Boxing night was good fun with the majority of the family gathering in Chapelton. The Reids, Sloans and Taylors came together with a few other friends and family to play, eat, drink and generally be merry. Playing involved a game called Partini which Ka and myself had bought Patricia and Tommy for Chrimbo. Patricia and Tommy immediately got the game open on receival and ran through the rules, sussing it out the best they could. The whole room was then put through an introductory game which was only getting warmed up when the winners were announced an hour or so later after reshaping play-doe, humming pop tunes to team mates, throwing balls at cups and listening to complicated sounding riddles. We then had a less complicated general knowledge quiz comprising of six rounds organised by my good self but only read directly from a giant quiz book. This was the best I could manage at short notice. I should know by now to turn up at these parties with a quiz set aside, just in case. The Boxing night quiz was mostly always my job when I was younger, from about the age of ten (or earlier maybe - I'm not sure). Half the assembled then made their way home leaving the stragglers to to gather around the stone table in the centre of the living room as Lynsey Ann fell asleep on the couch and James talked to his friends on Facebook via my Mum and Dad's PC for a couple of games of cards, Chaz acting as the main dealer. After someone else won (I wasn't paying enough attention) we made our way home in a hackney cab, my Dad, unsurprisingly, realising he knew the cab driver just as we were about to set off. My Dad must know approximately a quarter of East Kilbride's taxi driving population. He seem's to have played football with a good number of them. Some of them recognising myself and other members of the family on other occasions, knowing a Reid when they see one. I'm not sure whether it's the high foreheads, the silver/grey hair, the nose, the chin or a combination of them all. The Reid gene. Unfortunately I never really inherited the football side of the gene. The taxi drivers seem to nod knowingly when you jump into a taxi and introduce themselves as a football field position and a story about my Dad, an Uncle or my Granpa and are usually disappointed when I can barely hold a conversation on football together.
Woke up the next morning and was surprised to discover I had the Setanta channel until the 29th. Quite handy considering it was the Old Firm game. Sat and watched the second half of the match, seeing McDonald score for the celts. I doubted Rangers would be eating fast food that night. Afterwards we headed to the gym to run off some of the beer comsumed the night before. Ka and myself then relaxed for the rest of the day, taking a short break from Christmas get togethers by catching up on some chrimbo tv before heading back over to Uddingston on Sunday afternoon for another family meal, this time to meet Colin's new girlfriend, Gillian and two of the family friends, Roy and Tom. Roy, a jolly little fellow whom Dougie worked with up until he retired a few months back and Tom, a retired plumber with an exquisitely combed head of hair. Too exquisite, if you get my meaning. It was the first time Ka and myself met Colin's new girlfriend and she turned out to be very nice, friendly and, Ka was relieved to say, good enough to go out with oor Colin. I know what it's like to be the outsider in the McGarva household so I sympathised with the girl. Kidding aside, I had no need to, of course, as Dougie and Grace are always the most welcoming and generous of people, always going out of their way to make you feel at home.
Except when it comes to scooshy cream. Dougie does not like you using his scooshy cream. On one of my first visits to the McGarva household for dinner, my cards were marked when I overstepped the mark with the scooshy cream when it came to dessert time. Ever since that day, at the third course, I've had the strange feeling of being watched, like a hawk, eyes boring into me, as I've made a move for the whipped cream.
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