So the big day has been and gone. Thank foof for that is all I can say. Now all that remains is the New Years Party. The time to get totally rat arsed for no real reason at all and to snog someone beside you who you probably wouldn’t touch with a barge pole at any other time of the year. Whilst jumping around singing some old Scots fellas song that no-one actually knows all the words too. Oh happy days!
But for now we have Boxing Day. As some of you know and witnessed, I decided in my drunken wisdom to have a Christmas Party with meal included, prepared by my own good hands. Well that nearly worked hahaha!
One of the presents I received yesterday was an HPIPAQ. For those of you not up in modern technology. It’s a little hand held pc organiser thingy. Great stuff. Now I can lead my life in organised chaos instead of the usual grasping around in the dark kind.
This little gadget however, didn’t help me organise my cooking skills any better. But at least now I know that I shouldn’t prepare brussel sprouts too early in the proceedings and then put them in the microwave to heat them up again. They just kind of ummmmmm…EXPLODE! leaving the inside of said microwave oven in a right mess.
Ellie: Yer-Man, why don’t you just pop them into that bamboo steamer in the cupboard and heat them over a pan of water to keep them hot.
Me: Go have another drink Ellie, I know what I’m doing.
That was my only major disaster. Or at least I think it was. I don’t think anyone noticed the lumps in the gravy. Or the plastic bag full of giblets that got baked inside the bird. OK I’ve lied about the giblets bit but it was a close call at one stage. Yas never told me that one, did yas? Yes you know who you are. Has made note of the turkey crown thing for future reference though.
Anyway, after our gastronomic delights and thirty minutes of dunging out the brussel bits from the microwave, the girls in their wisdom decide that a Celine Dion DVD was in order. This was the alarm for us fellas to nip out to my garage and do our Barry McGuigan impressions. Santa also left me a big leather boxing bag and mits which I chained up to the roof out back. Great stress relief that, actually. I imagined I was punching the bake off Celine Dion whose screeching tones echoed out to us. I hope I’m not the only one of us whose arms ache all over this morning though.
After the New Year, I am going to sue that dirty old bastard Claus. He broke his contract. After slipping into my room and emptying his sack all over the end of my bed, I could see no sign of the car I requested. You know the one that turned into a robot that I spoke of in a previous blog entry? Pervy old fucker. He’s right off my card list in the future for good.
And now it’s Boxing Day. The day for going into town and emptying the little that remains in our wallets. Time for buying all the crap we never knew we needed. But the good thing is. What cost £20 two days ago, only cost £7 today. We never learn, do we?
Turkey sandwich anyone?
