John’s Christmas is eagerly anticipated as far back as the previous Boxing Day, therefore by the time it arrives he is hyped to the max which means everything he sees or hears is hilarious….cue hysterical laughter when I ask him if he wants a drink or falling over sideways, breathless and holding his tummy when I announce its bath time. How lovely it must be to be that happy, Christmas to a lot of people is a difficult, lonely and miserable time. Maybe I could rent John out as a pick-me-up for the depressed and miserable….can you see where I am going with this?
On the Saturday before Christmas John felt the need to spread a little mirth and so off we went on The Santa Express to the twinkly little town of Bethlehem….oh alright then, the 11.28 Merseyrail service to West Kirby where surely we could find a virgin and three wise men? Oh well, maybe not. Ahem!
John didn’t want a balloon, shaking his head and guffawing loudly when I asked him, instead he skipped and chortled his way straight to the little electrical Inn with the less than happy Innkeeper. Dark as ever, I could just make out a glow from the back of the room, the strange pungent smell of donkey poo hung in the air (or could it be bullshit?) The Innkeeper with the by now extremely bushy moustache, was on his knees in front of what looked like a crib filled with straw, but was on closer inspection a cardboard box full polystyrene. Trust him to ruin a good story.
John was laughing loudly at a 48” plasma screen TV as he pointed at it and said “Penguins” before once more descending into hysterics. The Innkeeper just shook his head which I took to mean there was no room at the Inn for any kind of merriment let alone a bed. After sharing a very funny joke with two Hotpoints and a Bosch, John decided it was time to leave and spread a little happiness elsewhere.
I felt it was only fair to reassure the miserable Innkeeper that in no way was there a penguin anywhere upon my person.