2012 here were are! But how did we survive Christmas and New year? Well something like this...
The Friday before Christmas and there's a snowstorm in Manchester just large enough (ie three large fluffy flakes) to shut the airport for a miniscule window of two hours and leave us stranded in Switerland. Possibly if not definitely - the worlds most expensive country to buy anything other than a flugelhorn or a mountain goat.
We queue resolutely and patiently for a transfer and miracle of miracles - we're transferred onto a heathrow flight leaving in 30 minutes. So - Becks and I peg it through security and passport control and celebrate with a well earned large red wine at the boarding gate (I actually remortgage my house to pay for the drinks - but we're so chuffed to be making it home after all). And then they go and cancel all flights out of Zurich due to a "supposed" storm that was on its way but hadn't actually arrived as yet.
Four and half hours later and we're nearing the front of officially the longest queue I've ever been in in my entire thirty six years of existence. By hour three the airport is issuing emergency rations of water and a nice man with a beard is shouting at us to "give it to the people who really need it." Then comes the food crates. Police with hands twitchy by their gun holsters look warily at the baying crowds. It's like something out of a UN food drop in the third world.
To our left an elderly man passes out before our eyes and Becky runs over to get the attention of a medic - anyone in charge. Behind the man who has possibly just died in this queue - an irate man is shouting and wagging his finger. He appears to want the possibly dead man to be dragged to the side to allow the rest of the queue to step over him and book their flights.
"So this is how the apocolypse feels..." I wonder to myself. Lord of the Flies in an airport. That's what we lived through.
We get to the front. Having looked after a bunch of teenage American kids for a short while whilst their teacher tried to get them home safe to Boston. They were having a worse time than us. This was their third day of trying to get home - originally from Florence (and that didn't even include them getting caught up in the gun rampage that killed two guys in Florence whilst they were half way up Brunelschi's great dome - and no - that's not an innuendo).
We find our bags back in the arrival hall - in what can only be described as "Bag Armageddon". It's a Bag graveyard. Thousands of bags piled sky high. We ask one guy how long he's been looking for his luggage..
"Three hours," he says forlornly.
Luckily Becky has a pink bag and somehow we find both our bags in literally five minutes.
Next day - we get home. Exhausted and ragged. And then we're off to the Panto in Crewe. Snow White!
The "Buttons" of the show was incredibly funny - but the strange thing were the dwarves. a). They were kids wearing masks. and B) they changed the song and C) - they had different names. No longer do they sing "hiho hiho it's off to work we go". Clearly some sort of embargo on that tune. Nevertheless - the kids screamed their heads off - and we laughed pretty hard too.
And before you could say "Santa's got himself stuck half way down the chimney" - it was Christmas Eve. So - we duly dressed Declan as a giant Star above Bethlehem - and wrapped a tea towel around Fintan's head and headed off to the Christmas Eve mass. Within thirty seconds - Fintan and Declan had run up to the front of the altar and were busy stripping all the straw from Jesus' manger and feeding it to the plastic donkey besides it.
"Stop that Fintan. Declan - put the straw back. Now!"
"Ohhhhh...." they cry in unison.
Back at home - we sprinkle magic reindeer dust outside so Rudolph and Santa can find us easily and it's off to bed.
The next day Santa brings us Star Wars At-Ats and toy fire stations and ambulances and as dutiful parents we spend at least 3 hours assembling lego racing cars before they are taken apart in a matter of three seconds.
Fintan holds up the random lego pieces and says...
"Can we build it again..."
We wonder whether Job would still have such patience if lego had been invented back in the day.
One of my presents is a night at the Hilton hotel and Spa near us whilst Grandpa and Nana babysit.
So a few days later - I find myself at the Hilton. Sarah and Chris are there - a surprise present for Chris as well.
"Hello," we say.
"Hello," says the receptionist, "So will you be taking your pedicure before you check in. You are down for 11am."
Chris and I look at each other. Chris nearly collapses.
"Woah! Woah there! Pedicure? Pedicure? We're men. Hang on a minute. Pedicure. What about a manly massage or something."
"No Chris. No Tom. You're having a pedicure - it'll be nice. You'll like it." Say the Sarahs.
We look at each other dubiously.
"Ladies. Your massages are due right now - here are you robes and towels."
Chris and I look at each other and mouth the words all men use in times of great duress and panic. "Bar..."
We get the Hilton to open the bar early for us as hotel guests continue to traipse up for Breakfast.
By 11am we've downed three pints and the Dutch courage is within us.
"Let's do it!" Doobie do it!" and we head in for our "Manly foot massage / pedicure".
We head into the Spa and these friendly ladies start scraping our feet and then massaging them.
"So - do you get many blokes doing this?" we ask.
"Some...."
There are ladies having pedicures who are laughing at us in the corner. They are drinking champagne.
"Can we have a drink?" we ask.
Duly - two beers arrive and we feel slightly better.
We have a good laugh with the ladies massaging our feet. In fact - we have such a laugh that the girl having her pedicure with her mum actually falls off her chair.
"Would you like the only for men laquer applied?" the pedicurist asks us.
"You what?" we say.
"Nail varnish? Is it bloody nail varnish?" Chris asks. "Behave - I'm not having that."
"Look I bet David Beckam has this done every day - come on - you gotta try everything once.." I tell him. And with beer on our side we get our nails painted purely to "strengthen them for footballing reasons only..."
I've never laughed more in my life.
After the massage we spot the fish in the corner.
"Can we have a go with them?" we ask enthusiastically.
"Yes. No problem."
And so - we immerse our feet in a tank full of Garruda fish for ten minutes. They pack quite a pinch at first. In fact - the girls before us left screaming and refused to put their feet back in. But we're made of sterner stuff.
Like little tiny electric shocks. It's weird. Not exactly relaxing. Just odd. We wonder if we will emerge with stumps for feet.
We track our wives down in the "relaxation room" and duly gatecrash and ruin the entire relaxing ambience by crashing down on the giant bean bags to drink our beer.
"Get out! Get out! You're ruining the ambience!"
We end up having to haul the girls to their feet cos they're just way too pregnant to get themselves upright from a bean bag these days.
Downstairs - there is an offer on a spray tan - only £17.50 for a can of spray tan.
Chris weilds the demo can at me menacingly.
"Yeah - go on..." I say - full of beer bravado.
Seconds later my right arm is a strange mahagony brown colour and it's not coming off. Chris is in an absolute fit of giggles - as is the receoptionist.
The receptionist composes herself and explains to me that "you better wash that off your hands - it won't come off."
Which has Chris in even bigger stitches. I look like an oompa lumpa who has only been half dipped in luminous orange.
Later I go swimming - half man - half oompa. But strangely - I begin to quite like the tanned zebra effect. I've had an absolute ball - I may be a bizzare shade of orange and have the shiniest toe nails in the land - I may have spent half the day in a fancy dandy brown robe - but - I feel good.
Life is good...
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