December 21st 2013
Blimey, it’s nippy again, ennit? I mean, it’s always cold in this neck of the woods in December but it seems extra cold this year. Ironic, really, given global warming and the amount we’re losing from the icecap up here. Very worrying on all sorts of levels.
I’ve stuck my thermal longjohns on, but must remember to get them washed and ready again for the big haul on Tuesday night ‘cos it gets right tatas flying around up there for hours on end. I should invest in some new ones, really, ‘cos these are getting well saggy round the gusset – looks like I’m swinging a kitten in a hammock – but I’d be daft to spend my own money with Christmas just around the corner. The missus usually treats me to a couple of new pairs, and I’m guessing this year won’t be any different.
I’ve gotta say, that onesie she bought me last year was the dog’s doobries; snug as a bug in a rug, I’ve been. Not sure the ‘camouflage’ design was the brightest idea, mind you, ‘cos camouflage up here just means white, and that’s a real game of Russian roulette if you like eating your dinner while watching telly. That said, I don’t know why I bother anymore – beggar all on, is there? All those channels, and there’s never owt on worth watching. Thank you-know-who for DVDs, eh?
Talking of clothes, the new suit’s arrived. I was getting a bit worried ‘cos it was late this year, and it turns out I was right to be. Those silly beggars at CC have only gone and sent me an XXL instead of XXXL, haven’t they? When I tried it on I looked like a burst sausage! Too late to get another sorted now, but thankfully the missus always keeps the old one for back up, so I’ll still be okay.
Mind you, even last year’s XXXL was a bit of a squeeze: I’ve definitely gained a bit of timber. The missus has put a V shaped cut-out and a bit of knicker elastic in the back of the trousers for me, but the jacket’s still well snug under the armpits despite her taking out a couple of darts. She’s told me I’m on a diet after Christmas, like it or lump it. I’ve agreed, but only if she’ll let me give that low carb thing a bash. I mean, it’s a no brainer, really, isn’t it – if I’ve got a choice between a plate of rabbit food or a Full English three times a day I’d be daft not to give it a go, wouldn’t I? I’ll miss the baked beans and toast, mind you, but we all have to make sacrifices. Technically the black pudding’s off limits too, but I’ve had a word with Sweeney, the butcher down the market, and he reckons he might be able to replace the oats and stuff with ground linseeds. Good for roughage, apparently, and virtually carb free. I just hope it’s not too good for roughage, ‘cos I get enough complaints about how long I spend in the jacks of a morning already. I ask you – no peace for the wicked, is there?
Speaking of which, I’d best press on. I’m meeting up with Frosty later for our usual trawl around the town in search of Christmas presents. I hate Christmas shopping – I’ve been putting it off for weeks – but needs must. I’ve heard the council have laid on a special ‘shopping train’ for the kiddies. You know, one of them little diesel things that look like a little steam engine pulling half a dozen brightly coloured carriages. That’ll play havoc with the traffic, won’t it: it already takes a good hour to get into town and find a parking space without that thing chugging up and down the hill all day. Fair enough, the kids will like it, but if parents think that a ten minute ride on a draughty bench is going to stop their kids getting bored for a full afternoon of Christmas shopping I think they’ve got another think coming!
Oh well, best get a wriggle on or I’ll be getting it in the neck from Frosty.