The year the barbie caught fire .. and a dog almost drowned. Photo: Bill Rodgers.
What happens when the tinsel hits the fan – and finds itself wrapped around that thing so tight only scissors and a small prayer will save it?
Welcome to Christmas: the one day of the year where we confidently attempt a MasterChef-level feast despite owning only one roasting pan and a questionable meat thermometer.
Under the pressure of a 25 December deadline no one asked for, Christmas can sometimes come boxed with a host of calamities.
And honestly, these calamities are the stories that fuel Christmas lunches for years. They age like fine wine — even if the day itself felt more like goon bag.
Take Editor Jen White, who survived what is now referred to only as The Great Christmas Fire of 2020.
“We’d managed to avoid the COVID bullet and our gathering of 14 was enjoying the festivities at my sister’s home,” she said.
“For years our lunch has followed the traditions of my dad’s family – pork, ham, chicken and/or turkey and roast vegetables.
“We always cook our veggies on the barbecue in trays of cooking oil.
“We use a solid oil, so the barbie is turned on before we need to start cooking to ensure the oil melts.”
Simple enough. Until her brother-in-law casually strolled inside mid present opening and announced: “The barbie… fire… the bloody barbie’s on fire.”
Cue chaos.
There was a frantic hunt for a wrench to undo the gas bottle, a heroic attempt to smother flames with the world’s tiniest fire blanket, and a niece calling the fire brigade in the background.
By the time firefighters arrived, the crisis was under control — at least, the barbecue was no longer impersonating a volcano.
But then came Plot Twist #2:
“In all the chaos, the side gate was left open after the firies left and somehow, the neighbour’s elderly blind and deaf dog managed to escape her yard and stumble into my sister’s yard – and straight into the pool,” she said.
Jen’s sister sprinted and dived in fully clothed to rescue the poor thing, who seemed mildly annoyed at being saved.
Dinner was eventually served — on the stove, in batches, several hours late — but the family walked away with two new rules:
1. Watch the oil.
2. Close the bloody gate.
Christmas calamities aren’t rare.
If my late nan were still here, she’d tell you about the year she had just a little too much eggnog, hit her head on the fireplace hearth and got to ride in an ambulance.
Emergency departments will tell you: nothing screams “holiday spirit” like someone turning up with a bauble-related injury or electrical burns from testing “just one more light string”.
Elf and safety, people. Elf and safety.
Food-related catastrophes are another classic, and we’re not just talking about the moment you take the turkey out of the oven after three hours, only to realise you forgot to turn the darn thing on.
One large family now insists on a “bring a plate” Christmas after one year where the dedicated host accidentally gave the entire guest list food poisoning.
Boxing Day was spent communing with the porcelain gods, and the shared-plate policy has remained ever since — mostly so they can share the blame next time.
Calamities aren’t always dramatic. Sometimes they’re just … disappointing.
Sub-editor Andrew Sutton remembers driving back to Wagga for his afternoon shift to produce the next day’s Boxing Day newspaper, only to have to eat ham-and-cheese sandwiches on the highway while festive lunches happened without him.
I was once rostered on Christmas Day and thought instead of packing a lunch, I’d treat myself to lunch out – only to realise nothing but the service station was open.
So I dined on a cold, day-old pie with a splash of festive tomato sauce. Lesson: always pack lunch.
Then there are the present disasters.
Late deliveries. Porch pirates stealing on-time deliveries. Realising the gift you bought is wildly mismatched in value to the gift you received, as you unwrap an enormous six-part hamper of artisan treats while handing over a Woolies $20 gift card.
My nan used to keep a drawer full of pre-wrapped emergency gifts for unexpected visitors.
Genius — until the year she handed a neighbour with a severe nut allergy a jar of Cadbury chocolate-coated almonds.
And then there was the trampoline saga.
We bought one for the kids. Santa was to take full credit. We waited until they went to bed to assemble it, only to discover the instructions were entirely in Swedish.
Thank heavens my husband was mentoring a Swedish Rotary exchange student at the time.
After four hours and some colourful language that definitely wasn’t Swedish, it stood. Mostly straight.
Christmas will always have its calamities — big, small, flaming or mildly disappointing. But make this the year you glide into Boxing Day relatively unscathed.
Or at least with a funny story that doesn’t involve firefighters and a blind dog.
