How to Have an Almost Perfect Marriage

by Mrs Stephen Fry

  Of course, we’ve tried taking them along to see department store Santas, pointing out their ill-fitting beards and whisky breath. We’ve blocked up our chimney. Stephen’s even not dressed up in a red suit on Christmas Eve, but all to no avail. No matter what we do, our children simply refuse to let go of the captivating and magical concept of free stuff.

  The Tree

  No family yuletide would be complete without the all-important Christmas tree. It’s a focal point for the festive season – we place presents beneath it, we gather round it to sing carols and we all hop about cursing it when we tread on its needles in our bare feet. Another annual tradition in the Fry household is something we call the ‘getting of the tree’. This isn’t as straightforward as it sounds. Most families buy their Christmas trees from garden centres, supermarkets or their local grocery store but Stephen, being a typical Neanderthal hunter-gatherer (and a bit of a cheapskate), prefers to cut down his own. A couple of weeks before Christmas he’ll head boldly out into the night, chainsaw in hand and balaclava over his face, in search of the perfect tree. I have to admit I do find it difficult to sleep, knowing Stephen is out all alone in the dead of night with only a chainsaw to protect him, but every year he returns safe and sound and when we wake up the following morning, there it is, standing proudly in the living room - a magnificent, tall, bushy specimen, branches miraculously hung with baubles and lights and a gleaming star on the top. I can honestly say it’s the best Christmas tree in town – and has been for the past six years that the one in the marketplace has been stolen, although I simply can’t begin to imagine who would do such a thing.

  Mistletoe

  Now, I’m as fond of Christmas decorations and traditions as the next woman but I’m afraid I do have to draw the line at mistletoe. If you have a husband like Stephen, it’s just asking for a trouble, believe me. If it weren’t bad enough that he always hangs it over the front door and gives a sloppy, wet Christmas kiss to every woman who comes within 100 yards of it, he insists on calling it ‘first base’. He also hangs up a sprig of holly, which he calls ‘second base’ and the ivy is ‘third base’. As for the Christmas wreath – well, all I can say is the lady from the Salvation Army still hasn’t fully recovered. It’s no wonder he’s banned from Interflora.

  Presents

  As if the pressure of catering for family and friends weren’t enough, there’s the small matter of Christmas presents. It’s difficult enough trying to find meaningless fripperies to give people you barely know but buying gifts for your spouse and children can be even harder – after all, you’re far more likely to see them again before next Christmas so there will be plentiful opportunities for them to display their disappointment. In the children’s case this can manifest itself in sulking and stomping around loudly. In Stephen’s case, much the same, only sulkier and louder.

  Nowadays, thanks to the internet, it’s perfectly possible to do your entire Christmas shopping from the comfort of your own armchair. It’s my opinion, however, that while this is terribly convenient, it isn’t really getting into the Christmas spirit. Online stores providing lists of personalised gift suggestions may be terribly helpful, but where on earth is the fun in that? To my mind, it can never really replace that disappointed look on the recipient’s face. Also, what’s Christmas without a little festive bloodshed?

  For those of you less inclined to commercial violence, the toy shops and department stores provide a list of ‘this year’s must-have toys’ for your little ones. This is a very helpful marketing ploy as it inevitably leads to panic buying for these highly sought-after items, leaving the rest of the less-desired toys for everyone else to buy at their leisure. If, however, you enjoy engaging in this annual ritual of violence and mayhem, here is this year’s top ten:

  1.Tracey Island – Tracey Emin’s unmade island, surrounded by a sea of bodily fluids, used condoms and bewildered lookers-on. Thought-provoking and oodles of fun!

  2.Buck-A-Rooney – load up the cuddly Premiership footballer with as many personal problems as you can before he lashes out wildly. Deluxe edition comes with eagle eyes and fairly realistic hair.

  3.Kids’ Cabbage Patches – for the child in your family who just can’t shake that addiction to their five-a-day.

  4.Hungry Hippies – how many brownies can you shove down your hippy’s mouth at three o’clock in the morning?

  5. XXX-Box – the latest console for the solo player – complete with a range of games including Call of Booty, Mario Bothers and Sonic the Crack-whore.

  6. Tiny Tears – an empty box.

  7. Builder Bare– can the cuddly construction worker complete a whole shift without his trousers falling completely down?

  8. Nintendoggers – crazy car chaos for everyone! For 2–16 players, depending on the size of your vehicle.

  9. Connect 2 – for the ADHD-sufferer in your family.

  10. My Little Penis – every girl’s best friend. Comes in a variety of shapes and colours. Collect ’em all!

  While shopping for your children can be a challenge, buying a gift for your husband or wife can be even trickier. The important thing to remember is, no matter how long you’ve been married, how many wonderful moments you’ve shared, whatever you do, keep the receipt. That way you can both go out on Boxing Day and exchange it for something you actually want. It takes the worry out of Christmas shopping, guarantees your loved one gets what they really want and means you don’t need to waste hours looking around for that perfect gift. Or even, vaguely acceptable gift. Unfortunately, my Stephen loses receipts like he loses winning betting slips and after years of disappointment and garage flowers, I finally had to bite the bullet and tell him to be more original. To be fair to him, he took me at my word and last year he genuinely surprised me with that Adopt a Snow Leopard gift pack. It was so nice that he actually put a little thought into my present for once, although you should see the state of the curtains. Fortunately, it was part of an exchange programme and I understand the twins are causing Twycross Zoo a great deal more trouble.

