Christmas in Florida
The white powder lashed the windscreen in huge blobs making it impossible to see. We grinded to a halt as the white spray from above covered the car like a foam. Finally, the area started to heat up and the car was practically completely dry. What kind of voodoo was this? Had I fallen asleep while driving again? No, because I wasn't driving and I also wasn't asleep. A snowstorm in Florida, you might be thinking, no way! And you'd be right. I just made you think it was one through vivid descriptive language. We were actually in a car wash readying the car for seeing Shelby's dad, ex-world champion drag racer, Steve Cohen, or as I like to call him (and he secretly likes, but outwardly dislikes), Stevie C or Big Steve. We were sure to be berated if the car’s cleanliness wasn’t up to his standards. And that's what Christmas is all about. Ho, ho, ho everybody!
Their eyes remained on me the whole journey, like I was a sausage in human form
Last year, we spent Christmas apart. This year, to save me from tears, I spent the Christmas with Shelby (Shelby, Shelby...). A very important person was born on Christmas day many years ago. He was Jewish and had very recognizable facial hair. Some call him the savior (of drag racing). And that somebody is Big Steve. He shares his birthday with the big man himself, Ricky Martin and, of course, duh, Lemmy from Motorhead. My own father often complains about his birthday being on January 6th. “Oh, it's too close to Christmas - nobody bothers with it. Oh, I should get a gift for both Christmas and my Birthday. Oh, will you please come and visit me in the home soon, Bill? it gets very lonely in here and I think the nurse is stealing from me.” And to all of those, I simply laugh and say no chance! (He's not really in a home... yet).
It's a strange phenomenon spending Christmas at a destination so close to the equator. Not as weird as spending it within the earth's crust on the actual equator though, which provides me with some solace. We were taking a friend back to her house in Florida, so I volunteered to spend the eight hour journey in the back of the car with a dog with anxiety problems and a weak bladder and a giant dog who thinks he's a chihuahua. Once we arrived, we had thirty minutes to shower off the piss and hair and get ourselves festive for the first family function.
When I think of Christmas in England, I think of roasting chestnuts on an open fire, long walks on the Malvern Hills in the snow, and stopping for a swift pint of ale in a country pub. We walked into the garage of Shelby's uncle's house where he was pointing a handgun at a boat. He was fitting a new sight to the top of the gun.
"Doesn't that make it a bit easy?" I said.
"Not with my shaky hands it doesn't." Shelby's uncle replied.
I queried this in my own head, but thought against arguing. The hosts had kindly accommodated us by preparing a number of vegetarian dishes and the food was delicious.
"You don't eat fish?"
"No, I'm a vegetarian."
"So, no shrimp then?"
They didn't quite understand the commitment I have made to all living things with my abstinence from scranning their dead bodies. Still, as with Christmas gatherings across the globe, somebody had a Chinese puzzle and we all spent a couple of hours trying to figure it out. Dogs and babies created the rest of the entertainment (the party wasn't a front for some sort of underground dog vs babies fight club though, which in some ways, is a disappointment. Note to self: pitch this idea to Vince McMahon or Dana White, failing that pitch to that dodgy guy you met on a train to Aberystwyth once who said he had invented a spoon crossed with a ladle).
As the evening was coming to an end, we handed Mary, Shelby's 94 year old grandma, her gift. It was an Ancestry DNA kit. One of the family members entered the room and walked up to her.
"I just had to see her face when she opened it," he said.
Not sure why - her face was absolutely baffled by it.
The phenomenon that is Mary, the 94-year-old world traveler with a penchant for corgis
For two weeks over Christmas, most people become functioning alcoholics - rising from their slumber to eat leftovers that soak up the alcohol from the night before, which is what I did the next day. That evening, we were heading to Ralph's in Dade City. I've been to some dive bars where I've felt the atmosphere change as I walk in - an instant feeling of not belonging or a high probability of getting my head kicked in. Mainly in Scotland. But few of these, if any, have left me feeling like I may be abducted and used as some sort of sex slave for a closeted hick with family money. That was, of course, until I got to Ralph's.
