How to Make Gravy

January 8, 2011

Now.  I was planning to write this on the 21st of December, thinking how perfect it would be to write a post on the 21st of December about a song/story that takes place on the 21st of December.  What an amazing coming together.  You would have loved it.  For realsies.

BEFORE the 21st of December, when everything was normal, when everything was good, I had thought that I would spend the day baking, writing, getting ready for the Malteser and I to drive to Newcastle on Christmas Eve.  What I ended up doing on the 21st of December was wandering around my parents’ house in Tasmania in a daze, counting the number of days since I’d been made single.  The 21st of December – 10 days since I don’t know what, 10 days since my heart froze and shattered into dust.  Ten days since my slate was wiped.

How to Make Gravy is the best Christmas song written.  Apart from Silent Night, but that’s about Jeebus, and you know.  Jeebus.  Hmm.  I don’t know.  But How to Make Gravy aint about beautiful tiny peaceful babies, it’s about fucked up dudes who are feeling it.  About wanting to be somewhere where they can’t be.  And that’s more my speed.  Especially at the moment.  Especially when on the 18th of December I’m watching the Rockwiz Christmas special and I’m sending the Malteser an email with our recipe for Maltese bread pudding, the way we made it last year at Christmas, the way he’ll want to make it this year, and as soon as I send the email Paul Kelly walks out on stage and sings How to Make Gravy.

My Christmas ended up being quite good.  But what I wouldn’t have given for a piece of that rubbery, tasteless Maltese bread pudding.

With a little glace cherry on the top.