The misery of Christmas crafts
So what is it about Christmas that makes me come over all Blue Peter? I couldn’t stand that show when I was a child. The phrases “cornflakes packet”, “yoghurt pot” and “double-sided sticky tape” still make me come out in hives. To me, from age five to 16, Blue Peter was even more torturous that John Craven’s Newsround.
You know how it kind of filled that tedious 5.05pm slot before Grange Hill? Sometimes I actually chose to do piano practice instead of watch it. With toothpicks inserted under my nails.
Anyway, I digress. To recap: I hate arts and crafts. Always have, always will. But there’s something about Christmas – maybe the lovely photographs in the Christmas issues of Easy Living and Good Housekeeping ME – that makes me want to start being all creative with my hands.
For a start, I’m planning to make a stunning, beribboned bauble decoration to hang on our front door in place of the cheap, plastic wreath I bought in our local supermarket (where in Dubai can you buy a bushy, lush wreath in Dubai? Do you really have to nick it off your neighbour’s door in the dead of night?)
And, after I’ve tied the last piece of wired golden ribbon into an elegant Kirsty-Allsop-ish bow , I’m planning to move into the kitchen, drink half a bottle of sherry with a straw, dance around the kitchen to “Edge of Glory” by Lady Gaga, then roast some nuts in mixed spices and honey.
When they’re done, I’m going to package them in an air-tight jar, tie with a red silk ribbon and gift to all the friends I’m visiting this Christmas, the scent of honey-roasted nuts and all-spice lingering in my festively blow-dried hair.
Other friends are also going to receive a glass jar, this one layered with the ingredients to make a batch of delicious chocolate cupcakes, complete with little cellophane baggies of sprinkles and chocolate balls to decorate. A nattily written luggage tag will outline the baking instructions for the lucky recipients.
The only problem is, I’m not very good at all this Nigella-y action. If you’re on the receiving end of my roasted nuts, humour me: Feel honoured. Feel very honoured.
But I wouldn’t advise actually eating them.