Tale guide

So this is Christmas

It was very much the same as every other morning.

I got up and made the missus her coffee in bed and put the dog out.

Then went around the house to clean up the poop that the little critter mistakenly dropped over night.

It’s not really his fault you know. He is taking a lot of lessons from our in-house dog whisperer, although of late she has taken to shouting a lot.

I’m told that it could be the result of a deeper psychological identity crises caused by my referring to the bitch as ‘he’. - No, not the dog whisperer; the dog! 

Whatever the reason, it shits everywhere.

After unpacking the dishwasher, washing up the dirty glasses and midnight snack plates from the night before, making the bed and putting all the dirty clothes into the basket, I wandered into the lounge to take in the excitement of the day.

“He’s been here!” announced our little four year old grandson, pointing at the pile of Christmas presents that I had painstaking stacked around the base of the tree in the middle of the night, when any self-respecting granddad would have been long time in slumberland.

His outcry was followed by a scream of delight from his younger brother as they rushed at the parcels and began to tear them apart.

Can you believe that no one has the courage to tell them that I was dragged all over umpteen shopping centres for days on end and until I was almost dead on my feet to buy those flipping expensive toys. This is the third year I’ve had to forfeit a Mediterranean cruise for them darlings.

The eldest’s little face lit up when he noticed the biscuit crumbs, half glass of milk and empty sherry glass next to the tree!

It’s no secret that Santa is an alcoholic but at this stage of their lives, our little angels don’t give a damn.

“Happy Christmas”, my missus gave me a kiss on the cheek and handed me a bottle of after shave and a shirt that I’m sure won’t fit me.

“Happy Christmas darling” I replied, scrambling around to find that marvellous set of cooking gloves I found at          M & S.

My son’s face broke into a wide smile and I could see a distinct glint cross his eyes as his head dropped oh so ever slightly, and he gazed lovingly at the dog whisperer.

“Thank you my darling” he said with a deeply grateful inflection. She had bought them a long weekend away at a nearby spa resort.

It occurred to me that I can’t remember the last time some gorgeous young lady invited me away for one of those weekends!

Soon all the wrapping was binned and the cherubs were having a full blown battle over whose dinosaur belonged to whom.

I slipped out the back door with a new bottle of sherry and settled down to see whether I could constructively engage with the dog.

“Happy Christmas old boy”, I said with truly caring intent.

She growled menacingly and walked away.

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