Sue’s After-Dark Diaries – Episode 23

Dan, Mulled Wine & the Christmas Market Madness

Reader Intro

Welcome back, my delicious trouble-seekers. Episode 23 is a festive disaster wrapped in tinsel, mulled wine, and the ongoing saga of me, Mark, and the unstoppable silicone menace known as Dan. It was supposed to be a romantic Christmas outing… but naturally, the universe said: “No, Sue. Absolutely not.”

If you’ve ever wondered what happens when you mix hot wine, cold weather, a Christmas dog stall, and a vibrator in a handbag… pull up a chair, sweetheart.

Preparation for the Christmas market

I always picture Christmas markets like something out of a film with soft snowflakes, happy couples, tasteful knitwear and zero embarrassment.

And then there’s me.

Mark suggested it earlier that morning, leaning on my kitchen counter like he was auditioning for “Hot Men Doing Shockingly Little.”

“Sue, let’s be festive today,” he said. “Christmas market. Mulled wine. Bit of romance. Maybe you’ll behave.”

“I’m a delight,” I replied. Which was a lie we both politely ignored.

Naturally, I grabbed my handbag, fairly large, it was the one containing lip gloss, tissues, emergency mints, and Dan.

Before you judge me: I bring Dan everywhere now. At this point, he’s basically an emotional support appliance.

Mulled Wine: Because Bad Decisions Need Fuel

The market was gorgeous, there were fairy lights, snowflake decorations, German sausage smoke wafting through the air… and me already wobbling in my heeled boots like a festive newborn giraffe.

Mark bought us mulled wine immediately. The smell alone made my ovaries hum.

I took a sip, delightfully warm, full of spice and dangerous.

I took another.
Then a third.
By the fourth, I was speaking in italics.

Mulled wine hits differently. It goes straight to your festive spirit and switches off your intelligence like a dodgy Christmas light. I’m sure you’ve been there…

Mark kept rescuing my handbag every time I forgot it, which was often.

“Sue,” he said, “you’ve dropped your bag again.”

“It’s gravity’s fault,” I replied. “I’m innocent.”

“You’re a hazard.”

He was correct. I was a hazard wrapped in tinsel and brimming with glorious mulled wine.

The Dog Treat Stall & My Terrible Life Choices

We wandered over to the dog treat stall because Benji deserves the best because he’s basically the only man in my life who doesn’t emotionally confuse me.

The display was adorable. Organic treats in little Christmas wrappers. Reindeer-approved. Elf-certified. Probably gluten-free.

I crouched down to inspect the options, which was a huge mistake because my balance was already questionable and my coat was puffier than my dignity.

I put my handbag on the ground to free up my hands.

Reader, I might as well have placed a ticking bomb.

Mistake.
Massive mistake.
World-shattering mistake.

I was comparing two bones…, one shaped like a candy cane, one shaped like a snowman and thats when a cheerful couple arrived beside us with the happiest spaniel I’ve ever seen.“

“This is Henry,” the woman beamed. “He’s choosing his Christmas treat!”

His tail wagged so hard it was practically rotating.

“Come on, Henry!” the woman said. “Let’s find your Christmas treat! Sniff them, darling!”

Henry sniffed the bones, wagging enthusiastically.

“Aww, look Mark!” I said. “Dogs really appreciate quality—”

Henry stopped sniffing the bones. He turned with his nose twitching

Henry then sniffed the stall, my coat, and then he froze like a sniffer dog discovering cocaine in someone’s suitcase. His nose pointed and locked onto my handbag,

“Oh no,” I whispered. “Oh yes,”

Mark muttered.

Oh sweet Jesus,” I whispered.
Mark said, “This is going to be good.”

Dan’s Grand Entrance

Before I could react, Henry plunged his fluffy head into my handbag with the enthusiasm of a dog discovering roast chicken.

I lunged.
The wife lunged.
Mark made a noise somewhere between “nooo” and “I’m not getting involved.”

Henry resurfaced… triumphantly holding something long, silicone, pink… and pulsing faintly.

He had Dan in his mouth.

A vibrating, anatomically undeniable Dan.
Full visibility.
Full power.

I have never known such silence. The entire market went still. You could hear a mince pie crumb drop.

