Twas the Night Before Christmas....

Just got back from doing last minute Christmas food shopping as the wife is still suffering from flu. Town was filling up fast with last minute shoppers. The difference between the sexes is all the more apparent on Christmas Eve. The women shoppers were gliding between counters and buying with the practiced assurance of the professional. Do they teach young girls to shop at school or is it genetic?.

The men on the other hand were looking pale, stressed and sweaty as they blindly stumbled around looking for that special something, wishing they had paid a little more attention back in July when She mentioned something that She liked. But what the hell was it?!

Other men, sent out to do the shopping, held lists, chewed pens, scratched heads and phoned home. From the furrowed brows and intense middle distance stares you would have imagined they were trying to solve Fermat`s Last Theorem rather than locate the eggnog and brussels sprouts.

I drove home with that warm glow that only comes from knowing others are suffering. The compound is very quiet at the moment but I did bump into Sunnymountain`s resident homosexuals, Butch and Sundance. They are a delightful elderly couple but are prone to complain a bit. After wishing me and mine a happy Christmas Sundance, he makes Quentin Crisp look butch, launched into a monologue about parking spaces and how all the foreign visitors didn`t know the rules and parked willynilly. This seemd to drag on for ages, it was like the Queen`s Speech. In the end I had to feign an attack of the vapours to get away.

So here I am back in the bosom of the family. It is already 11.30am and the wife hasn`t touched the gin. She must be ill. The daughter is playing with one of the local urchins. She would not normally associate with this child but as most families are away she is having to swim in the shallow end of the play pool.

I suppose it is Christmas and these kids, the ugly, the smelly and the boring, think Christmas has come early when they get a call. Bless them. Sadly, when the holidays are over and the A-list return these poor little creatures will be abandoned like unwanted puppies. I believe it is still legal to dispose of unpopular kids in sacks thrown off a bridge at exactly midnight in certain parts of Switzerland.

On that festive note I shall wish you and yours whatever kind of Christmas you want. I shall be off line under the influence for a few days.

As a worldwide blogger with immense influence, the police have asked me to leave you with one last thought: Eggnog related violence peaks at this time of year. Drink responsibly.

Hard Core Prawn Addict

Very cold and wintery here at the moment, but not as bad as the UK where news reports tell me that life as we know it has ceased to exist. Reminds me of a story I was told last year. Zurich was several feet deep in snow and the storyteller had just caught the train into work, on time. A tele-conference was due to take place between offices in Zurich, London and Moscow. Zurich dialled in on time, Moscow, under several metres of snow and -20 temperatures dialled in on time. And London? Well London had experienced 8 inches of snow, key staff had been put up in hotels overnight, all other staff were told to stay home. The London caller just did not stop bitching about how hard it had been to make this call happen. Is it any wonder we lost the Empire. Just wanted to share that with you.

Off for a curry now. Hope it is prawn. I love prawn curries, oh yeh. Have a lovely wintry weekend.

Strange but Sort of True

All sorts of interesting things have happened to me today. It all started when I found three, yes I said three not the normal two, peanuts in one peanut shell. I know!. Then I saw a cloud that was an exact facsimilie of the British Ilses, just without Stoke on Trent. Amazing!. Then the daughter asked if she should tidy her room totally unprompted. Unheard of!. What is happening, are these portents of doom?. Ah, who knows. (NB: the last one was totally made up, get real)

Anyway, the Street has been very quiet of late. I suspect it is because all the Daughters of the American Revolution and spawn have gone back Stateside to enjoy the "happy holidays". Meanwhile, without an external enemy, the Sunnymountain Street Mother`s Mafia seem to be engaged in some internecine struggle to see who can come up with the best/most yuletide decorations. The houses round here are sagging under the weight of Chritsmas lights, Santas on ladders scaling the walls and for some reason this seasons must have, large straw donkeys. Me neither.

That means gang related violence drops off drastically this time of year and the daughter and I are free to roam at will without fear. However, Eggnog realted violence peaks around now, so it is always worth staying on your toes. We went to look at the Christmas market the other day. It was lovely, but spoiled a little by the immigrant British bankers who hang around at the train station. Talk to them and they will tell you how they have been driven out of the UK by economic persecution and cannot return for fear of the death tax penalty. I do feel a little sorry for them huddled around their warmth giving bonuses behind the station, begging passersby for the price of a good relocation agent, or if they are really lucky, a room in a low tax shelter community down the lake. There but for the grace of God.

Ciao for now

PS- please start using the comment facility under articles. I would love to get some feedback as long as it is glowingly positive. I know who you are.

