Everyone loves Christmas. It’s a special time of the year when I get very stressed trying to buy and wrap presents for all the people in my life and then somehow deliver them all to the right people so they will get to enjoy them on Christmas Day.
Almost everyone in my life got their Christmas presents and, on Christmas Day, opened them and hopefully enjoyed them. But not everyone in my life follows the usual path. Not everyone lets themselves be led by the forces of what is “normal” or “sensible” or “in any way reasonable”. Such as, for example, Ian.
In advising me how to get my presents to him, Ian suggested I drop them off at his mum’s house. I did this, at approximately 5pm on Christmas Eve. Ian’s suggestion was not, however as sensible as it seemed, or indeed sensible at all, because he only got those presents on his next trip to Leeds, and that was yesterday.
I could have posted them to Newcastle and he could have had them on Christmas Day. I could have brought them to Newcastle when I was there last month to see him. But no. This is not his way. This is not how his Christmas rolls.
And so, now that Ian has finally got his presents in early March, I am wishing him a very happy Christmas, and offering him my best wishes for 2019.
23 comments on “Happy Christmas, Ian”
I like a nice Christmas circa March when I can really appreciate it. All you toffs lapping it up in December, ha, I scoff at you all.
Yeah. That’s what separates us toffs from you proles. Having our Christmas on December 25th when it’s most expensive. Not one of these cheapo Lidl Christmases that you have to have in March.
I’ll take my cut-price turkeys and my knock-down socks in Spring over your towering inferno of finance and wet pants in December, thank you very much.
Is pant-wetting also a part of your Christmas celebrations? If so that’s probably another differentiator between us toffs and you proletariat.
I’ve seen the photos, I know what happens what you start passing round the ‘nog and getting all merry. It’s all part of the process. It’s not a grand old time unless everyone needs a change of underwear.
I have to admit I always thought that’s why the paper hats were so absorbent.
To mop up the mess? Indeed!
(not moo up the mess which is what my phone wanted to say)
You need a cow to moo up the mess. You should see a truly posh Christmas, the kind even a fancy toff like me can only dream of, with a trained cow on hand during Christmas dinner to deal with the dampened pants of the diners.
How many doilies does it take to make it a truly posh Christmas?
Three per person. One under their plate, one on their seat and one to fold and use as a pocket square. Everyone knows that.
That’s a lot of doilies.
Did you know that I used to use doilies to trap posh people? I would leave a trail of them outside their mansions, leading to a brown coloured blanket covering a suspicious hole. Worked every time.
What did you do to them once you’d trapped them?
Sell them to the highest bigger!
Auction them off for meat?
Hold them to ransom for pies. Pies.
I never got that far in my plans (which is a MASSIVE surprise).
Actually they may still in the box under the stairs…
You should probably check.
In other news, I finally gave the last of my Christmas cards to its recipient yesterday, so you didn’t actually have the most delayed Christmas after all.
High five to me!
I knew I wouldn’t be the last (I didn’t know that) and I am filled with mirth (I am not filled with mirth).
Time to celebrate with a can of wonder juice (bad Coca Cola).
You haven’t been filled with mirth since you made an aggrieved face and said “words” quite angrily while pointing at yourself. There was an overflow of mirth following that moment, and I suspect you used up all you had for some time to come.
I’ve spent all my mirth. It’s gone now and I won’t get any more until the beginning of next month. I don’t know how I’m going to manage until then. Can you spare me a few chuckles, mate?
I’ll post you a lol and a spare giggle I’ve got in a drawer, but that’ll have to be it. My supply doesn’t replenish at the end of the month. I have to wait until my mirthday to get the next consignment.
Thanks mate #matesquared
I’d ask Old Man Kevvers but his supply of chuckles ran out in ’53.
OMK doesn’t approve of laughter. It’s one of those things that young people do that he finds intensely irritating, like rap and wearing jeans.
He felt a ripple around ’78 but since then it’s been slim pickings. Slim Pickings also happens to be the pseudonym he uses when writing letters to newspapers.
Wasn’t that reggae album I found in my letterbox and gave to you by Slim Pickings?