Christmas dinner is usually an English feast prepared by my brother-in-law, David (second from right in the picture, the man responsible for corrupting the term “football” for a large proportion of my family). This year at my Sister’s home, it was no exception - and it was fabulous as always. At one point we threatened to not leave their home without some figgy pudding. And, I’ll be darned if we didn’t get some!
(Note – this is a reference to a silly Christmas carol that makes sense only in Britain)
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