The bah humbug traitor

I had decided to hold out against all the Christmas jollification and stuff after all. Too much fuss. Don't like fuss. Bah humbug to fuss. I grrred and growled and told her ladyship that there would be none of that nonsense here. We would do a bit of low key solstice celebrating - maybe hug a small fir tree when no one was looking - but bah humbug to tinsel and glittery things and fairy lights and getting all jolly and jingly.


And then. Shhhhhh. Promise me that you won't tell anyone I said this. Ok. Oh, the shame ...

Yesterday Madame received her parcel full of Wainwright does Judy Garland and she was listening to it last night. Over and over again obviously. I naturally attempted to hide and to block my ears with cushions. But. Half way through The Trolley Song - yes, The Trolley Song - I started to feel all - I think it's called happy. I danced. Bear does Rufus does Judy. Don't you make that face at me. I know. I know. And it could happen to you.

And I woke up this morning with a great need for Crimbo nonsense. I want snowmens and reindeers and fake snow and - no, not santas - Madame is santaphobic - holly and mistletoe and - do I want egg nog? what is egg nog? - maybe egg nog.

But first I'm going to Mr Flynn's birthday party. He's 2 today. Hurrah for Mr Flynn! He does lots of running about and making noise and he's brill!

It's raining rain

Outside it's wet. A lot of wet. And grey. Inside - busy. Lots of busy.

Birthday this Tuesday and I am excited. I am as excited as a very excited thing in a whole bath full of excitement. I love birthdays. Especially mine. Presents. Fuss. More presents. More fuss. Streamers. Balloons. Those blowy out things that go "whoooot". Cake and candles I'm not so keen on - stickiness/flammability - but the rest - woo hoo!

It's going to be Her birthday too. She's spent the past few days in a riotous orgy of fun and shopping. Of course it will end in tears. Probably when the next lot of bank statements appear. But today she is happy. Surrounded by a thrilling new collection of socks, bags, and other stuff.

And she has bought a new phone. Which is odd because she didn't use the one she had - she is old and grumpy and will usually only communicate via vellum scroll delivered by messenger pigeon. But this new phone - ooooooooooo - it's less of a phone and more of an entertainment centre. There's an mp3 player and a camera and a radio and petting zoo and and an inflatable dinghy and a small Russian Orthodox cathedral. Of course she doesn't know how any of it works so it is currently a pretty little paper weight.

And then there's the holiday. Still don't know where we're going. I do know that it will involve me being crushed into a suitcase or rucksack. One day I will go business class. One day I will not travel with a face full of socks and t-shirts. One day there will be peace and love and I will rule the world. Probably.

Some sad news. Fopp goes popp. We liked Fopp. There was a Fopp on Her way home from work. Just in the right place. Perfect for popping in when she was celebrating - or needed cheering up - or just wanted to fritter away some money (she would only have wasted it on food and bills). But no more Fopp. She'll be coming home and taking it out on me.