The wife shrieked:
“That’s not a dog toy!”

THE UNDERSTATEMENT OF THE YEAR.

The husband choked on his caramel fudge sample.
Mark made a noise that sounded like a dying accordion.

And Henry?
Henry thought he’d discovered the world’s greatest chew toy.

As he pranced gleefully around the market, tail wagging wildly, Dan vibrated against his teeth, which only excited him more.

The buzzing echoed.

The blinking lights overhead reflected off Dan’s shiny silicone like a disco ball of shame.

“Oh my GOD, DAN, STOP,” I shrieked, chasing the dog through the crowd.

People turned.

People stared.

Every time the vibrator buzzed against his teeth, he got more excited.

A small child pointed and shouted:
“Mummy! The lady’s dog has a magic wand!”

IT WAS NOT A MAGIC WAND. It wasn’t even my dog.

Mark tried to chase him but slipped on fake snow and did an involuntary tap dance routine.

The husband wheezed, “HENRY! DROP THE… THE… ITEM!”

The wife wouldn’t say what it was.

I don’t blame her.

If I weren’t me, I wouldn’t say it either.

I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me whole.

The Great Dan Retrieval Mission

Henry zig-zagged between stalls like he was starring in Mission Impossible and a path of humiliation. Every time his teeth clapped down, Dan buzzed a little louder.

People gasped.
People laughed.
Someone actually clapped.

At one point, Dan vibrated so loudly it made Henry’s wag with glee a even more, knocking over a decorative wooden reindeer.

I was beside myself.

I considered fleeing to another country.

Or faking my own death.

Either option was reasonable at this point.

Mark tried to grab him, but slipped and nearly took out a rack of woolly hats.

The husband attempted to call the dog back:

“Henry! Henry, DROP IT! DROP THE… THE… THING!”

The wife covered her face.

I covered mine.

Eventually Henry skidded to a stop near the mulled wine hut and dropped Dan in the snow like a proud hunter delivering a pheasant.

I couldn’t breathe.

Mark approached the abandoned vibrator like it was an unexploded bomb.

The wife picked it up between two fingertips arms fully extended, like tongs.

“Is this… um… yours?”

I nodded, cheeks burning so hot I could’ve toasted marshmallows on them.

She handed Dan back, wrapped in more napkins than you could count and a look that suggested she was evaluating her life choices.

Henry wagged his tail, blissfully unaware he had just traumatised a small portion of the London Christmas market.

The Walk of Shame

Mark and I left the market with the speed of people escaping a crime scene.

He didn’t speak.

I didn’t speak.

Dan buzzed slightly because the cold interfered with his dignity.
(Which, frankly, was already in shreds.)

Once we reached a quieter street, Mark finally broke, bursting into laughter. NOT a giggle, he was bent over and laughing so hard he nearly pulled a muscle.

“Mark! Stop! It’s not funny!”

I swatted him.

“It’s not funny!”

“It is,” he gasped. “Sue… you unleashed Dan on a spaniel. You basically invented canine sex education.”

“Sue… you brought a vibrator to a Christmas market. A dog found it. A child thought it was a wand. A REINDEER Nearly died.”

“It didn’t die!”

“It fell over. That counts.”

I sulked.

“He kissed my forehead, still laughing.

The menace.

“I love your chaos.”

“I swear, Sue… I don’t need TV. I just need you.”

And damn it, I melted. Like a snowman under a hairdryer.

That Night, In My Diary…

As soon as I got home, Dan was submerged in bubbles and a good scrub to wash off the carnage of what felt like a war zone.
Fed Benji his absurdly expensive reindeer-endorsed treat, and opened my diary. Poured myself a large glass of wine.

Then wrote this:

Lessons Learned:

1. Never bring Dan to a public Christmas market.

2. Never put my bag on the ground.

3. Spaniels are fearless and braver than the Navy.

4. Mark finds my disasters way too entertaining, and he’s going to mention this at every opportunity.

5. I can never return to that stall again. I’m never showing my face at that market again.

But knowing me… I probably will.
Next year, I might just stay at home with a bottle of wine, a mince pie, and Dan… where he belongs and not in the mouths of Henrys.

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