So I'm in the bath and an idea pops into my head. It's about food (I'm on a diet) and it's about how, if I can't eat food, then maybe I should write about food. So I did and inevitably my imagination got carried away and a story was developing. Just for laughs I thought I'd publish the start of it on here. Why not? Yes, let's expose my thoughts, the inner workings of my mind, my warped and weird ways of seeing things. (We all do in our own little way).
So here goes. Read it or don't read it, s'up to you. Thoughts, comments, and (dare I say it), criticisms are welcomed warmly, and all I will say about it is things are not as they seem.
Enjoy.
Agatha
Agatha placed the enormous, golden turkey in the centre of the table and took a step back. She smoothed her hands over her apron and proudly surveyed all she had done - The cranberry sauce, the crispy roast potatoes, the chestnut stuffing balls made from a secret recipe. The smells of Christmas filled the room and she couldn't help but jump with excitement. She admired the way the pristine tablecloth dazzled, and the way she had carefully made the napkins into works of art. The crystal glassware was sparkling, the cheery Christmas crackers placed in such a way that they would not be forgotten, and the Christmas confetti sprinkled in what looked like a haphazard way but which had actually been placed with precision and style. This was going to be a good night, Agatha thought as she twirled her hair around her finger absentmindedly. The doorbell rang.
Charles
Charles walked in to the house with his expensive bottle of wine clutched to his chest. His mum had made him bring it, selecting it from his wine rack with determination. He had groaned, argued, deliberated...but she was adamant that he should take nothing but the very best. He wiped his feet, ignoring his mothers voice in his head that he should take his shoes off by the front door, and shrugged his overcoat off, refusing to part quite yet with the wine. He had heard about Agatha and her reputation for glugging from the bottle with no regard for the full body or vintage year. She went to take it from him but he pretended to be looking at his sleeve instead. She actually tried taking it but he deftly swept past her and into the dining room.
He took in the sight before him...a greasy looking turkey with parsley stuffed up its arse, tacky Christmas confetti scattered over the table with the failed attempt to make it look "casual" and swan napkins...no wait, were they actually chickens? Who did chicken shaped napkins at a Christmas meal? He looked at Agatha with a smirk on his face and was about to comment but stopped himself just as she looked up proudly and expectantly at him. His smirk turned into,what he hoped, was a winsome smile. This night was going to be...interesting, he thought.
Ruby
Ruby knocked the door for the second time, willing herself to stand tall, with shoulders back, chin up in the air...exactly as her military father had instructed her time and time again. She took a deep breath and told herself that no one would miss her if she just turned and walked away now...no one ever missed her...but then the door with its garish silver and black wreath opened and ruby had no choice but to step inside. She smiled wanly at her host who took her coat whilst chatting incessantly about the most ridiculous of the British institutions, the weather. Might snow-blah blah- just sleet i expect-blah blah - who cares? The host smiled expectantly at ruby, who realised that a question had been asked and an reply was required of her. An awkward pause followed and ruby just looked at the ground. "Look them in the eye, take control of your surroundings" she heard her father say. She looked up at her host and immediately wished she hadn't because Agatha was frowning at what she must assume was ruby being rude. "Take control" she thought. She was about to compliment her host on the smell of the food but then realised all she could smell was the turkey with its wrinkled skin and grease which had solidified at the neck. Desperately trying not to wrinkle her nose at the sight of meat, she instead turned to look at the napkins which seemed to be shaped like...wait, what was that? Was it meant to be a vagina? Words failed her, she just looked back down at her feet.
Ben
Ben rang the doorbell in a 'bring-bring-ba-bring-bring' (pause for effect) 'bring-bring' rhythm and stepped close to the beautiful wreath, checking his teeth in one of the larger pieces of tinsel. Still looking great, he thought, and decided to turn it up a notch. The door opened and he rushed at his host almost knocking her down in the process. He air kissed her on both cheeks then took a step back, admiring her dress. Pretty red thing, obviously last season but no matter, his host wore it well. She led him through to the dining room and introduced him to the other guests, one slightly dapper looking chap, perhaps money, perhaps a chip on his shoulder; and an awkward looking girl with braces on her teeth. Could be sweet, he thought, but too much like hard work. His host was babbling on so his eyes swept the room, taking in the cheap decor and the chintzy furnishings. He spotted the dinner table and plastered his most ostentatious smile on his face, one that he only used occasionally, when it was distinctly possible that words might fail him. Yet again his charm worked and Agatha blushed at what he assumed she believed to be his most praiseworthy and flattering smile. He was just glad it hid his disdain.
Agatha
"Right, now that we're all here why don't you take a seat...you'll find your name written on a piece of mistletoe in Christmas sparkles!" Agatha laughed in what she hoped was a tinkling laugh...she didn't know what one was but had read it somewhere so practised it all day as she peeled the sprouts. Her guests started shuffling round the table, studying the mistletoe she had so lovingly decorated with red ribbon and painstakingly written their names on with a glitter pen.
She couldn't help but feel the night was already a resounding success, her guests were wonderful, her food spectacular and her choice of Michael buble singing christmas songs in the background sublime. Finally with everyone sitting she picked up the champagne from the ice bucket and gave them a dazzling smile.
"Charlie darling, would you do the honours?"
Charles looked at her with the sort of glaze one assumes is love at first sight and stood, placing his bottle of wine in front of him and taking the champagne. He popped the cork, narrowly missing the chandelier as he did so.
Charles
'She called me Charlie. I hate her.'
Ruby
Ruby placed her hand over her glass and shook her head apologetically. Her eyes were fixed firmly on her vagina napkin so she had no idea how people were reacting. She had a vague feeling that she didn't care, but wasn't quite sure. The bottle passed on.
Ben
'So the toff is miffed cos she called him Charlie, the goth is freaked cos she's a weird vegan/teetotaller/feminist type and our host has notions that she is a modern day Martha, which judging by the marks and spencer stuffing balls
She most certainly is not. Yawn fest,' Ben thought, longing to be back in his bedsit with Giles.
To be continued...
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