It is I who stole aunty's tarts.
Hello again, folks! It is after Christmas! Which means only 11 months until next Christmas! It turns out that I have returned to the land of the oxen, despite a savage attack from a lone sea snail. Needless to say, I was victorious, and the snail has returned to the bathroom, thoroughly cowed by the experience.
But something must be said about my dramatic escape from this malevolent county. It was exciting, dramatic, and a little unusual. My penguin feet came in handy on several occasions, not least to provide entertainment when all else went to Tupperware. On the eighteenth day of the twelfth month of the year, I had planned to return to my home in the north (or south for those who prefer to be geographically accurate), but ALAS and FORSOOTH and FULSAW! This was not to be! Quel drame! Oimoi hoi polloi! And other such sentiments.
More white stuff fell from the sky that morning than had ever fallen before. Ever. Except for those other times. So. Much. White. Stuff. For those not in the know, I am talking about the cold, wet, snowy kind of white stuff, not the overpriced high street shop. Which is where I purchased my swimming costume, for anyone who is interested. Which fortunately is now the right size, thanks to some very handy alterations by the infamous Ruth the Shrubber.
So, back to my tail, and my tale. The mutti arrived at an obnoxious hour of the clock, i.e. 10am, and we set off into the blizzard, taking our very lives into our hands. We nearly died fewer than fourteen times, but nevertheless was extremely dangerous and even dastardly, perhaps! Upon reaching the town of the Ox, we were forced to sit in a traffic jam for three million years. At which point we decided to abandon ship, and swam to shore (drove back to Crawley). The drive back was even more perilous, but we managed to commandeer the very last loaf of bread from a petrol station on our way, and made it back in two pieces.
At this point I traipsed up the wooden hill, also known as the hill that is not made of wood in any shape or form, and rode back down it on a kayak. And various other sledge-related entities. Before heading back to the house of DOOM for tea with mutti. And then bed.
The following day we hoisted our knickers up to record heights, and went on our way, without death of any sort, but still surrounded by white, arriving back in the 'ford just in time for lunch with the fam.
Other adventures over the Christmas period include living in a nest made from duvets, getting the flu, having a HOT SHOWER (!!!) and eating my body weight in pig. I was
also encouraged by the discovery that many of the strange, semi-Belgian clan which I claim to be a part of also suffer with that well-known medical condition, Squarefoot. Despite being half the size of the majority, I am not alone in my distress, and was delighted to hear that other people out there are in the same aeroplane. It is remotely possible that we also discussed topics of some serious importance, but unlikely. In any case, I have blocked all such experiences from my memory, due to their being unfit for human consumption: we are bored of such things.
Since my return to the 'shire, few things have happened to cause serious distress, but I have thoroughly enjoyed CLIMBING both yesterday and today, and I have not enjoyed drowning whilst attached to a kayak. My thanks go out to Josh and James for their extensive efforts to prevent my drowning, which paused and thought for a moment about being successful, but then changed their minds. Maybe next time.
I am also pleased to announce that the RUGMEISTER has reappeared. That is, I have been playing rugby, not anything peculiar involving small carpets. She has also extended her influence to indoctrinate another member of her household, and the fearsome Ruth is going to have a go at the beautiful game on the morrow. I will let you know how many body parts she has still in tact after the game. Despite my best efforts at eating anything and everything that I can find, it seems that I have been sent back to my sad and lonely hole on the wing, due to having lost a large rock in weight since last playing, and being considerably smaller than half of many of the other players on the team. However, it does not end here. I would be honoured to once again play the role of fatty on the pitch (and fatty always needs a friend if anyone is interested?), and will be doing everything in my power to make it happen. Well, almost anything.
I even have some news about the big G. You
might know, you might not, that God seems to back me up pretty frequently. Often this is due to my being somewhat on the PANTS side of things. But I have to say, I am very grateful, and was astounded when leading a Bible study about Jesus and beer, that the discussion lasted for somewhere in the realm of two and a half hours. I learnt an enormous amount from my compatriots, and hope that they benefited too. Now onto the next one, as I prepare for my journey to somewhere a little warmer and a little older to hang out with Abraham. I have two weeks, and would greatly appreciate any information about his whereabouts, as our map collection is sadly lacking in that area.
But for now I must bid you adieu, and hurry off to wedgie my walrus.
