Nativity Play

Well, after last nights shenanigans and without much sleep I awoke to find my wife in a world of false jollity and it took me a few minutes to remember that it was my son’s nativity play this morning and that was why she was talking to me after last night’s row; All must be well before his first performance. As I had so few hours sleep and nothing to eat, I was very aware of the clinical smell of the school hall compared with my just got up, just had a fag and breathing last night’s booze all over the catholic faithful sort of smell that was coming from me.
My son was playing the spider in the stable. Oi oi oi . . If you don’t know just how integral the spider in the stable was in the story of the birth of our Lord you know fuck all.
After it was over, the Headmaster (who sounds like Jimmy Cricket) wished us all a happy and Holy Christmas. Bollix to all you bauble and tinsel banners!!!

There is a God !!!

And now, while reviewing the trite-shite that I have written, I am finishing my bottle of Australian shiraz. A sneezing fit upon sneezing fit led to me blowing my nose upon a tea-towel, which, although clean, still smelled of roast dinners. I am cleansing my soul with Piano concerto number two in B flat major.
At three-thirty in the morning, after opening another bottle of tesco's special offer Australian shiraz, I was so pissed that I didn't hear my wife come down stairs and into my office. She caught me on the internet looking at . . . Leeds Universities philosophy departments treatise on transubstatiation. You see, there is a God. If she had crept up on me any other night of our ten year marriage, she would have caught me looking at 'Big and Bouncy!!!'

On the wagon

'Twas a good day to climb aboard the ever moving wagon. I had slept in an odd way and had woken up with a neck that I couldn't turn without revolving my whole upper body. As I had dog training at seven it meant that my usual calling for a six o' clock snifter was never going to happen. Dog training was very stressful. If I had ever wanted to cut off a spaniels nose and sell it to Spanish pirates it was tonight! I arrived home at eight-thirty and prayed to God for the strength to stay out of the pub and not open the bottle of unopened red that was sitting on the shelf above the toaster. As Behan had always advised his faithful that it was wrong to drink upon a full stomach, I had fed myself a nine-minute microwave chicken dinner at six, hoping that it would do the trick. It wasn't enough. At eight-fifty I was ready for any amount of booze you could throw at me. After much agonising. I stayed in and ate two bowls of cocoa-pops and had a few cups of tea while watching spooks. I looked in my diary: I hadn't had a day without a drink for nine months. I was expecting a sleepless night full of night-sweats. I slept like a baby.