They're here! Groida and his loathsome clan rolled up right on cue to disrupt Bro and I in the middle of our supper. Typical!
Admittedly I did shed a tear as the unwholesome maniac embraced me, but that was only because he managed to tread on three of my feet. His apology might have had a ring of sincerity if he hadn't delivered it in Pidgin English, accompanied by a devastating bottom cough. Nor did it escape my notice that his peace offering of a sackload of Bahlsen biscuits and fondant fancies had reached their sell-by dates. Yes, it's the thought that counts. That's why I want to swat his tiny mind into fragments.
In contrast, his Uncle Lucas and Auntie Pamela exuded their familiar homely warmth. Thank Jupiter their killing season isn't until mid-February. Cousin Vernon may prove to be more of a challenge, especially if he is to join the cast of our play. He has already tried to snog Bro, threatened to excommunicate my elves and reindeer and claims to be a heron. The king of them, no less. I think my holiday may be over.
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