This is the vibe I got from Ralph's, but as soon as I walked through the doors, my mood changed. I was told by Shelby that Ralph's was a bit "Out of business up the front, party in the back," and she was right. There was a band on that night playing some rock and roll classics, a huge fire with various people gathered around, and a giant 21 year old man with bruised knuckles who I befriended named Eric. Eric didn't seem to know anybody. He claimed that he had a party at his house earlier but everybody left, so he had walked to Ralph's to keep drinking before he met his supermodel girlfriend. I like a good character, and Eric was certainly that. Although he kept nudging me in the stomach with his big hand and putting his arm around me, which I didn't like. I volunteered to walk to the shop with him so he could buy a packet of cigarettes, and when it came to pay I half expected him to ask me for some money. Instead, he pulled out a wad of ten 100 dollar bills and counted them. I thought this was probably not a wise thing to do at the Dollar General next to Ralph's in Dade City, Florida, but didn't want to say anything, again, because of the big hands. I was worried that I would have to keep him company all night, but a few minutes later his supermodel girlfriend actually did turn up and I was left confused. After that, I went inside to play pool. Didn't pot a single ball and then potted the black by mistake, which is how I knew it was time for me to make a dash for the exit through the line dancers and sex offenders at Ralph's, where everybody knows your name (because you're probably the owner's cousin).
Christmas day was fast approaching and on Christmas eve we hosted Shelby's friends and their baby. As they walked in, they told us that the baby was sick. Bit annoying, but unlike adults, it's hard to explain to a baby to keep at least three meters away from me at all times or I will invoke the use of force, but I did keep my distance. The last thing I wanted was a baby cold ruining my festive fun. Like the wisemen in the story of Christ, I led them to the door when they decided it was time to head home. Mary and Joseph (not their actual names) used their truck as a makeshift donkey, their headlights as the north star, and their house as the barn to lay the baby down in. Although technically Jesus wouldn't have been born until the next day, but whatever, I'm trying to get into the festive spirit.
In the morning, we all rose to gather around the tree and exchange gifts. I had already received my main gift, a guitar, from Shelby the month before, but I was stoked to open a leafblower (my first middle aged gift ever) from my in-laws and a number of other treats, including a jar of Branston Pickle. I handed Shelby her main gift. She shook it excitedly and opened it up. I had bought her a robot vaccuum cleaner. Now, granted, she hadn't asked for one, and was a bit surprised less in a "Wow, cool!" way and more in a "What the hell's this?" tone, but I knew she would like it simply for the fact that it could keep the dog company when he was home alone. She lated admitted that she thought I had bought her a pair of Dr Marten boots, which I didn't.
This photo is blurry and Bagel is staring at something and it creeps me out
That afternoon, we were heading for our second family engagement of the holiday period, with the family I did choose, sort of. While milling about eating little puff pastry things and trying not to look at anybody the wrong way, I bumped into Shelby's step second cousin (possibly that is their relation), a tentative link, but one all the same. He told me that he used to live near where we now live and was actually one of the first employees of the World's Largest Dog-friendly Travel Website, BringFido, where I now work. What are the bloody chances of that? Apparently, he left the company disgrace without telling them he wouldn't be returning. Nice bloke, though.
Outside, I bumped into one of Shelby's cousins, who was wearing his favourite shirt for the occasion. He'd gone all out with this one - It read "Guns, God, Trump, Family" in big letters. I took the word “Trump” to mean the British word, to fart out of one's bum bum, making the shirt much more entertaining.
I sat down with the men, most of whom had their t-shirts tucked into their trousers, and immediately fit in - not at all coming across as a lanky, camp, British, randomer... The man next to me sat back in his chair and breathed out heavily.
"I was on a forum online,"
Where was this going, I thought as I considered dialling Dateline.
"About guns,” I breathed a sigh of relief.
“And I got into it with these people. I said to them, Do you even like guns unless you own over a hundred?"
I like donuts, but that doesn't mean I - actually, I take that back.
"I mean, I only have 82, and I'd say I was an enthusiast, but the real enthusiasts - they have over 100."
"What guns do you have?” somebody asked.
"Got a grenade launcher."
"What's the practical use of that?" I said, for some reason.
"Scaring birds off your crops"
While literally blowing up everything you've grown in the process and leaving shrapnel in your cabbage, I thought.
"I've got a machine gun, that sort of thing. They're mainly good for the zombie apocalypse."
If I ever become a zombie, remind me not to go to his house.
My new year's resolution is to update my blog more and release a podcast recounting my adventures in China, mainly because I just got a mic stand and I need to use it. Happy New Year to one and all! (Except those who've wronged me. You know who you are. I hope irritating things happen to you all year round, like flat tires and having to spend a fortune to replace your guttering).
An unrelated photo of me and Bagel taken after Christmas
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