Christmas Past

Once again the stretch-waistband trousers have been recruited in order to help fight the battle of the bulge.

Turkey fed us for almost three days and the boiled ham (which is good for a week after boiling) is stolidly providing the occasional sandwich and, now and again, a tasty doggy treat.

The festivities, such as they were, provided full bellies as usual but, unfortunately, also one day in which the toilet bowl was severely pebble-dashed on a number of occasions by what remained of an over indulgence of brussels sprouts.

I have to be honest ... if it wasn't for the food, cookies and an excess of chocolate, Christmas may have past us by unnoticed.

Ok! Ok!

We had decorations up, you know ... Christmas tree, lights ... that kind of stuff, but only in a 'grown up, no kids in the house' sort of way.

This year, more than any year previously, I felt a yearning for the Christmas's of yesteryear; for the Christmas's I knew as a child.

I can remember snow on Christmas day; an afternoon spent sledging; Morecambe and Wise; fruit instead of chocolate.

I remember simplicity, fun, gratitude for gifts received and strange relatives popping in to say Merry Christmas!

Everything stopped for Christmas. Shop's closed for two days and,in the eyes of the child that I was, no one seemed to do anything other than have fun.

But those days are gone!

I'm getting old, cynical and fed up to the back teeth of the commercialism that is Christmas.

The Christmas's of '61, '62,'65 and '68 were snow-filled wonderlands and no-one ever complained about traffic problems.  Kid frolicked in snowdrifts, built snowmen and pummelled each other with snowballs. They were Christmas's that really made you want to sing carols!

The TV, only BBC1 and ITV in those days, showed programmes that would both excite and fascinate
us kids as we warmed ourselves in front of the coal fire before going out yet again to ride and ride that new bike through the snow.

Oh how I yearn for those simple days; fun without responsibility and a lifetime to look forward to.

My last year of Junior School was however was a Christmas that I remember for only one thing ... the day my voice broke during the singing of The Twelve Days of Christmas at the school Christmas concert.

I have no idea whether it snowed that year or not.

Waiting for Christmas

It is now officially "Christmas" because most, well some of us at least, have already started their Christmas holidays.  I finish work for two days at 7.30 am on the 25th on the and face the daunting uphill battle, as we all do, to get this place ship shape for the arrival of our guests.  We have a tree (imitation, of course ... no screams) but we are opting out of all the tinsel and paper chains that always leave so much mess on the floor ... that's what Clover and the cats are for now.

We have our smattering of Christmas cards lined up on every bit of furniture with a flat surface and we have Sky + so basically, that's all we are doing (the Sky + isn't exactly a festive decoration, but it does let me see all the football I want to see).

No doubt other households around the UK are also spartanly decorated ... that's what always happens when the "kids" become young "adults" and discover the delights of opposite sex and alcohol, and get their driving licence.  It's a shame they have to grow up really ... they should just move out before they reach their teens!

Anyway, Christmas;  "Humbug", "Figgy pudding", "Ho-ho-ho" and all that!  It isn't as exciting as it was when we were little, is it!  It's hard work!  And it doesn't matter how hard you try, someone will ALWAYS find something to moan about:  "This gravy is a bit thin, isn't it!",  "Couldn't you afford proper mince pies?", "Call this a turkey? Our budgie's bigger than this!".

Then there is always the unexpected visitor for lunch, the uncle who you only see at Christmas when he comes to collect his presents, or the aunt who can't stop herself from squeezing out an SBD* every few minutes and blaming someone else.  Has anyone ever had a perfect Christmas? 

We've left those perfect days long behind us, I'm afraid.  The days of the "Singing, ringing Tree" on TV at Christmas are long gone and have been replaced by classics such as "Top Gear Christmas Specials", the never ending saga of the "Great Escape", and "Noel's Christmas ....  (or whatever they're going to call it this year) ... Show"

At the end of the day, whether you like Christmas or loath it, we are still going to go through the motions of having a good time, even though the turkey burns to a cinder, your presents are all naff and someone throws up on your new rug.  And next year we'll all be saying "D'you remember last year when ...." as if last year was something special and magic.

It's going to be a long, hard Christmas day ... I've got the 'outlaws' coming around!

Merry Christmas and Hum-bloody-bug to you all  (with knobs on)






*   Silent But Deadly farts

Another Christmas

It's that time of year and we've spent our hard earned cash,

on cards and presents and a good Christmas bash.

We'll all get presents that will force us to smile,

and the gift that you wanted will be missed by mile.

There'll be books, chocolate, underwear and socks,

just the usual gifts but no great shocks.

Then food galore will be dumped on the table,

and we'll gorge ourselves till we're no longer able.

