New Year Fun

Amusing Hat + Paper Streamer = Fun

Dusk at 37,000 Feet

Somewhere over Prague…

Cheeky Chappie Max Miller

He loved nothing more that a cheery joke and a nice cup of tea.

My Christmas Tree

Christmas tree, Oh Christmas tree! How lovely are your branches! And your lights. And your tinsel. And your baubles.

It’s Christmas!

Well, near enough…

View From The Cabbie

I had to get a taxi to a meeting this morning.

My opening conversational gambit was, “Blimey, these buildings have gone up quick”.

It took under two minutes for him to get to, “No-one’s prepared to stand up and say there’s too many illegal immigrants”.

Brilliant.

Blimey! Liverpool Isn’t A Dump Anymore

Whodathunkit?

Sunset Over St Helens

Beecham’s clock tower with a halo of Winter sunset. A beautiful sight.

The Real Father Christmas

When I was a little boy, I was well aware of the conceptual problems of Father Christmas appearing at every school, shopping centre, church hall and crappy kids party in the country, simultaneously. Let alone the fact that they all looked a bit different (and some smelled funny).

I was a clever kid and figured that clearly there was some sort of sleight of hand going on.

Of course, when you’re a kid you want to believe. Coz if you stop, then so might the presents.

So each year, I’d meet two or three Father Christmases (Father Christmi?) but not be entirely convinced by all of them. One, however, was special.

I visited him each year, in an amazing multi-coloured grotto in a cave at my school Christmas fayre. He was particularly grumpy and would question why on earth you’d want what you just asked for. But it was ok: he was the REAL Father Christmas.

I knew it was the real one, because whatever I asked him for as my main presents, I got. If I saw an imposter Father Christmas later, and asked for something different, I wouldn’t get it. Only things I asked for at the school fayre would turn up under the tree on Christmas morning.

It was well over 10 years before I discovered how this magic worked. My mum told me that since the grotto was made of paper (brown paper making the craggy cave outside and crepe paper giving the magical interior) she just stood outside behind where Father Christmas sat, and listened to what I asked for

It’s Good To Be Back

Now that I’ve settled back in and got on top of the worst at work, I can exercise my dormant bile-filled spleen* on the following outstanding matters:

1. Thomsonfly didn’t give us what we paid for. They were remarkably rubbish in all respects so will get full scathing sarcasm.

2. I joined ‘Airport Angels’ through my bank. It gives you 3 free passes to airport VIP lounges and I specifically checked they had one in Cancun for our 5 hour wait. Except there was “some sort of problem” with the Airport Angels deal and airport staff wouldn’t let us in. Since we’ll have no more long airport trips for the year, my membership is now pointless. They’ll get a polite but insistant complaint first before I unleash the full fury.

3. HSBC left us unable to withdraw any money whilst away, having arbitrarily decided Penny’s card had been cloned with seemingly no evidence. They will be getting all the rage I can muster, as it cost us a fortune in advance cash fees and interest to live off my credit card. Not to mention the trouble we’d have been in had it been our only card.

4. The London Aquarium is rubbish. Really, really bad. They’re in the middle of a refurb so if that’s the reason they should be closed, not knocking a quid off the £14 entrance fee.

Mondays make me grumpy. I shall attempt to channel it well.

* not medically accurate