The Last Furlong

Comments on the race of life.


Waste not want not

For ten days, I have eaten everything I’ve wanted to. Mr Furlong, who is the chef in the Furlong household, has made some pretty yummy food, including Fudge and Coconut Ice. Our cupboards have been groaning with food.

The wrong kind of food.

It’s been wonderful!

But the last delivery that Mr Furlong ordered, arrived with NO stollen, top iced Christmas cake, shortbread, mince pies, chocolate, or Marzipan. He is not making Fudge or Coconut Ice.

I don’t know what I’m going to do. The end is nigh!

2021 is going to be a year of want.

But it will only begin for me when I’ve finished eating the last of the delicious things that are still left over from Christmas.

I hate waste!

I will check my blood sugar and weight when I’ve scoffed what’s left.

Happy New Year again and again, till it’s not.

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The Furlongs are busy.

Mr Furlong is about to make fudge for Christmas consumption. It gets packed in celophane bags with bows for gifting to our neighbours. We usually have a Christmas bash on the Saturday night before Christmas. But with lockdown that’s gone to pot. The neighbours used to get gifts of apple jelly, or marmelade, or gooseberry jam and such like, and potpourri in muslin bags from me.

I have special potpourri this year. And special bags. I just have to get them packed.

This house usually gets an extra Christmas clean for the party. But there is no party. But I’m doing it anyway. My sister is coming for Christmas dinner. She is the only person in our ‘bubble’. Her home looks like illustrations in a home and garden magazine. I never compete, it’s pointless. Our mini oven is held together by rust, our microwave is an original edition, the kitchen has old fashioned shelves where dishes, plates, vases, mugs, and junk are on display, every counter is cluttered and there is not a new item of furniture anywhere. Its a battered home. I love it because you never need to worry about mucking anything up.

During the pandemic we have forgotten to buy furniture polish. And the old bottle of amazing polish made by my friend is empty. I believe it was a ‘secret’ recipe, inherited from ancestors. It was the most incredible stuff for resurrecting battered furniture. Our Christmas will total three old people, pretty battered ourselves. Pity there wasn’t some kind of amazing furniture polish for us.

I have been ‘polishing’ our furniture with my homemade polish. It’s about the same recipe I add to the pot pourri, with more oil. I think it smells beautiful. It’s improved the old pieces standing around the place.

I asked Mr Furlong what he thought of the fragrance.

He said hesitantly “It smells like Turps?”

No, sir, it doesn’t!

Don’t expect me to rave about the aroma wafting from the kitchen when you make your fudge. I shall pretend I never noticed.


I was never Mother Mary, Mr Furlong was never Joseph

Our Nativity careers at school were pretty crummy.

Only the appealing children got the best parts!

Mr Furlong vaguely remembers possibly being a shepherd once, but never Joseph, or even a King offering myrrh and frankincense to baby Jesus lying in the manger.

I was a scrawny, gangly creature with knobbly knees, pale white blond. Everyone knows Mary had long dark hair and was pretty. And her knees were perfect. I was never Mary.

One would have thought with my white blond looks I could at least have been the Angel Gabriel?

Mr Furlong was lucky to be a shepherd (once) (he thinks). My role was mostly well covered – something to do with the back end of the donkey, or a large chicken with knobbly knees.

I am only remembering this because we are watching the ridiculous movie called ‘Nativity’ on BBC 2. It proves that the Nativity was, contrary to tradition, a heck of a lot of fun.

Mr Furlong and I didn’t know that. It wasn’t fun like that in our day. I think the real Mary and Joseph missed out too. For us, annually, it was a time of disappointment, mortification and humiliation.

I’m glad things seem to be changed.

The best role in the Nativity is to be Baby Jesus. He’s never hurt, disappointed, stage frightened, nor otherwise emotionally blighted for life.

He’s just a plastic doll.

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I’m not really dreaming of Christmas 2020

I see the UK Government got challenged as to why they are trying to make Christmas “nice” when Diwali, Hanukkah, Eid were “nasty” because of Covid restrictions.

Well, I would suggest that it’s because White British is the largest group in the UK, with 45.1 million people (80.5 per cent) in it. 59.3% of the population (33.2 million people) identify as Christian. For all those people, the MAJORITY, Christmas is THEIR celebration.

That’s why there are complaints about the Christmas ads from all the big stores. None of them with actual people in them, are white people!

Talk about cultural expropriation! Everyone is having a good old Christmas, except the natives!

It’s called bending over blackwards! Its so obvious it’s embarrassing – for everyone.

It might be a laugh for some.

But it isn’t really funny.

Is it?

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Best wishes

merry christmas GIF

Have a happy time……


Which Pam and Jim is that?

Christmas cards are arriving.

Some them are a puzzlement.

“From, Pam and Jim” or “Sue and Frank”

Who are you? Which Pam and Jim? Which Sue and Frank?

We know three Pams and Jims and two Sues and Franks.

Hell, people, can’t you just write a surname somewhere?

As a clue!

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Christmas Wishes

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