The Jones Clan has their Christmas dinner on Boxing Day. We always have and I believe we always will, except this year, we did not have a traditional Christmas dinner. It was agreed last year, after much protest from one particular family member, that we would not have a roast dinner again for our family meal. I was outraged. As it turned out, you can be just as greedy with a three course meal that does not include a roasted bird and pork loin, than you can with one that includes said roasts. In fact, you can be really greedy.
Fast forward to seven hours later however, and yours truly was poorly. Very poorly. For four months, it has been a daily struggle for me to, well, you know. It was not a struggle for me on Wednesday night. I was reunited with something with the greatest of ease. I also had to request a pail. I should have realised something was not quite right throughout the day, when I was, well, you know, all day long. I was you knowing, all over the place and loudly. It was a point of discussion. Sure it is uncouth, but I have cancer. Plus I was with my family, I do not have a boyfriend and I am very much a believer in flatulence being funny (in the right circumstance). It was not funny after 45 minutes in a little room, which was proceeded by me having to go to bed at 20:00hrs feeling sorry for myself.
In all my years previous to this one, I would have blamed the pain, dizziness, sweating and you know, on pure gluttony. It may still have been the reason I was ill, but I have another little friend you can blame things on now. I hate that. My Myeloma makes every change to my body sinister. Would I have been as ill if I did not have myeloma? We will never know… and as with all things that relate to my body, I hate that.
If you are sitting around thinking that you overindulged this Christmas and need to exercise, on Boxing Day, I ate the following; a bowl of Rice Crispies with Gold Top milk, three roast potatoes, a slice of ham, three slices of leftover roast pork, half a block of large Brie (I know I shouldn’t really eat Brie), a bowl of pea and ham soup with a Big Sister twirl of cream, bread, a few spoonfuls of chutney, three portions of beef stroganoff with fillet and rice, a mouthful of Stilton (I know I shouldn’t really be eating Stilton either), three brandy snaps filled with extra thick double cream, three glasses of Prosecco and a bottle of beer. I *might* have also squeezed in three clementines at some point, it is a little hazy.
Impressed or repulsed? If it is the former, did I mention I was single?
Oh, and in case this blog is too subtle for you, I believe my five year old niece explains it well in the text message below… She is her mother’s daughter.