WHAT DID SANTA BRING TO MUCH BICKERING?



I wasn't first down in the dark on Christmas morning to let the dogs out and switch on the tree lights. Cook was already busy in the kitchen and I didn't want to get in her way, so I made a tray of tea and toast and took it back up for us to enjoy in bed. I had thought that we might have a little 'lie in', but neither of us really felt in the mood for that kind of thing…Crichton was too excited about his presents…always such a kid at heart…so we got dressed and went down to see what Santa had left us in our stockings.
A book of Pointless trivia for me…fabulous.
A pair of wind up racing Santas for Crichton...almost painful on the instep as a Lego brick.

The twins haven't surfaced much before eleven o'clock for years, so we set off for St Apollonia's a deux.
The usual crowd were there, minus Douglas and Monica who were at A and E with little Vespasian. He had disgraced himself early and, having pushed the 'disappearing ball' from his magic set up his nose, had failed to make it reappear. I assume that some overworked nurse was removing it with a pair of pliers, when she could have been saving a life. We prayed for those who may not enjoy a good dinner this day and hoped that Monica had taken the turkey out of the oven before they set off.
Rev C gave a mercifully short sermon. His hands still look a little raw and blistered after the carol service debacle, and he seemed to have some trouble holding the chalice, but communion over, Mrs Rudhall actually played O come all Ye faithful right to the end without ruining it. At least we could recognise the tune.
I always get a thrill singing the last verse …
Yea Lord We Greet thee, Born this happy morning…

Home to welcome Granny Trehorlicks, crack open a bottle of fizz and give Cook our presents. 
A new apron with a picture of a dachshund, plus her usual cheque and a Bon Jovi CD…
‘Oh madam, I love that track about the buffalo,’ she said,‘Living on the Prairie.’
She didn't seem particularly pleased with the pinny (we get her new one every year). When I suggested she wore to serve the lunch, she said a firm No. She would put it away in the drawer with all the others for a rainy day, but I noticed she had the cheque shoved down her cleavage before you could say Seasons Greetings. 
Lunch was wonderful of course. Succulent turkey, crisp roast potatoes, crackers, hats and jokes…
Why was the snowman sorting through the carrots? He was picking his nose. 
I thought that was very funny.
After we had eaten our fill and more, we repaired to the drawing room for nuts and tangerines to find Brexit on the coffee table tucking into a bowl of Twiglets. At least the tree was still standing.  

Crichton was thrilled with his exercise bike. He clocked up a few sweaty miles during the Queen's speech, only getting off to stagger to attention for the National Anthem and jump straight back on again.
He bought me some ear rings, slightly odd… I think they are meant to be sea horses… it’s hard to tell.
Arraminta as taciturn as ever, spent the afternoon texting her friends while her brother teased The Sausage with his new drone. I'm not sorry Brexit chewed off the rotor blades while Jerome wasn't looking. We'd all had enough of it crashing into the windows and I feared for the Crown Derby. There's no chance of bothering anybody at Gatwick now, but the son and heir stamped off to his room and didn't come down for three hours.
That left Granny T for company but she'd  dropped off in the chair, wearing her electric socks, so I decided to walk over to the copse and back with the dogs. 
I wasn't the only one out for exercise. Brig and Mrs Parker caught me off guard in the lane before I could wind in Brexit's elastic. I agree his feet were rather muddy, but Dolores had no call to be quite so rude when he jumped up at her. Anyone with sense wouldn't wear her new coat when there are puddles around.
Home for charades. Granny T rather shocked us with her obscene portrayal of ‘Come Dancing’.

Crichton Comments
I do like nuts. I wonder why we can’t have them during the rest of the year.

Comments

  1. Gill MullinDecember 31, 2018 at 7:42 AM

    Happy New Year to Brexit and all the Trehorlicks. Looking forward to some more cheery shenanigans in 2019.

    ReplyDelete

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