We learned from the previous owners that they had held a mulled wine evening somewhere close to Christmas for the last five years. Right from the off we were very keen to uphold this local tradition. There was a momentary hiccup while we debated with some other neighbours who should hold it, because we'd been told they had expressed an interest in doing it this year. Having spoken with them, it turned out this was only a backstop in case "the new people" didn't want to do it. As soon as we convinced them we really wanted to have the party here, they more or less insisted we do it.
With most of the house still to some extent in a mess, we had to leave it until the last possible weekend before Christmas to organise it, so eventually the date was set for Friday 15th and invites went out. We had one decline (previous engagement) and no other replies, so we didn't have any idea what to expect - but the last thing we anticipated was the arrival, on the dot, of the person who said she couldn't make it. "Hubby's been delayed at work, so I thought I'd just pop over and show my face," she laughed, and was joined a few minutes later by another neighbour in a similar situation. Both she and her husband were off to different works' dos but she wanted to support the event and stayed for a glass of wine.
We learned from the first that she was still getting "funny mail" having been here more than ten years (not sure whether that was a comfort or not!) and from the second that her kitchen man had managed to install her entire kitchen for less than a quarter of what we were quoted. A useful man to know!
After slightly overstaying their declared thirty minutes, both these ladies made their apologies and left, and Nikki and I stood in perfect pre-party gloom, alone with our cups of mulled wine wondering whether anyone else was going to turn up. We needn't have worried: during the next hour more-or-less the whole street turned up, and the wine, cheese and excellent conversation flowed well into the night. The "second era" of mulled wine parties was well and truly ushered in that night and we thoroughly enjoyed it.
The following day we were up early again and preparing to welcome all my mates from Nottingham for the weekend. After the successes of the Great Orme weekend and the 50th birthday celebrations we were determined to keep up the pace of get-togethers since there'd been a bit of a cultural desert in the middle of the year. We just managed to squeeze this date in before Christmas and it was the first time anyone had seen the new place.
Once everyone had arrived, had a brew and been given the 50c tour, we caught the bus into town to take in the Christmas markets. Not surprisingly (this was the markets' last weekend of trading) they were all rammed, but we had a good look around and then repaired to Sinclairs Oyster Bar for a very welcome couple of pints. We timed it perfectly - hitting the upstairs while there was still one table free and space at the bar. Within 15 minutes of our arrival it was standing room only and three deep at the bar!
Walking back up Market Street, we caught the bus from Piccadilly and on arrival home sat those who were fans down in front of Strictly Come Dancing while we prepared a chilli. It was a squeeze fitting eight around our dining table, but SO great to have everyone there enjoying the meal, laughing and joking. For me, at that moment, the spirit of Christmas crystallised. There is surely nothing better than welcoming your oldest friends and their partners into your home and sharing a wonderful meal together.There then followed a shift change in front of the TV as the Strictly Come Dancing fans made way for the X Factor fans and we watched the final, with (naturally) rather more piss-taking than normal service would have expected. Pretty soon after we were all showing our age - various nodding heads paying homage to the lateness of the hour, the full bellies and the quantity of quaffage, so we declared an end to proceedings and went to our various beds.
Sunday morning dawned bright and bleary and with a traditional breakfast of bacon baps tucked away, the mates departed each to their own destinations. For while I still refer to them all as "my Nottingham mates" the truth is they only originated in Nottingham. Nowadays only two of our group live there (and one had not come for the weekend). The rest of us are more widely dispersed but still answer to the title "Nottingham mates" and ever mote it be.
The excitement of the weekend was not yet over, however: a further surprise was yet to come in the form of Annie offering us an option of a second-hand home-cinema-surround-sound system she'd been hawking around on behalf of another friend. Scarcely pausing to draw breath she was upon us, wiring up a demo (sans sub woofer) and insinuating the delights of surround sound under our skins to the point where we could hardly refuse the deal. Like I said at the beginning: WHAT a weekend!
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