Hamming it up in long johns as Snivel in panto

I AWAITED the announcement of who had got which part in the Tain Pantomime with quiet confidence.

In a show like Sleeping Beauty it would be entirely appropriate for an elected Highland Councillor to play either Prince Charming or Sleeping Beauty’s father, the wise and kindly king.

It was therefore with some slight surprise that I learnt that I had been cast as a character called Snivel, the evil witch Deadly Nightshade’s incompetent assistant.

And that wasn’t the end of it. Because at the first rehearsal, the show’s director Kirsty Gordon, informed me (in a very no nonsense way!) that my costume was to be a dirty shirt, a tail coat, and a pair of long johns. No trousers, just the long and very unsexy underwear that is supposedly named after a famous knife fighter who fought in long underwear.

Dear me. Why on earth would any self-respecting knife fighter fight in his unmentionables? Another of these strange facts that trouble me these days.

"Ooh, it’s me underwear, Mistress — it’s giving me terrible gip. I think that the elastic’s gone in me long johns . . ."

This was Deadly Nightshade cue to go round behind me, and then suddenly howk up my sagging undergarment – and in doing so, part the tails of my coat, and pull out the rear part of a voluminous pair of pink-spotted knickers.

The audience loved it: I was concerned that Deadly Nightshade’s hefty grip might be too all-encompassing. But luckily for three nights (and a dress rehearsal) we got away with it.

Whether it is entirely wise for someone ever in search of votes to play a baddie is a moot point. However one thing is for certain, the fusillade of hisses and boos that greeted my final bow each night did mean something . . .

Anyway this is a column for the Festive Season: and let’s face it, Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas without pantomime, baddies and all. I remember last year writing about the Tain Panto and saying that I enjoyed it: this year I loved every single minute of it.

At this point I should say that there is one other thing that means Christmas to me. It is known by my Irish nephews and nieces as "Uncle Jamie’s farting ham".

Departing for the Emerald Isle shortly after this piece is written, it will once again feature in County Armagh; but not before I have first bought a large smoked gammon on the bone in Munro the Butcher’s, Tain.

Upon arrival in Armagh, and almost before the suitcases have gone upstairs, the first thing is to get the big gammon into a fish kettle filled with cold water. There the ham must sit overnight: this is in order to remove some of the salt which it has been cured with. If you don’t do this, then the ham on your plate will end up tasting far too salty.

Next morning the salty water is poured away and the fish kettle is refilled with fresh water from the tap. To this I add four onions, six carrots and six sticks of celery, all of which have been quartered rather than chopped, and then the kettle is lidded and put on the cooker to boil.

It is during this time that my nephews and nieces lurk in happy anticipation of the first giggle.

In order to stop the bottom of the ham coming into direct contact with the bottom of the kettle, and therefore either sticking or scorching, I always place the ham on four upturned saucers — and it’s something about the mechanics of this method of cooking which leads this large and honest piece of meat to make the most embarrassing flatulent noises. I expect that a physicist could explain it; nevertheless during this time visiting clergy tend not to be invited into the kitchen.

I expect that readers will wonder how long I boil it for. And the answer is that I don’t know — save that I boil it until it looks ready, prods fairly easily, and is nowhere near to coming off the bone. When it is ready, out it comes onto a large ashette, and then a bottle of port is fetched. (I mean, Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas without port, would it?)

The deep concentration that is necessary to properly skin a ham, and then stick cloves in straight criss-crossing lines, requires a decent port (Cockburn’s Fine Tawny is very acceptable) and with a steady hand you must take the first sip as soon as the ham is cool enough for the operation to begin.

If you start on the port before you start on the ham, then the cloves become erratically placed, and everyone notices on Christmas day.

Finally the glaze (and some Christmasses I am slightly glazed myself by this stage): I take old bits of honey, golden syrup, even a spot of raspberry jam, and heat and mix it in a saucepan with an equal amount of grainy French mustard.

Quality doesn’t matter at all here, any stuff will do, but the important thing is to have enough glaze to cover the whole of the top and the sides of the ham before you stick it in the oven. As for timing, two Church of Ireland services is about right.

Strangely enough I often tend to nod off between the carols.

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