Before I go to Cambodia, I have decided to weave (and indeed spin) you a tale of Yuletide merriness. It may involve Roger. It may not. Read on dear viewer, read on…
A log fire burns brightly in the half, the occasional spark rocketing through the thick air to land on the perilously flammable horse-hair rug nearby. The gentle tinkle of sleigh bells drifts through the windows, themselves adorned with snow ready to drop. The air, tinged with the scent of elderberries and chestnuts, plays through the room in wafts almost visible to the naked eye. The sound of excited children occasionally filters through the atmosphere, bringing a slight smile to the elderly relative sitting comatose in an armchair so soft it almost swallows him.
All of a sudden the sealed door bursts open and a father like figure appears. He complains loudly about the Christmas tree lights being wonky and proceeds to the uprooted shrub of a centre piece and jiggles the said lights until they either fall off, short circuit, or fall off and then short circuit. The elderly relative sleeps through all this, having saturated himself with brandy several hours before. A motherly type appears, takes one look at the shouting father figure, screams that she has a headache and takes to the stairs. A silhouette not dissimilar to that which a younger brother might cast appears and grunts that he is going out and taking the car. The father figure screams a rebuttal but is ignored.
Meanwhile, a figure strides purposefully down the stair, a gleam in his eye and a fiver in his pocket. Ignoring the arguing brother, he uplifts the carkeys and heads for the door. He must be quick, twill be but a moment until his deception is uncovered. Heaving open the ivory portal to the outside world, he hauls himself into the freezing maelstrom that lies beyond and heads for his stately chariot. With the work of a moment he is inside; the engine rumbles and begins its night’s work. A quick press of a pedal and he is at the gate, awaiting his turn on the road.
Suddenly from behind, a cacophony of anguish. The younger brother, arms aflail and voice raised, is charging forthwith towards the escaping vehicle. A panic chills the heart of our hero even further as he desperately searches for his opportunity to fly. Alas, dear reader, none has come and in the distance lies an unending column of headlights and speed. Is this the end already? Will the unruly brother triumph in this battle of wills?
...
Oooh, I’m a tease.
3 comments:
As secretary to the "Father's Agains't Repeated Teasing" I take great exception to the content of you report.We at F.A.R.T.take comments such as those very seriously and are concerned that they attempt to stereo type fathers behaviour at Xmas.It is clear that you are not a parent and do not understand the pressures they face at Xmas.I hope in the future you will consider the affect your comments may have on other people before you write them.I will now go back to the helpline to try and hlp some of our members deal with your article!
Never mind FARTs, what about MAGOTS - Mothers Against Gross Over-reaction Tantrums Soc. As a founder memeber of this illustrious organisation, I strongly object to the portrayal of the mother figure as an unreasonable, loud mouthed character. Lord knows we mothers have enough to put up with throughout our lives, no one ever appreciates the hours of toil and sacrifice we dedicate to our offspring, and all we get is malicious maligning of every little mistake we make. If only we were given a little recognition ..............
You will be targeted by us in the future to ensure you do not continue with this unfair and undeserved critisism.
I just think u've been smoking some crazy japanes herbs brother! but it sounds like its good, so keep at it trooper
hugs and kisses
Stew
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