Christmas Past 2009, 6

6. Turkey, ham and stuffing. I inhale the fumes as my grandmother puts her covered hand into the oven, and reaches for the biggest turkey I've ever seen. My Dad tells me to chew my food 'at least fifteen times, lad'. Of course, the taste gets to me and I chew a minimal four. I keep eating, pouring truckloads in. The flow of juices and the beautiful aroma tease my nostrils. Clearly I'm trying to beat the world record for quickest eater.

I get a bit of turkey lodged in my throat. Damn! I start to get violet. My mother gives me water. It doesn't work. Finally my grandfather hands me a glass of a brown substance he calls bourbon. Looks more like crude oil to me. I pour the foul stuff down my throat. It takes a second. Or two. Until a huge flaming fire-ball rips down my throat. I cough in panic, and the piece of turkey shoots into orbit.

I think: I'll move on to the ham.