  The Days Before Christmas

  So with Christmas Day approaching and excitement building, how do you keep your impatient little ‘darlings’ occupied? Fortunately, there are a number of festive family options available, including an increasing number of Christmas-themed attractions up and down the country.

  One of our favourites is Yellowsnow Park, a wonderful yuletide experience constructed every December in the Dog & Duck car park. Our kids just love it. As the promotional pamphlet says, ‘Laugh along with your little ones as they shoot down our Winter Olympic-style luge track on a beer tray at 60 miles per hour, doing their best to avoid the oncoming vehicles! Thrill as they try to escape the clutches of our very own abominable snowman, Hairy Geoff! And see their little faces light up as they enjoy their complementary Benson and Hedges from Santa!’.

  Another time-consuming treat is the traditional British pantomime although, personally, I have to say I’ve never seen the attraction of watching a man dressed as a woman spouting all kinds of ridiculous advice for comic effect. Stephen seems to enjoy them for some reason, bless him – possibly because it’s the only time he’s allowed to shout out in a public place without breaching the terms of his court order.

  The Night Before Christmas

  You’re almost there. Just one more hurdle to complete – getting your children to sleep on Christmas Eve. However, this can be a real challenge, if they are anything like ours – bubbling to the brim with a potent cocktail of anticipation, excitement, nervous energy and potent cocktails. This new-fangled social media thingummy doesn’t help either, what with them staying up until the early hours messaging their friends and poking complete strangers. It’s no wonder their little minds are still racing when their heads hit the pillow.

  After years of tears, tantrums and tweets I finally came up with the solution – send Stephen to the pub. However, this still left me having to deal wi
th the children’s tears, tantrums and tweets so I came up with a further solution. Being a writer of not inconsiderable note, it was a relatively simple task for me to come up with something to shake the sugarplums out of their heads and teach them the true meaning of Christmas. Now every year at bedtime, I tell them to turn off their computers and mobile phones and I read them the following poem. By the time I’ve finished, they’re usually so exhausted or terrified they shoot straight up to bed without a word. It’s a simple cautionary tale, although I can’t for the life of me think what inspired the main character…

  How the Frynch Stole Twitmas

  Every Twit down in Twitville

  Liked Twitter a lot,

  But the Frynch,

  Who lived just North of London,

  Did NOT!

  The Frynch hated Twitter!

  The whole Twitmas season.

  Now please don’t ask why,

  No-one quite knows the reason.

  It could be his laptop

  Wasn’t plugged in quite right,

  It could be perhaps

  That his pants were too tight.

  But I think the most likely reason of all,

  May have been that his dongle was two sizes too small.

  Whatever the reason,

  His dongle or pants,

  He stared at the screen,

  Having one of his rants.

  ‘They’re tweeting their greetings!’

  He started to shake.

  ‘Tomorrow is Twitmas,

  This is too much to take!’

  Then he growled, with his Frynch fingers nervously drumming,

  ‘I MUST find a way to keep Twitmas from coming!’

  For tomorrow he knew all those twittering nerds,

  Would wake bright and early, like little blue birds

  And the words! The words!

  Oh, the words, words, words, words!

  That’s the thing that he hated!

  The WORDS, WORDS, WORDS, WORDS!

  For the Twits young and old would sit down on their seats,

  And they’d tweet. And they’d tweet. And they’d

  TWEET, TWEET, TWEET, TWEET!

  And the more the Frynch thought of this whole Twitmas row,

  The more the Frynch thought, ‘I must stop Twitter now!

  Why for more than three years, I’ve put up with this crap.

  I must stop Twitter from working – Asap!’

  Then he got an idea!

  A devilish idea!

  More devilish than anything got in Ikea!

  And he grabbed some bin bags

  And some old empty cases,

  (He just couldn’t wait

  To see all their Twit faces!)

  And off, with a smirk, that naughty Frynch crept,

  To the place where he knew all those silly Twits slept.

  Then he slithered and slunk, with a smile like a snadget,

  Around the whole town, and he took every gadget!

  He took all their mobiles, he took the PCs,

  He took all the internet-ready TVs.

  He took the computers, he took the laptops,

  He took the iPhones, the iPads and iPlops.

  And when he had grabbed all the items above,

  He started to take other things the Twits love,

  He took all their LOLs and their LMAOs,

  He stole their hash tags from their little hash toes.

  He snatched their Retweets and their mentions and then

  He snaffled the Trending Topics Top Ten.

  He kidnapped their followers, erased their DMs.

  They all went in his sack, which he threw in the Thames.

