Tuesday 10th December 2019

Dear Diary,

It’s me again, the houseboy, fresh from his farewell tour, returning for a chunter and a whinge. I feel the need to offload. The General Election is looming here in Blighty and has, in my opinion, totally fucked up Christmas preps. Goodwill and peace are in short supply. I’ll be glad when voting day comes and goes and we can all get on with stringing our baubles and overspending on shit no one needs or wants. Indications are that Boris Johnson, that turd in a suit, will remain leader of the country. He and his evil cronies will then bring about perpetual winter and let’s face it, Ikea wardrobes are not up to the job of transporting heroic children between worlds to deliver us all from tyranny and oppression. In this version of the story, the wardrobe collapses and kills the kids, a renegade dentist shoots the lion and the wicked white haired turd king triumphs over all. It’s a depressing thought.

As hinted at above, we are off to spend the festivities with Penny and The Muppet. In all fairness I saw it coming. It’s understandable in the circumstances. It’s the first Christmas without the old man. Penny was devastated by her father’s death. She wants to have a family Christmas as a kind of tribute to his memory. I get that, I do. She wants all her family around her to help her cope with this first Christmas without him.  The only thing is she has never viewed me as family in any way shape or form. Shane and Dick are family. Shane’s bro James and his other half Lorraine are family and so of course is their daughter Ruby. Me, I’m not family, not in her eyes. To her I’m still, even after all this time, a gold digging bum boy who came between her beloved brother and his rightful partner.

To be honest I almost cried when Shane broached the subject of spending Christmas with her. I didn’t kick up a fuss though. How could I? It would have been mean spirited. I did ask Shane if I might spend the holiday with Leo, but he said no. My place, he said, is with him and Dick, and Penny has to understand that. Easy enough for him to say. She has always hated me, but her hatred upped the scale in the wake of the old man’s death when it transpired he had willed me some money. I was utterly gobsmacked when I learned he had left me a sum of money. It confused and troubled me. Penny was blue faced livid over it. I could write a standalone book about the fallout from it all. Her vitriol was frightening. I offered to forego the money. I hadn’t expected or wanted a bequest from the old man. Shane wouldn’t hear of it. He said his father’s wishes were clear and it would be disrespectful to go against them. He went head-to-head with Penny over it. He told her she was in the wrong and their dad would be ashamed of her behaviour. It was horrible. Shane usually defends his sister. If I ever complete Revs then you’ll perhaps understand why he tolerates her as much as he does. All said I didn’t like being the cause of war between them. I really could write a chapter about it and maybe I will, if I ever get around to it. Ha-ha!

So, life is pretty much a dystopian nightmare at the moment between Penny and Politics. The only way it could get worse is if Nigel Farage and his best bud Donald Trump turn up at the front door singing Christmas Carols with latter day Victorian Jacob Rees-Mogg in tow wearing one of his ridiculous top hats. Twat in a hat Rees-Mogg, in case you don’t know, is an unctuous Tory politician who has nothing but contempt for the poor.

I’ll survive Christmas I suppose, unless I fall foul of some Agatha Christie style murder plot devised by poison Pen - The Mysterious Case of the Hacked Up Houseboy.  Still, at least Ruby will be there. I’m fond of Rubes.

So, that’s it, moan over. I’ll leave you with my annual Chrissy card and wish you all the best. Maybe, my dear diary, we’ll meet again in 2020 when the urge to gobshite and tale-tell becomes too great to resist once again.

Ciao Peeps.


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