Here is a sneak peak at my new book "Why your Haemorrhoids are not my fault".
It was Christmas Eve and as I pealed back the layers of paper to reveal the chocolate fountain, that Dominic had insisted I unwrapped, his eyes lit up as he suggested we took it to dinner at friends that evening. It looked very complicated and I had already made a dessert so I suggested it may be better to try it out at home first, but he convinced me it would be a fun addition to the evening. We bundled the two boys into the car and set off to Sam and Abbey's newly renovated house. They were very excited to show us their new cream coloured kitchen with its gleaming, beige, granite worktops. They pointed out the walls they had knocked down to open up the space as they put the finishing touches to the dinner. Another couple, that we did not know, arrived bearing a fruit platter and started to admire the alterations and Sam and Abbey's new dog. The dog was beige, almost as though he had been chosen to match the worktops and was just under a year old He bustled around Abbey’s legs full of anticipation as she finished up the appetisers and carried them to the table, ushering us all through as she went.
We all sat down for dinner. The soup was soon gone and as we finished the last of our lamb Dominic decided to go into the kitchen and start setting up the chocolate fountain. It wasn’t that long since we had had the "Karen incident" during which a table of desserts had brought shame on the family and a certain degree of social isolation, but this was a separate friend group and, as Dominic had said, a chocolate fountain could only bring joy to an evening. The kitchen where Dominic was setting up the fountain was separated from the dining room, in which we were all sitting, by a wall. Although it obscured the view of the kitchen from the dinning room, since the wall did not extend as far as the front wall of the house the two rooms opened into each other at the far end, allowing the noise to travel between them. At first we heard the clunks of metal parts being taken out of the box which was followed by a few reassuring phrases from Dominic as he fitted the individual components together.
The sound of crisp chocolate discs falling into the metal bowl at the bottom of the fountain signalled that the assembly was complete. This was perfect timing as Abbey began to stack the plates in front of her on the dining room table ready to carry through to the kitchen. In anticipation of a few tip bits and left overs from the plates or maybe to see what Dominic was doing there, the dog wandered through to the kitchen, tail wagging furiously as he disappeared around the dividing wall. As we lost sight of that tail we heard the panicked sounds of a man regretting his decision to try out his new toy in the pristine, cream coloured, newly fitted kitchen. The cries of “No Oh God please no!” suggested things were not going to plan. I got up to see if I could help and joined in the chorus of “Oh nos!” as I rounded the corner to see my husband bent forward over the chocolate fountain trying to contain the chocolate that was being sprayed both upwards and outwards. The now chocolate covered dog was leaping around trying to catch each stream of hot chocolatey gloop as it passed by. Dominic’s chest was successfully preventing further staining of the white ceiling with chocolate from the upward trajectory, but his arms were unable to prevent the sideward spurts from further spaying the now brown and cream mottled cabinet doors. As I reached and pulled out the plug there was an audible intake of breath from Sam and Abbey and the other dinner guests who had now appeared in the kitchen. A deep sigh of relief came from Dominic as the rotor, that was spray painting the kitchen and family pet with chocolate, ground to a halt. His relief was short lived however. He lifted his head to fully appreciate the look of horror on Abbey’s face and the sight of the other female guest lunging forward, clasping a strawberry, from her fruit platter under the misconception that it could be used to clear up the lake of chocolate that had formed on the granite. All the guests grabbed what ever they could find from pineapple, melon and strawberries to paper towels and dish cloths to help with the cleanup. After an appropriate time helping to mop up the debris Dominic scooped up the chocolate fountain under his arm, shouted up a “Merry Christmas” toSam and Abbey’s son, who was hosing down the dog in the bath upstairs, and we once again, for the second time in four months commenced the drive of shame following a dessert disaster. As we drove back along the icy roads, Christmas lights twinkling in the frosty air we contemplated in silence our likelihood of ever being asked back. We wondered if we were safe in any social situation or if our reputation as the dinner guests from hell had travelled beyond the immediate vicinity. We did not speak, but it was understood that although we would never see Sam and Abbey again, our ostracisation from most polite social circles was not entirely my fault and now we were even.