A baking tray like many others, but for me this baking tray prompts memories. . . . . .
Memories of mince pies made by my mum. Pastry filled with sickly sweet
mince meat, my favourites covered with icing with half a shiny glace cherry
Memories of mince pies and of Christmas. The excitement of Christmas
Eve, lying in bed for hours and not sleeping wondering what would be there
for me when I woke up.
Memories of my dad's hiking sock - filled with goodies and always with a
satsuma in the toe and a bag of chocolate coins which would be gone
Waking my brother and sister up to find out what they'd got - and then
eating some of their coins too.
The lovely warm smell of roasting turkey wafting up the stairs whilst
downstairs the bright, twinkling lights of the Christmas tree swamped by
presents waiting to be unwrapped. The yearly jokes about my grandma's
wrapping paper - bought from Chester market and so thin that the corners
of the selection box always poked through.
The ritual, followed year after year, of sitting on the stairs whilst my dad
hands out the presents. Ripping off the paper or carefully peeling back the
sellotape to reveal what's inside.
Playing new CDs and peeling sprouts.
Drinking sherry with my nan and lipstick kisses from my grandma.
This tray reminds me of eating til I think I'm going to burst then falling
asleep in front of the queen's speech, so warm and full that there isn't any
Then tea and mince pies, hoping there'll be some left with icing and a half
cherry on top.
And when it's all over, the baking sheet goes back in its cupboard to be
brought out again next December.