  Then he sat on the bank and he nervously waited,

  With his lip fully bit and his breath fully bated

  Until the sun rose. But then the Frynch frowned,

  ‘They’re just waking up…but what is that strange sound?’

  All the Twits down in Twitville, the princes and bums

  Were talking – without a device near their thumbs!

  They chatted, they laughed, they guffawed and they chortled,

  They sang and they shouted, they sniffed and they snortled.

  The butchers, the bakers, the students and tourists,

  The housewives, the bankers, the fish pedicurists,

  The teachers, the stalkers, the geeks and the druids,

  They actually met and swapped bodily fluids!

  And the Frynch heard this sound, this unheard-of kerfuffle,

  And he frowned and he blinked and he started to snuffle.

  He HADN’T stopped Twitmas from coming!

  It CAME!

  Somehow or other, it came just the same!

  The Frynch groped for hours, ’till his dongle was sore.

  Then the Frynch thought of something he hadn’t before!

  ‘Maybe Twitter,’ he thought, ‘doesn’t come from a phone.

  ‘Maybe Twitter…perhaps…has a life of its own?’

  And what happened then…?

  Well, in court they did say

  That the Frynch’s small dongle

  Grew three sizes that day!

  And the minute his dongle had started to swell,

  He looked at the gadgets and cried ‘Bloody Hell,

  What a silly old git!’ and he fell to the floor,

  ‘What a nitwit-tit-git I have been, that’s for sure!’

  And ashamed and aroused, he went back to the town,

  Dongle proudly erect but his head hanging down.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘But could you, at a pinch,

  Bear to forgive me, this silly old Frynch?’

  And the Twits took one look at this figure forlorn,

  With his chin on his chest and his confidence torn,

  ‘Well, it’s true’ they replied, ‘that we do need some closure.’

  So they jailed him for theft and indecent exposure.

  The Day After the Night Before Christmas

  So the big day has arrived at last and once the presents have been opened, played with and broken, the highlight is The Christmas Dinner – that special once-a-year time when the whole family can put its problems to one side and gather together to pull crackers, wear silly hats and enjoy a hearty home-made feast.

  My family’s favourite is my legendary Twelve Days of Christmas Dinner but sadly, in these credit crunch times it can be awfully difficult to get hold of 12 drummers drumming, 11 pipers piping, 10 lords a-leaping, 9 ladies dancing, 8 maids a-milking, 7 swans a-swimming, 6 geese a-laying, 5 gold rings, 4 colly birds, 3 French hens and 2 turtle doves, let alone a partridge in a pear tree to stuff them in, so instead, here’s my slightly more economical alternative. Not only delicious but also a real time- and washing-up-saver.

  EDNA’S ALL-IN-ONE CHRISTMAS DINNER

  Ingredients:

  One large turkey (giblets and packaging removed)

  Spam (maple cured or oak smoked)

  Brussels sprout, one

  Can of barley wine

  Bottle of sherry, one or more

  Mince pie, one

  Other miscellaneous ingredients

  Preparation time:

  Six years, approximately.

  Method:

  Christmas Day can be a very stressful occasion, but I always find that preparing dinner helps me to relax. First, place the turkey in a deep baking tray filled with salt water and gin. Leave to soak overnight. Refill every two hours to compensate for what Stephen calls ‘perfectly normal alcohol evaporation and nothing suspicious whatsoever’.

  On Christmas morning, place turkey in tray on waist-high kitchen surface and proceed to ‘tease’ the skin. This involves puckering up and loosening the turkey skin from the carcass. To help you with this process, imagine you are gently massaging your husband’s scalp. When the skin is completely loose, carefully place the slices of wafer-thin cured Spam under the skin. This will help moisten the turkey during cooking, while givi
ng it that unmistakeable Spammy flavour.

  Gently pat down the skin. Again, imagine you are massaging your husband’s scalp (as if you haven’t got enough to do already, while he just sits there munching Quality Street and fiddling with his trouser area). Slowly increase the pressure and frequency (as he flicks endlessly from channel to channel trying to find the darts, like the big lazy lump he is). If you find that pummelling the bird relentlessly with your fists isn’t sufficient, try using a rolling pin. Or throw crockery at it.

  When you reach this point, place the husband, I mean turkey to one side, take the can of barley wine and pour down your throat.

  Next, take the Brussels sprout and the mince pie. Carefully lift the pastry lid of the pie, place the sprout underneath and replace lid. You may need to remove some of the filling to make room but never fear – waste not, want not – this can be used to help stick down the wrapping paper on those last minute gifts!

  Next comes the all-important Christmas pudding. To ensure that all the flavours are at their peak, this needs to be made several years in advance and stored in a cold, airtight storage area – I generally use the children’s bedroom. Make a small indentation in the top of the pudding with your little finger. It may help to imagine you are playfully sticking your finger in your husband’s ear. Keep pressing until you feel a soft, squidgy substance. Then remove your finger and push the mince and sprout pie in as far as it will go. You will find this an intensely satisfying and calming experience.