Envy

I have a cold that is gripping my throat and head like the Boston Strangler in a temper, so last night I generously took my germs to my brothers annual Christmas Eve party.

Amid the chaos of young couples, old couples, gay couples, singletons, someone’s shy new boyfriend, an over excited three year old, a chain smoking 90 year old, two Jack Russells, two Pugs and an English Bulldog puppy that weighs more than me, my brothers friend – a professional food stylist – rose to the occasion like a domestic dominatrix.

She produced a spread of homemade pates, game terrines, deeply savoury tarts and numerous Jamie Oliver style twiddly, fiddly, nibbly things. It all looked as gorgeous as it tasted.

I slumped on a sofa with a glass, a bumper box of Kleenex Balsam and a scowl, wrapped in foodie jealousy.

My friend commented that I had festively matched my frock to my nose – bright scarlet. I hoped no-one noticed that the rest of me was deep green with envy.

Merry Christmas!