Thursday 12th December 2013

Good morrow, sweet peeps. I thought it time I skated in and opened a page for December. Christmas is fast approaching, but as I write I don’t feel festive at all. I’m not a dude in a Yule mood. I don’t really know why. It’s maybe something to do with the book I’m working on. As things stand it has a good deal of space dedicated to the difficult Christmas of 2008. But we won’t go into that here. Here is for now, not all my yesterdays.

We’ve had a few cold days here in my patch of Blighty, nothing artic, just damp and chilly. I went out for a meal with a couple of my Lit Lady friends last night. We went to a restaurant called Starters. Basically every dish is of a size pleasing to anorexics. If you have a healthy appetite you have to order more than one portion, which pushes the price of your meal through the roof. I ordered a lasagne. It came in what amounted to a ramekin dish with a crumb of garlic bread on the side. I suppose it was tasty enough and I enjoyed the evening in general, as did my lady friends.

On the home front self and beta Daddy Dick ended up in the doghouse of disgrace last weekend. Alpha Papa was less than amused with our antics. To be honest he was a very cross Daddy. It’s trash TV season here and as per usual Dick and I along with Leo and Rob have been engrossed in such lowbrow delights as Strictly Come Dancing, I’m a Celebrity and the X Factor, or the tripe factor as Shane calls it. Bless, he doesn’t have a celebrity loving bone in his body. He just does not get our interest in such things and gets sick of all the talk about it.

Anyway, getting back to the doghouse and how we landed in it.

After lunch on Sunday, Shane went into the study to do some work. Dick and I grabbed the oppo to watch the Strictly Come Dancing episode we’d recorded the night before on account of being forced at gunpoint and under the crack of a whip to go out for dinner with Sir rather than park our bums in front of the telly with a takeaway pizza.

Being a posh privileged person Dick was taught to dance at school by way of putting social polish on his already gleaming academic education. He reckons he could easily win Strictly if he was a celebrity or even take part as a pro dancer. Oh silly me. I scoffed. Dick enjoys a challenge. To prove his point he decided to teach me to dance the American Smooth, which he said is basically a mix of foxtrot and waltz with some fancy bits chucked in. I can shake my adorable booty to a pop or rock song no bother, but formal ballroom dancing ain’t my forte.

Dick being the competitive sod that he is got really cross when I didn’t take his tuition seriously. My arse took delivery of several stingers. I tell you what, the celebs on Strictly would learn a lot faster if their professional partners had the power to spank them when they fluffed steps or didn’t practice hard enough.

Anyway, I stopped mucking on and tried to take the whole thing seriously, if only to save my bottom from being blistered. We were doing quite well until Dick attempted to do a lift, something called a swallow lift or it might have been a crucifix lift.  Whatever it was called it involved me being perched on his shoulder with my arms outspread like Kate Winslet looking for an iceberg to crash into. I wasn’t keen on attempting the lift, but he insisted I put my confidence in him and at least give it a try.

It didn’t go well. He managed to lift me, but I was so stiff I ended up being dead weight and unbalanced him. He began staggering around the lounge like a drunken sailor on a ship in high seas trying to keep me up in the air and himself on his feet. I panicked. Clutching at his head I yelled at him to put me down. He obliged, but not gracefully. My flailing feet caught the coffee table and sent the post lunch coffee cups scattering everywhere, breaking two in the process. We then collapsed onto the couch in a heap.

Of course the racket alerted Shane. He burst into the room demanding to know what the fuck was going on. On clocking the scene his face was a picture, but not one you’d present to your granny as a birthday pressie. Switching off the TV set he coldly asked for an explanation.

Dick, bless his heart, stepped up to the bar and explained what had happened, taking full responsibility for the dancing disaster. Shane was incredulous, and livid. We were ordered to get the mess cleaned up pronto. Dick was informed that he was old enough to know bloody better than indulge in juvenile idiocy and he could stump up the cost of replacing the broken cups.

Once the mess was cleaned away I was swatted on the bottom and sent to sit at one end of the couch and Dick was swatted and sent to the other. We were told to sit still and in silence until he had finished his work.

When he’d gone Dick and I both sat with folded arms, feeling thoroughly chastened and slightly embarrassed. I glanced sideways at him and caught him glancing sideways at me. We cracked up. It’s bloody murder trying to laugh in silence. We both had our hands across our mouths trying to muffle snorts of laughter. He sobered first and putting a finger to his lips bade me hush.

Shane took an age to finish work. It was a relief when he returned and released us from our silent sitting. By then he’d thawed and was inclined to be affectionate with his silly boys. It’s good to be silly sometimes. It keeps the spirit of youth alive.

Well, peeps, that’s my diary diddling done for today. I’ve off into town to peruse the shops for Chrissy cards. Maybe looking at them will make my festive bells begin to jingle properly. 

Friday 20th December 2013

Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way…Yay! My Crimbo Spirit seems to be kicking in at last. I’ve had a festive few days getting in the mood by wrapping pressies, delivering cards and baking yummy stuff while warbling tunes befitting the season. We’re having a party tomorrow night in the quasi mansion so I’ve still got plenty to do on the food front. I’m at a carol concert tonight, with Eileen. It’s being held in the open air at a bandstand in the park so I’m hoping the rain that’s currently pissing down will have some charity and bugger off.

That’s me done until after Christmas now. All being well I’ll be back in 2014 with more houseboy witterings.  I hope you’ll tune in from time to time. I leave you with my traditional Christmas card. Click here. 



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