Heracles and the Hot Pudding

We've just had our Christmas Lunch here at work. A rather tepid affair in the staff restaurant. We have two sittings, so are herded through like lightning with no real opportunity to relax and socialise. Mediocre pate or french onion soup, followed by roast turkey (or veggie bake) and all the trimmings, Christmas pudding, mince pies and coffee. A single glass of wine. All downed in under 45 minutes.

My cracker "present" was a plastic moustache - the sort that pinches your nose between the nostrils. I really am wearing it as I write this.
My paper hat was green with square "battlements" around the crown.
My "joke" was "What do you call a penguin in the Sahara desert?... Lost!"

However, the highlight was Julian being dared to eat his whole Christmas pudding in one mouthful. Only an idiot would accept the challenge: the pudding was steaming with heat, covered in hot and sickly brandy sauce, and clearly just too big to fit in one's mouth.

Julian accepted the task, and with some help from my boss - who initiated the dare - managed to crush the pudding in his great maw. Within microseconds his eyes were red and bulging. They began to water. His cheeks were flushed and rosy. Bits of pudding and sauce residue were caked about his gob. He gagged slighty and had the haunted look of a man frantically trying not to be sick. His twisted visage put me right off my pudding.

It took him two minutes to finally gulped down the stodge, but all credit to Julian, he didn't vomit or spit it out.

He smiled like he'd completed one of the Twelve Labors of Heracles.

Although he's a fool, you can't help but admire his child-like simplicity at times.

We'll have him cutting off Gorgan heads and taming wild winged horses in no time.