Boxing Day.
The usual crowd.
Bright kitchen’s full of food and people and wine and steam.
A small banquet’s been laid out on the table—
cheese and ham whirls, malteasers in bowls,
fans of celery, and profiteroles.
All the glasses are out, scarcely enough.
Sarah’s one-way system round the island counter is
causing confusion and congestion.
—Can you just rinse—
—Ooh! How are the carrots?
—Look, I need to open the oven…
Parlour’s full of chatter and tinsel and nuts.
Much better idea.
Leave the sodding peas with Sarah.
Time for Trivial Pursuit.
