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Thursday, 22 December 2016

In which One narrowly evades a grisly end...

One is in a slightly better festive frame of mind this morning, having actually been abroad in daylight hours.

Have come to the conclusion that beginning One's working day in the late winter afternoon and being incarcerated in the Purveyor of Fine Foods until the dead of night is not conducive to a lightness of being.

The Admiral, in a sterling effort to bring One some festive cheer, biffed up on his tinsel adorned mobility scooter and bore One off to the Christmas Tree farm...

Arriving back at the Underground Lair, One was deposited, with tree, at the top of the stairs down to the lair whilst the A cleared off in the direction of the Co op to acquire Egg Nog.

'I can get this tree down the stairs on my own' thought One, forgetting that One is a washed up, weakened by disease, varicose old dollop...

The exercise began well and One dragged the tree down the first step without issue...

'Probably best if I go down backwards' thought One and performed a pirouette type movement whilst embracing the tree, clutching it to One's bosom with me free hand. (The other grasping a bag of life's essentials: Pinot and gusset liners,)

Unfortunately the netting, applied to restrain the branches of the tree, became entangled with the buttons on One's Barbour, rendering One spread-eagled against the wall in a bizarre crucifixion pose.

The tree, with it's stump wedged at the top of the stairs and it's tip across One's throat, was an irresistible force and rendered One an immovable object.

Just as one's life flashes before one's eyes as one succumbs to the briney and drowns, so it is thus when falling prey to 'death by Christmas Tree.'

As a myriad of failed suitors/careers/marriages/liaisons danced before my eyes, I realised the futility of my existence.

One could envisage the headline of The Wivey Messenger: 'Remains of obese Christmas Tree Fairy found impaled upon Nordman Fir' or even worse, being consumed by passing hounds who then, adding insult to injury, pee up the tree.

In the nick of time One was liberated by the A who manouvered the bastard tree into the sitting room still attached fast to One.

There it sits, menacing One, dropping needles and seemingly unable to support the flimsiest of baubles on it's droopy branches.

No matter, it will be a fitting back drop to the sad spectacle of a solitary One as One carves the Turkey Twizzler on the big day.

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