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Thursday, 11 December 2014

In which One ponders…

Here One rests in One’s small room

Pondering One’s sickly womb

One can but lie here, still, and wait

Until One learns it’s grisly fate

Through a small hole will they winkle

or drag the blighter out me twinkle?

I’ll save it as a gift to give

and mark it ‘where I used to live’

To bring a little Christmas joy

To that great big lummox Boy.


‘You go too far’ I hear you chorus Dear Reader.  Nonsense, One is merely laughing in the face of adversity.   Well, One should always stick with what One does best, shouldn’t One?

One went a visiting yester-eve to Vile ex Husband and Boy’s gaff.  Together, as a dysfunctional family we watched  a skeletal Father Christmas being dragged around Wivey in a rather fetching sleigh, by a flatbed truck.

There were no revellers abroad that evening and save for the Council workers in their High-Viz jackets (and us at the window) the only by-standers were the blokes having a fag outside the pub.

A strange ritual then ensued…

Father Christmas was presented with an aluminium step ladder, looked awfully chuffed, and shot off into the distance to the sound of sleigh bells.

Obv a strange Somerset tradition…

Or, maybe it’s just Wivey.  That’s more likely.

1 comment:

Neil Stone said...

It was just the local cat burglar being tooled up.