What Is Amiss with the Swiss Kiss

Influenza still grips the Welle-Skitts in it`s sneezy, bless you, stacks of soggy tissue stranglehold. The daughter has recovered just enough to go back to school this morning, thus ensuring the virus should clobber the maximum number of households over the Christmas period. Ho ho ho. Well, at least I get to take it easier today, and that`s the important thing. Sadly, the wife is still affluent (I think that is the right term for a banker who is off with flu?). They do say it hits the elderly particularly hard.

Anyway, I blame the Swiss. They kiss like it is going out of fashion. As I have metioned before, three air kisses is the accepted norm here everytime you greet or retreat. It is not surprising that we are being stalked by a flu pandemic with all this intimate and unprotected carnal canoodling going on. If you turn up at a place where there are lots of women, say a brothel, there is simply no point in taking your coat off as by the time you have finished the greeting kissing it will be time to start all over again with the retreating kissing so that you can make your last train home. Madness!.

And the Swiss will steal a kiss whenever and where ever it presents itself. The wife was knocked off her bicycle a couple of years back and, while she lay dazed and bleeding at the roadside, a passing pervert saw his chance and kissed her on top of the head then ran off giggling.

Maybe I am feeling just a bit grumpy because I have quit smoking. I have composed a short poem in memorium to my erstwhile companion, the humble cigarette.

"You were My north, My Silk Cut, My Emphysema, My West,
My morning drag, My constricted chest,
My crutch, My Marlborough Light, My midnight walk, My old bloke pong,
I thought that cough would last forever, I hope I was wrong."

Ciao for now

Breaking News: Swine Flu May Have Hit Sunnymountain Street, Possibly.

It is like a particularly sniffy, snotty and thoroughly coughy episode of House here on Sunnymountain Street. Both the wife and daughter are down with suspected flu.

I wish I had paid attention to all the Government infomercials about flu. I have a hazy recollection that there are different types. Bird flu which I suspect only affects women, absolute bloody pig flu, that one has to be men only and of course the dreaded Tamiflu, which has decimated female country and western singers across Mississippi.

Anyway, the upshot is that I am now the main carer for the entire family. I tried to think what my mother used to do when we were sick and needing TLC. So I stuck a postit note to the fridge door saying there were pop tarts in the freezer and popped down the pub for a large G&T or three. Dear old mum, bet she is looking up at us and laughing.

Must dash, the wife needs me

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

I had my hair cut this morning. That qualifies as a noteworthy event in my life these days. It is not often I get to go beyond the garden gate. I have been going to the same place now for over two years. The place used to be run by a chain smoking old boy by the name of Herr Peace. I remember the last time I saw him. I went in with a picture of George Clooney and asked him to work his magic. I heard he dropped dead a few hours later from a stress related condition. I refuse to believe that the two incidents were connected. Very sad, I never achieved that Clooneyesque look. Makes you think though, he was only 82.

So I have decided to be positive, to live life at full throtle from now on. That means I have no time to write anymore today. Have lovely weekends. Pip pip

Georgie Porgie and the Bearded Lady

Still no missive from Dave. I did get an email from young George Osbourne, the Shadow Chancellor and Head Tuck Shop Monitor. In a nutshell he said Alistair Darling is rubbish and smells a bit. I told the cheeky young chipolata that I used to work with Alistair and he was not at all rubbish, but that yes, I was already aware of the personal hygeine issues.

He also asked if he could copy my homework and if he could catch swine flu from email spam. "No George, no. You will only be cheating yourself and one day you may be running the economy, and email spam is not the same as the delicious pork based product you may have enjoyed as a boy" I said. Honestly, the problems I have with these politicians.

Just got back from the supermarket where I bumped into Fat Kath in the men`s grooming section. She was holding a beard trimmer. "For my husband" she said when she saw me glance at the trimmer. I suspect not, partly because her husband is as hairless as a new born badger and partly because Kath has a five o`clock shadow and something approaching a handlebar moustache.

Kath told me she was starting up her own blog. I said " given that you are as wide as you are tall, almost globe like, you will bring a whole new meaning to the term blogosphere. Are you going to be addressing lots of weighty issues on your blog"?. No, you`re right, I didn`t say that, only thought it. I am too chicken.

After exchanging a few more fake pleasantries we swiss cheek kissed three times as is the norm here. I now have stubble burn.

PS- I now have advertising (see above) Please help the poor starving Africans and my bank balance. Klick away like it`s going out of fashion. This time next year I`ll be a millionaire!