The season of the spirit

Peace and quiet. Saturday afternoon, alone in the flat. Ka was out at the hairdressers, attending the usual Christmas party at Alan’s, along with the salon’s other monthly Saturday afternoon regulars. Ka and myself were having our annual Chrimbo flat gathering in the evening, so it was very much the calm before the storm, and the perfect time to tackle some painting (as long as I hoovered up after myself, I was told).
I once more set up my easel to tackle my latest, a portrait of the great Al Pacino, which I have been trying to progress for the past three months. I've spent more than a few afternoons on this particular portrait and it's now getting more than a little frustrating. I had thought he may have been one of the easier ones with his prominent nose, heavily lined eyes, messy hair, creased chin. These features make Pacino’s face one of the most recognisable in recent cinema.
Or so you’d think. He’s turning out to be a far harder portrait than previous efforts. The quiet worked, to an extent though, and the painting did progress, just not as far as I'd hoped. The frustration got the better of me and I gave up at one point, taking some time out with a bowl of pasta, collapsing on to the couch to watch half of ‘Planes, Trains and Automobiles’ the story of another fairly frustrated fellow in the form of Steve Martin.
Eventually going back to the easel I battled on with Pacino's jawline until around half past five when the phone disturbed the quiet, and it was only then that I realised I was painting in near darkness. Ka was nearly finished, so I set off in the car to pick her up after clearing the majority of the art materials up.
Ka emerged from 'Nutters' with a new hairdo and a big smile on her face after a few glasses of wine, so I got away with the fact I hadn't yet hoovered the living room yet. Alan and the gathered women in the salon all called on me to come in to the salon as I stood awkwardly in the doorway, inviting me like the sirens on the rocks. Thankfully I resisted, insisting that I'd left the car running and escaped unhindered.
After getting home, I gave the flat a quick hoover and a tidy around, Ka lit the Christmas candles, the Christmas lights were switched on, the crisps and nuts were dispensed, the beer was made ready in the fridge and the ice stocks checked. Everything was set.
Chris, Pauline and Chaz were the first to arrive at around quarter to eight, the two girls and Ka immediately congregating in the kitchen as Chaz and myself settled down on the couches with our first beer to talk about the past week.
Chaz had been on location in Glasgow during the week, working as an extra on the latest Scarlett Johansson movie following his stint escaping zombies in George Square back in August.
Roslyn, Iain, Martin and Claire then arrived around half an hour later with some bottles, pressies and a 'Deal or No Deal' DVD game which we did eventually have a game of, halfway through the night, but unfortunately lost interest in. I think it may have had something to do with the fact we had to sit and listen to Noel Edmonds.
Ka handed out the now traditional Christmas snowballs, advocaat with lemonade, which this year was spiced up with the addition of a little Morgans rum, recommended to Ka by one of the sirens earlier. Soon after that Chaz was handing out the shots, Di Saronno Amaretto, being the weapon of choice, the midori and the Jack Daniels was getting cracked open and Iain was even giving shots of Buckfast out from his second bottle, a challenge which only a few plucked up the courage to accept.
Reality tv, hair transplants, Matt Smith as the Doctor and favourite movies were among the subjects discussed throughout the night as Ka served up pizzas and party food in the kitchen. Reminisces of movies that we watched as kids became a talking point, Chaz, the guy who watched ‘Predator’ and ‘Robcop’ when he was seven, remembering the terrors of Martin Rosen’s 'Watership Down'. With it’s haunting music, nightmarish imagery, themes of creation, death, destruction, animal pack mentality and brutality along with it’s tense, unsettling atmosphere it did seem to disturb more than a few kids who had been expecting another ‘Bambi’.
I’ll always remember the evil General Woundwort, the evil Rabbit chief with the glass eye (Was it a glass eye? Can rabbit’s get glass eyes?).
Not to mention that stupid bird with the annoying voice.
Apparently another of Chaz’s favourites was 'Chitty Chitty Gang Bang'.
I’m not sure where he was going for his videos when he was a kid?
He claimed this film title to be a slip of the tongue, of course, and went on to say how the Child Catcher had freaked him out.
But then, who didn’t that guy freak out? He was certainly a good bit freakier than any Predator or General Woundwort.
After Pauline and Chris left to prepare for their early starts the next morning, we got the obligatory Christmas tunes out and whilst having a wee dance, argued over which was better. My choice of John Lennon’s ‘War is Over’ was shouted off, and Elton John and The Waitresses were shouted for instead. Chaz got to listen to his choice of ‘A Spaceman Came Travelling’ before that was forwarded two thirds of the way through, at which point he rolled over on the couch and conked out. A first for Chaz if ever there was one. The rest of us continued until around half four in the morning until we all started to wilt.
I woke up the next morning to the sound of the bottle bin getting some serious fuel in the close outside. Ka was up and about, whirring around the flat in her pink polka dot dressing gown. Chaz blinked from the couch at around eleven as Ka gave him a shout, wanting her living room back, itching to get the hoovering done and settle down to watch Strictly Come Dancing on the iPlayer with a nice cup of coffee. I got up out of bed for long enough to see him off, the two of us looking a bit worse for wear after the Amaretto shots, and then immediately fell back into my pit, leaving Ka to watch Harry Judd’s triumph.
Chris appeared at the door a little later. Again I got up out of bed long enough to greet her and her wee grandchild, Chloe, who, after removing her wellies at the door, marched rather quickly into the living room, avoiding the smelly, dishevelled looking state lumbering out of the nearby bedroom. As the three girls sang a cute rendition of ‘Jingle Bells’ in the living room, I knew there was going to be no chance of getting any more sleep.