I've made a cock-up.
A very large cock-up.
It appears that I was so shocked by the fact that our turkey was still alive at the moment of ordering, that I got my pounds and my kilograms confused.
I have therefore ordered a TEN KILO TURKEY for next weekend. Rather than a ten pound one. That is somewhere in region of TWENTY POUNDS. There will be, at most, fourteen of us.
Oh good grief.
What am I going to do?
B phoned the farm first thing on Monday and asked them if the turkey had already gone for the chop and if not, could we please swap it for a smaller model.
However, it was bad news. Our turkey was (to quote the farm shop chap, who turned out to have a sense of humour as well as being relatively helpful) an ex-turkey.
There was no going back.
Farm Shop Chap suggested asking Turkey Producer Chap to crown the turkey for us - ie, to remove the legs and perhaps the breastbone. This should make it a bit smaller.
And therefore it might stand a vague chance of going in the oven.
So we did.
It's arriving on Thursday.
Next year, I am going to volunteer to bring something simple, that isn't so reliant on me actually being a competent human being.
Like wine. Or cheese*.
I fear the turkey.
* Thanks to Dream for reminding me that this sketch existed. He has been looking for some Stinking Bishop, with no success.