Christmas 2009 Remembered

Oh well. The annual food/ drink/ over-indulgence fest is over for another year and it’s back to old clothes (work suit) and porridge (with honey and cinnamon) tomorrow morning.

Despite my weary attempts at cynicism in this blog I am actually a simple soul and I love the whole shenanigans. Without it the winter months would be just too miserable.

What are my highlights, I hear you ask? As usual, my twin-sister (Queen Of Chaos) provided a few “moments”.

She bought me a jumper. So did my dad.

-Did you like it, she asked.

-Yes, I replied.

- Did you like my jumper better than dad’s, she asked.

- No, was the reply. (QC is brutally honest, so I thought I should answer the question in the same way she might - truthfully. Don’t get me wrong, she’s never deliberately nasty. She just doesn’t possess the edit button the rest of us have.)

- Aww, she replied, I feel a wee bit offended.

- Not sorry, I said, you wouldn’t want me to lie to you, would you?



Dad also bought QC a jumper. Over Boxing Day dinner the conversation went something like this...

- Dad, see that jumper you bought me?

- Aye.

- I look like shit in it.

Cue much laughter from everyone around the table.

The wee fella was also a big presence during the holidays. As part of his Xmas gifts I bought him DJ Hero for his Xbox. He was delighted with it. Big beaming smile. The conversation went like this...

- THANKS Dad. That was really thoughtful of you.

- What age are you?

- 11 and three quarters. Why?

- You sound about 31 and three quarters.

- You’re weird.

For Hogmanay (New Year’s Eve) I said he could stay up with me. There were some strong comedic moments on BBC 1 Scotland earlier in the evening with Still Game – “enhanced” by the moments when I had to translate the following “baw bag” (scrotum) and ”baw hair” (a hair found on the aforementioned scrotum). Then BBC Scotland resorted to the tried, tested (and failed) Jackie Bird (WHY?) to bring in the New Year with some folk/ pop musicians. As soon as the first fiddle was strummed the wee fella was out of the door – give me a shout when it’s nearly midnight, he said. This stuff is rubbish.

The bells rang out. Fireworks exploded across the TV screen.

- Eesh, it’s only another year. Don’t know what all the fuss is about.

- You’re only 11...

- ...and three quarters.

- ...and three quarters. But wait until you’re my age, a new year becomes a chance to review your life and all the things you want to achieve.

- You’re not THAT old, he replied, and I don’t understand the rest of what you just said.

Days of Christmas Part 1

From: poceymcs@chavnet.com

To: mandelam@nednet.com

Subject: pear cider

Right, Mandela McConnachie, what do you think you’re playing at? I got home from a day’s hanging about outside Iceland down at the shopping centre to find a bottle of pear cider and a stuffed bird on the doorstep. Whassat all about?

FYI - I necked the bottle with my ma and the dead bird is in the re-cycling bin. Well, somebody might have a use for it.

FYI again – my ma loved the cider. Didn’t know pears could be used for that as well. She says you’ve taught her something worthwhile and gone up in her estimation. My dad shouted that you’re still a wee wanker, as if, like you can hear him down the email. Guess who I agree with? 

P



from: pokeymcs@chavnet.com

To: mandelam@nednet.com

Subject: Pigeons

Right, first you don’t reply to my email. Then you send me something else daft in the post. A box with two pigeons. What was with the stupid wee cardboard shells on their backs and the black masks? Ninja turtle pigeons? You’ve pure lost it, ya numpty. My ma didn’t have a hangover after the pear cider and still likes you. My dad has his hands covered in pigeon shit and wants to chib you. He’s been in the kitchen sharpening the handle of a spoon in case you come round tonight. My advice? Fuck off and die.

P 



From: pokeymcs@chavnet.com

To: mandelam@nednet.com

Subject: Pens

I was pure munchin’ on my Big Mac and saying to Shelley and Grunter (they’re back together – Shel forgave him for selling her rings down at Cash Converters. Says his heart’s in the right place. Saddo. If he did that to me he’d be getting his jaw re-wired right about now.) and sayin’ that if I get home and there’s any wee presents I’m going to go all Hulk on your arse. AND guess what. Three pens from my favourite stalker. What’re you trying to say? Think I need help writing or something? And why do they have a French flag on them. Is a French pen some weird trick you learned about in prison?

I repeat - F.O.A.D.

P



From: pokeymcs@chavnet.com

To: mandelam@nednet.com

Subject: 4 calling birds

Right. I get it. You’ve gone fucking postal. Gonnae stop sending me stuff. And yes, I also get the shitty attempt to copy that old crimbo song. My name might be Pocahontas McGlumpher but that doesn’t make me stupid.

Mind you, how you managed to stick those wee mobile phones on to each of the birds’ wings...I got it straight away. CALLING birds. With wee mobile phones. Cool. One of the phones even had some diamonte bling painted on it.

Enough. Awright. There’s a point when stalking becomes creepy. I know we had that first date at Pizza Hut an’ it was special, but it’s not like you bought me a stuffed crust or nothing.

Dad says if he sees you he’s gonnae strangle you with your Lacoste hoodie. Ma says to wait until you send round more of that cider. (Where did you get it, BTW? I'm looking for a christmas present for mum and that would be perfick)




From: pokeymcs@chavnet.com

To: mandelam@nednet.com

Subject: McDonalds

Man are you persistent. My Ma likes a man that keeps at it. She gave dad a weird look when she said that. He went all red and choked on his Pot Noodle. I’ll never understand grown ups.

Today’s parcel? Five onion rings. Gave me a wee chuckle. But see, you need to get over it, dude. I told you, I don’t know if you’re Burberry’s da. We only did it that once and you only put it in a wee bit before you did all that jerky stuff. There’s no way that was pure enough to get me up the duff.

At least you made me laugh the day.

No more, eh?

P McG

TO BE CONTINUED (if I can be arsed and there's nothing worth watching on the 999 channels on sky)