The Aftermath

Your tree is still blinking thanks to Saturn in the corner of your living room.
You’ve annoyed the neighbourhood by singing thanks to Yule, the Scandinavian fertility god. The sound of the hooves of Sleipnir on your roof, are all but an echo of an echo, and Odin has returned to his slumber after delivering presents to your kith and kin. You’ve had your fill of turkey and beer, and the sprouts of wrath have returned to offend the nasal passages of all around.

The best of all gifts around any Christmas tree is the presence of a happy family all wrapped up in each other.
– Burton Hillis

Those of you who are up to date with my blog, will know that JB gets a couple of gifts every day.
1. So that he is not overwhelmed, and can appreciate the gifts he is getting, and,
2. So that we can enjoy the look of happiness on his face every day, like we’re trapped inside our own little version of ‘Groundhog Day’.

This Christmas however, didn’t quite work out as expected. (Does it ever?) He is still only getting a few presents each day, but it’s on his terms rather than ours. The little monster has definitely got the idea of gifts, although he’s sure that they are all for him. “More presents now?!” seemed to be the phrase of the day, as he’d look up with wide watery eyes, like Puss in Boots from the Shrek movies. How can anyone resist?


Much to my dismay, the theme of the gifts this year seem to revolve around a certain train, and I’ve not received anything resembling safety glasses, let alone the hazmat suit I asked Jolly old Saint Nick for.


No matter what gift comes out, the wrapping is destroyed instantly, and the new toy is played with for a few minutes, before returning to the trains. If I were a gambling man I would lay odds that he does it just to taunt me. “Look daddy, it’s Thomas!”, with that glint in his eyes, and the corner of his mouth turned up. I swear I hear “Ave Satani” every time!

Well, must fly! Busy, busy, busy. Hope you’ve had a great Christmas and not got too drunk and made a fool of yourself.

Be dobby, smeck grimly, and skvat jeezny by the sharries droogs!


2 thoughts on “The Aftermath

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