That's the big day almost done and dusted. "El Cid" is brilliant, eh? What a wicked scam too. The bravest cadaver in all Christendom! I hope when I make my final, heroic journey in the harmonium I will be as cold as a Mivvi and held erect by a scaffolding pole stuck up the back of me jumper.
Anyway, the debris from the board games is being swept up and the losers are enslaved into washing up chores. I am nicking the wee purple Quality Street (okay, and the green foil triangles) while nobody is watching.
The festive nosebag has been ace. The pheasant satay, skewered on Plessey welding rods (I knew they'd come in handy one day) made an unseasonal change. For a while I was concerned we would be partaking of Her Majesty's old man with a Granny Smith stuck in his cakehole as a main course but my fears proved unfounded.
Thanks to the combined efforts of Uncle "bring out your dead" Lucas and Auntie Pamela we feasted on a remarkably tender baboon, rolled in breadcrumbs and stuffed with Dairylea and sandwich spread.
Physical altercations were relatively light and in the spirit of the day, nobody was actually cuffed, although a few fixed penalty notices were issued. I look forward to the spectacle of Bro and Groida with their Harpic and bog brushes!
Anyway, must sign off now. The nuts and Satsumas are being handed round soon and then we can all drift off into bouts of snoozing and an ensemble recital of squawking, babbling bots.
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