Christmas Dinner

Last year it was Merlin's turn to cook Christmas Dinner and he decided, with his usual irreverent humour, upon a large round marble-topped table. King Arthur glowered across the table at his old mentor who swilled wine from a golden chalice that remained brim-full of crimson elixir no matter how much the aged wizard drank. It had not helped the king's mood any that Merlin had laid the table by plunging the cutlery deep into the marble so that only Arthur himself could remove it, and the assorted company had insisted on cheering and laughing with each knife he withdrew.

`All hail King Arthur!' again and again.

Except for Launcelot and Guinevere, of course, who sat opposite each other making moon eyes.

`Did you have to invite them?' he demanded of Merlin in a clearly audible whisper.

Merlin had the grace to look embarassed. `It's been over a thousand years, Arthur. I thought they'd at least be over the puppy-dog phase by now. By the way,' he added, in an obvious attempt to change the subject, `do you like my angel?'

Arthur glanced at the top of the Christmas tree where an angel fluttered angrily. Captured in semi-corporeal state inside a crystal ball, the energy of its agitated dance lit the hall like a bright candle.

`Are you sure that's wise?' Arthur asked nervously.

The old druid chuckled. `I'll make it up to him later.'

Sir Galahad said grace, offering thanks to God for the two hundred and forty seven good things that had happened during the year, while the others tucked into the food. Turkey, of course, a huge turkey, gutted, stuffed and cooked without a single feather having been singed, its eyes wide and beak open in an expression of such surprise that no one dared try to cut it.

The Christmas Pudding proved to be purely decorative, but no one cared since the brandy and butter were served separately, and there was plenty of the former.

All in all it was a pleasant meal, and they all went back to their graves replete.