As I walked
the dogs home from the park this morning (only one fight – not too shabby)
a passing poorly-tattooed skinhead thug had a serious go at me. I was really
wrong to have bought two staffie pups for Christmas. As I wondered what he was
talking about he continued rating that only a f…. f….f….. gets a puppy for Christmas
and I was a seriously f… f… f… for having got two. I considered telling him
that they weren’t puppies but were two years old, however judging by how drunk
he was (at nine o’clock) I didn’t think it was worth the aggro of
getting involved in a battle of wits with an unarmed opponent.
With dogs walked we tidied up
the living room and got as organised as we could. It wasn’t long before the
fruits of my loin and their various accomplices were gathered. We nearly had the
full tribe together, but oldest grandson was off at his mother’s for the day.
We started off with drinks, and then "er indoors TM" excelled
herself. Two different home-made soups, turkey, spuds, parsnips, carrots,
sprouts… far too much to eat. And then chocolate cake and Christmas pudding.
Some then played a few hands of cards,
others played “Beat the Flush” ("Stormageddon - Bringer of Destruction TM"
‘s toilet-based game). We scoffed cheese
and pickles until we all felt sick, then had the customary Christmas cigar. I
do like a cigar; I have about one every two years these days.
Not
a bad day really -I feel incredibly bloated right now…
That’s Christmas done for
another year.
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