peter's right now.
Doctor : Goodness gracious me! We cannot speak of such things!

Definitely a tough crowd.


Time to synchronize our schedules!
So I knew I needed to touch base with more like-minded folks. Or at least ones who didn't think Lady Gaga was the name of a toothbrush brand. Hence my annual Christmas dinner with the Lushes.

These days though it's getting ever harder to round up the entire lot. Takes a whole lot of time, patience and serendipity to get us all in the same place. Statueque Sarah busy tormenting the interns down south while Shameless Shalom's terrorizing her share up north in the land below the wind. Fabulous Fiona's busy canoodling with her newfound beau McThai.

And of course Lissome Lorelei's nowhere to be found. Though last we heard our lady of leisure had rejoined the ranks of the working class!

Still they all managed to make it down for Christmas - something I count as a miracle all in itself.



Me, I had news about my new career. Statuesque Sarah talked of her daily work garrotting feckless interns while Shameless Shalom shared with us her news of travelling in search of Christ ( or his hunkier servants ) sometime in July.

And from out of the cold, Lissome Lorelei appeared with a Christmas fruitcake baked with her own fair hands. Without setting the house on fire. Now if that's not a Christmas miracle, I don't know what is.

Midnight on Christmas

The clock just struck midnight.

Family's reading in the dining room. Charming Calvin's almost asleep upstairs. I'm by the window typing this, idly watching fireworks burst in the night sky tellin us all that it's finally Christmas :)


For those who actually wonder what today is all about, we have the social network to thank :)

I'll Be Home for Christmas ( or perhaps Housewarming )

I am dreamin' tonight of a place I love
Even more than I usually do
And although I know it's a long road back
I promise you
At least I had hoped I'd be home for the housewarming party!

Two weeks back after sorting out the mundane necessities for Netherfield such as the contracts, rents and bills for the estate, I figured I might as well have a little fête at home. After all, I'd already taken the time and trouble of decorating for Christmas this year so why not show it off a little?

You can count on me
Please have snow and mistletoe
And presents under the tree
Got that covered already. Surprisingly this year I actually have a trusted catering company at hand. Have been using their company to prepare meals for functions in the hospital before; haven't had any complaints so far. Caterers are handy folks to have around, just have them come over to serve and clean up after. Wonder whether it is a faintly troubling sign of adulthood to have a caterer on speed dial!

Unfortunately they said no when I asked for hunky, sexually available cater-waiters.


Did Paul set out an obstacle race for us...
With the food settled, I only had to enjoy the company of my friends here. Only to have an unfortunate lady break her ankle barely two hours before the party which led to an unavoidable surgery.

Kat : Where you going? Our guests are arriving soon!
Paul : Going to the hospital.
Kat : But we don't have ice yet! And not enough paper plates for sure!
Paul : Let them eat cake.
Kat : But ice! I need ice!
Paul : Go get the ice first then.
Kat : But the guests are arriving soon.
A perplexing conundrum I couldn't solve since I was in a hurry. So yes, while my guests were busy chowing down on cake at the housewarming - no doubt with Kat frantically searching for ice cubes, I was at work muttering curses.


So yes, the host of the housewarming came two hours after all the guests had arrived. Didn't someone say it was fashionable to be late?

A Lush Christmas

It has been a long time since my friends - the Lushes - and I met up. Getting together has become quite a logistical nightmare recently. What with Fabulous Fiona away in Shanghai playing with needles and moxibustion, Statuesque Sarah avoiding bomb-wielding terrorists to rescue the needy in Iraq and Shameless Shalom desperately finishing her final year thesis.

And Lissome Lorelei vacillating between work and a life-time commitment :)

Of course not forgetting me stranded in the faraway island of Borneo.


And yes, we'd like some of these for Christmas. No need for matching wrapping paper even.
So you can imagine that it's been a while since we've sat together at the same table. So it was a miracle indeed that they all managed to come down to my place for Christmas. Since we'd been communicating regularly online with the minutiae of our lives ( some better than others! ), catching up didn't take all that long.

After all I had so many things to share about the eccentric vagaries of the folks in Miri :) From the endless roundabout dilemmas to the dour-faced service staff.

Then Statuesque Sarah managed to add a few shocking titbits about her time in post-reconstruction Iraq. Bullet-ridden houses and blown-up victims? Sounds horrifically traumatic. Instead of heading for the hills after her harrowing experience there, our intrepid Sarah only seems revved up for more. No doubt I'll soon be hearing of her in some war-torn God-forsaken banana republic.

Biggest shocker was the news that Fabulous Fiona's brief acupuncture stint in Shanghai has actually turned her on to sultry almond-eyed Chinese fellas. After her experience kissing frogs from every other race and nationality, this comes as a welcome surprise to her doting dad - who is no doubt congratulating himself on coming up with the acupuncture suggestion. Have no fear, we will turn her into a patented rice queen yet.

Holly Jolly Christmas Party

Well here it is again. The annual Christmas fete. Almost the same as the one last year with additional guests ( including my Lushes! ), a green / gold theme and of course this year I had Charming Calvin along to celebrate.

Rather than sweat it out with the barbecue as we did last year ( and risk a fire! ), we decided to take it easy with a turkey and duck to feed the masses. Well that is until my mother decided to lend a hand. Even roped in a few of my early bird guests to help with the arrangement. Evidently my mother subscribes to the notion that not a single guest can leave the table without being filled to the absolute brim - and the table must still have dishes left to spare.

So yeah, food we had aplenty.

Which was fortunate since we had some unexpected guests who came from afar :) From new friends such as Neonatal Nate and my new gerbil to old buddies like the Fable Frog who enthusiastically hopped on over from his side of the pond. At practically five to midnight!

Obviously lost his way following the star of Bethlehem.


Bacardi and a boy! The perfect gifts for Christmas!
Of course the one guest I could depend on was our reliable Jaunty Jared - gotta give him tons of credit after all. Folks, please invite him to your parties! A true renaissance man - not only can he look pretty in his peculiar gaga pants ( skirt? pants? skort? kilt? ) while he plays the gay cater-waiter, he can also take on the role of the extra manny babysitting the riotous rugrats who threatened to bring down the tree.

Not everything was that wholesome PG-13 tame of course. Since it is Christmas time - and you have a gaggle of gay men together, the usual scandalous drama ensues. Breakups and betrayals, greets and gropes. Even a brief episode of body heat transfer in the study.

And yes, the same shameless faces turning red with alcohol. After all it's hard to say no to the inebriated collective known as Janvier - who kept everyone happily sloshed with drinks.