Notes: For Ellie, with sincere apologies for my tardiness. This was actually written in time for the 23rd but I have been having LJ access problems over Christmas. Title and inspiration from the song by The Waitresses.
I have decided that I am not doing Christmas this year. Bah humbug! And all that.
Actually, that's not true. It's usually my favourite time of year, but this year is different. I'm in the middle of filming Rings and so I'm too busy with work to get back to see the family, and it's been such a mad year anyway that all the stuff you're supposed to do is just a hassle. I don’t think I have the energy to even shop for food, let alone get all my presents and write all my cards and decorate my house and all that nonsense.
I'm probably just feeling sorry for myself. Partly that'’s my own ego. I mean, what's the point in being an elf if you’re not the prettiest? I know Orli’s like the 'star' elf, and I should be grateful to have as big a part as I do, but I just can't carry off the blond wig like he can. I have to comfort myself that we still can trash England at the rugby, and I don’t even like sport that much. Except gymnastics, but that's more of an aesthetic thing, you know?
The other reason I’m all about the self-pity this year is the fact that I am single. Again. And the worst thing is, I shouldn't be! All year, there’s been this guy I've had my eye on – one of my fellow cast members, and yeah, I know, I shouldn’t mix work and pleasure. But, hey, that hasn't stopped the rest of them! Honestly, the hobbits and Orlando are this mad incestuous soap opera. Actually, I should tell the guys at Shortland Street about it, give them some ideas.
Anyway, this guy: he's like me, one of the supporting cast, and plays a Rohanian warrior person. Whatever they’re called. A horse rider. He’s called Karl, and he’s a bit of a sexy beast. Quite stubbly – which I like in a man, so you can imagine that my eye is constantly wandering at the Helm's Deep shoot. He's got lovely full lips too and these beautiful eyes... yeah, I think I fancy him.
And – shock, horror – I think he likes me, but I just don't know for sure. We keep saying we're going to meet up for drinks or lunch, have a little bit of supporting cast solidarity. I wouldn't probably read anything into that romantically, except he’s not inviting any of the others and we don't even have scenes together.
Not that I haven't tried to convince Fran and Phillippa to write some in.
Now I think of it, that's part of the problem really. We can never seem to find the right time to do it. Either he's at a shoot in one part of the country or I'm at one in another, and whilst we've seen each other plenty it's always been in passing, when there are loads of other people there and so it's hardly the best moment for a bit of a one-to-one chat.
There's been a couple of times when there might have been an opportunity. Last summer, there was a big beach party most of the cast were invited to and he was there. Which would have been great. Except, I wasn't there, because the day before I'd been trying to build up my tan in preparation – nothing worse than going to the beach and looking like you're made of undercooked dough – but I fell asleep on the tanning bed and woke up looking like half of me had been dipped in ketchup. So instead I stayed at home, applying cream to my various tender regions and missed seeing him in his shorts.
Then there was the Hallowe'en party Elijah organised. Again, everybody was invited, and I stayed away from all forms of ultraviolet light and resisted the temptation to come in drag (I didn't want to scare him off), and instead was resplendent in my best Roman gladiator outfit, which got me a few admiring glances. Sir Ian even complimented me. I have to say, he makes a fabulous Carmen Miranda.
But, alas! No Karl. His car broke down and he had to sit there in his nun's habit waiting for the tow truck instead. The fates were conspiring against us.
And despite all the promises that we would stay in touch, finally arrange that meal, we never did.
Well, fine. I've taken the hint: I am going to have a quiet Christmas, alone, and I am not expecting any romance. I turned down all the party invites, put up a small but tasteful tree, bought myself Gladiator on DVD, and for dinner got myself a nice piece of New Zealand lamb. Which is cooking in the oven as I speak.
I personally am not currenly anywhere near the oven as I suddenly realised that I had forgotten mint sauce. If you don’t have lamb with mint sauce, it’s not worth it.
So now I find myself in just about the only shop in the area open on Christmas day getting a jar. To the tinny sound of piped Christmas music I grab one from the shelf and head for the queue. The guy in front of me looks vaguely familiar but I don't really pay much attention until he turns his head and... oh God.
He turns around and grins. My knees go a little weak.
"Craig! What are you doing here?"
I hold up the jar. "Forgot mint sauce. You?"
He holds up a frozen lamb dinner-for-one. "I get a little sachet included."
What is he doing buying that on Christmas Day? "That’s your Christmas dinner?"
He shrugs, looking a little embarrassed. "It’s been a bit busy lately. I was just going to have a quiet one."
"Me too." Suddenly we both giggle, and just the sound of his laugh makes my heart flutter. "Listen," I say, "I have a nice big joint cooking at home and it's too much for just one person. Got to be better than that frozen muck."
"I wouldn’t want to cause you any trouble," he says, in that way that you know means he is desperate to say yes.
"No problem, really. I’d be glad of the company."
"Great!" He throws his arm around me, tossing the frozen dinner to one side. "What are we waiting for?"
I take a few seconds to reply, finding it difficult to form words now that I am touching him and he is touching me, and I can feel the muscles in his arm and... hubba.
"Well, I need to pay for the mint sauce..."
So I don’t spend Christmas on my own after all. Or indeed much of that whole week. It was quite romantic: we did manage to properly have dinner and watch a whole twenty minutes of Gladiator before jumping each other. And he’s even better naked than I thought he would be. Lovely hairy chest and big muscles and those lips are extremely talented, let me tell you. As for the rest of him, well, he is very talented in many areas now I think of it. Walking was a little difficult for a few days, but that good satiated limp that only comes from fabulous sex.
Not that I was the only one limping, mind you.
I just hope the hickeys die down before make-up get a hold of either of us. Unless PJ wants to reshoot that scene where Aragorn greets Haldir and make it a little more erotic. Actually, I might suggest it anyway.
So not only did I do Christmas, I finally got to do Karl too.
Which is the sort of present I wouldn't mind every year.