There will be burps and farts and occasional snore,

until all we ate settles then we go back for more.

We'll sit around the TV and watch the Queen's speech,

and get the usual guest that hangs on like a leech.

When the evening comes there's more food to eat,

at least for those that can still find their feet.

For the sherry has flowed and beer has been drunked*,

for the oldies some tea in which biscuits are dunked.

We'll all sing some hits of a bygone era,

and remember those absent, like my cousin Vera.

Then off the guests go to their own little homes,

waddling merrily like drunken garden gnomes.

The washing up and the mess that they made,

unwashed and untouched in the dining room stayed.

Then it's off to bed feeling ever so stuffed,

my amorous advances ignored and rebuffed!


* artistic license 

Christmas Again!

It's Christmas time,

a time of cheer, 

for presents and food

and dad drinkin' beer.

Broken new toys,

wrapping paper still on the floor,

a visit from those neighbours,

the ones you don't like any more. 

Mum in the kitchen,

strugglin' with the lunch,

trying to prepare food,

for the whole bleedin' bunch. 

Dad's on the bog,

with a can of Newcastle Brown,

lukkin at his Girlie calendar,

n he don't mind that it's upside down. 

The 'outlaws' arrive,

around about two,

and all they can do,

is complain about you. 

At the table it's said,

the turkey is dry,

the sprouts are too soft,

and you just want to cry. 

Then back to the telly,

to see the Queen,

cos she speaks the bestest

English what's ever been. 

Around about six,

there's more food on the table,

and we all start eating

as much as we're able. 

later on,

lunch time sprouts play their part,

as adults sip wine

and secretly fart. 

Over at last,

you sip your brandy

n tell your ol' man

forget bein' randy! 

Off to bed,

straight to sleep,

all that hard work,

and not one 'thank you' peep.

Bog = Toilet

Newcastle Brown = Newcastle Brown Ale (brewed in the North East of England)

Outlaws = The In-laws            

Sandy Hook

My heart goes out to those families who's lives have been devastated by the Sandy Hook shootings.

Those children and their teachers who were gunned down in this sickening atrocity should never be forgotten!

May they rest in peace!

Sadly politicians will once again hide behind old arguments and the American Constitution to ensure that their  political funding continues to flow from all those that profit from the manufacture and sale of guns.

They will hide behind the argument that Americas should be doing more to help the mentally impaired rather than take a pen and 'amend' the Second Amendment or restrict the sale of automatic assault weapons.

It would be a tragedy indeed if politicians ... family men and women, one and all ... were not to take meaningful action to prevent another mass loss of life by drastically changing America's gun laws. 

Animal Warfare!

Due to on-going 'operations' to repair (once again) my laptop I am forced to hand-feed you a re-post via the 'antique-in-the-corner' PC otherwise known as 'The Abacus'.

For the smarty-pants folks out there, there are some some BIG words to ponder and, for the simpler folks, there's a joke that is as old as I am, if not older, but it is easy to understand. 

You know,  I really wanted to post something snappy with bite and humour, to start everyone's week off in the right way.

But you know what?

I can't really be bothered!

For the last seven days I've been out of the house by 6.30 am and worked hard all day for the traditional wage of Platyrrhine and Cercopithecidae* the world over.

In the evenings (with Julie) I've been decorating!

I am now officially very tired and not in the mood to blog so here's a silly joke for you all instead ...


.....

Animal rights campaigners protested against American forces deploying defenceless sheep onto the battle field.  The protest ended peacefully after it was revealed that the sheep wouldn't be defenceless at all ... they would be armed with Maaaaaaaaaaa-chine guns!!! 

(from my friend Robert, a client)


* Which means I work for PEANUTS because ....
Platyrrhine = Old World Monkeys (Africa and Asia: falling in the super-family Cercopithecoidea in the clade Catarrhini)

Cercopithecidae = New World Monkeys (Central and South America: Callitrichidae, Cebidae, Aotidae, Pitheciidae, and Atelidae)

Li'l Ol' Avat-thingies

 So which one do you like best

A                      or                                  B

or neither?

Let me know!

Splash or A Bus Drivers Guilty Pleasure

Careful observation and a few knocks have led me to the conclusion that some bus drivers in South Wales are having a little fun at our (the passengers) expense.

We all know that boarding a bus can be a daunting experience.

You know how it is;

        you buy your ticket or flash your bus pass

        you turn to head towards a seat, and ...

        the bus wheel-spins it's way back into traffic

        you hurtle down the aisle of the bus, passing your intended choice of seating at
        a very high velocity

        if you are unlucky, your passage down the aisle ends with you sprawled on the
        floor just above the buses rear axle.

