I brought our turkey home tonight to lie in state in the garage fridge.
And it's a big bird (think Newcastle city centre on a Saturday night).
So much so that I decided to weigh it on our bathroom scales.
One stone precisely.
I'm nothing if not proud.
But what to name him/her?
Last year, Tyrone did us proud. We shall/do remember him.
However, having spent much of the weekend just gone trying to decide what to call this year's table treat, I still could not decide.
Enter Sue the charming cleaner.
At work, we share a kitchen with a local church and sunny Sue and I have a little chat two or three times a week.
This morning I arrived with our turkey dragging behind me having just come from Asda. And I mentioned that I intended to park it in the kitchen where it was cool. That was not good enough for our Sue. Oh no.
It had to go in the church fridge. The only problem was that the fridge was behind a door to which I wasn't certain I had a key.
To calm my nerves, Sue said she wouldn't lock the door - just in case. But, unbeknownst to me, she went a step further.
And when I went collect our turkey at the end of the day, I discovered a note.