It's happened to me many times ... without the sprawling ... and it's damned annoying but, strangely, like everyone else, I never complain.

But there is new game afoot!

I call it 'Splashing'.

Let me explain by telling you about yesterday.

It concerns a young gentleman (he wore a floppy woolly hat and those ridiculous off-the-arse jeans displaying multi-coloured underwear and never took his texting-thumb or his eyes from his mobile [cell] phone, so I'm more inclined to refer to him as 'knob-head') who, realising that he was approaching his point of disembarkation, stood up and began to make his way to the front of the bus. He continued to stare at the small screen of his Blueberry, his thumb still jerking about over the keypad.

The bus was little more than fifty yards from the bus stop but still travelling at about 25 miles per hour.

As knob-he ... sorry, the 'gentleman' ... was half way down the aisle, the driver applied the brakes!

Hi didn't push the brake peddle through the floor to bring the bus to a grinding halt. No!

He applied firm pressure, bringing the bus smoothly, but quickly, to a halt.

Knob-h ... the gentleman ... still focusing on his mobile phone began to accelerate towards the front of the bus.

His left arm flailed uselessly at the hand-holds on the backs of seats and the support post, missing everyone as his speed increased to a level Usain Bolt would have been proud of.

The bus stopped.

So did knob-head!

A fly hitting the windscreen of your car splashes; it turns itself inside out in a fraction of a second.

Knob-head 'splashed' against the inside of the windscreen ... he didn't turn himself inside out or leave a bloody smear on the glass but he did say ...

"Oooooof!" as he rebounded onto his arse.

"You ok?" asked the driver?

"Oooooof!" said knob-head as he picked himself up and, red faced, left the bus.

"There you have it, ladies and gentlemen!" shouted the driver to the sniggering passengers.

"Mobile phones can be very, very  dangerous!"

Snot What I Was Expecting!

It was cold last night.

And I made the mistake of taking Clover for a late walk.

Over the past few evenings the weather has been mild with temperatures of around 5º or 6º C so I didn't think it was going to be so damned cold!

Although I was well wrapped up, there were tell-tale signs of the air's true nature.

In less than a minute my nose began to ...shall we say leak?

I put my hand into my coat pocket to take out the pack of tissues that I always keep there and found myself engaged in a tussle with the pockets lining, which seemed intent on holding onto them.

As I struggled (I really should have removed my gloves, but it was so cold), my runny nose began to prickle.  I felt rather than heard a crackling and pinging in my nostrils as my snot began to freeze.

I redoubled my efforts to liberate my tissues, accidentally tearing the pockets lining in the process.

It was no good!  The glove had to come off!

Once the packet was freed from the depths of pockets, a solitary tissue was extracted and I began to tidy the effluence from my nose.
     

        Effluence:  meaning 'a substance that flows out from something'. 

                           In this instance, however, the flow had ceased and had
                           become a frozen, snotty bridge between my nostrils and
                           my moustache

O-o-o-o-oh!

As I blew my nose a mini iceberg was ejected from my nasal passage.

The pain! The pain!

I decided to cut short our walk and I headed home with Clover.

Once safely back inside I decided to inspect the damage to my nose.

As I looked in the mirror I was horrified to see that pieces of  tissue had frozen to my moustache.

GOD!

On my walk back home I had passed at least four people!

The shame!

In our street I would forever be known as the man with tissue frozen to his top lip.

And this morning?

My nose still bloody hurts!

'm 'ld You Deaf Ba$ta%d!

Every married man has been through this at some stage.

It happens every winter in millions of homes across the world and is, or could be, the reason for many a divorce.

It is a short exchange that takes place in the bedroom on a winters night after the lights go out it goes something like this:

Wife:          'm 'ld!

Husband:   What?

Wife:          'm 'ld!

 Husband:   What? What'd you say?

 Wife:         'm 'old!

 Husband:   You're old?

 Wife:         I'M COLD! You deaf bastard! Need a c'dle!

 Husband:   You need a what?

 Wife:         FOR F&%KS SAKE! I need a cuddle!

At this point a dutiful husband will sacrifice his own warmth and slide across the bed. He will endeavour to wrap himself around his wife and valiantly attempt to emulate the effects of an electric blanket, knowing full well that very soon his efforts will be rejected thus:


Wife:          'm 't!

Husband:   What?

Wife:          'm 't!

 Husband:   What the hell are you on about?

 Wife:         'm 'ot!

 Husband:   You're not what?

 Wife:         I'M HOT! Are you deliberately trying to wind me up? 'sh 'ff!

 Husband:   What?

 Wife:         PUSH OFF! Leave me alone! You grumpy git!


It takes a strong minded man to brush this off, roll over and go to sleep!

I know!

I do this almost every night!