Santa Isn't Coming This Year

The gaps between blogs are getting bigger. The gaps between witty blogs even bigger again. It's got to the point that I'm getting emails (ok, email singular) asking me if the blog is still going.

Of course it is. I've just got nothing to say. I could whine about how busy we've been, how we've had no time in the run up to Xmas, or how I am stuck on this lump of steel until the 27th but I'm not going to. Aside from the last point, we've got the same hassles as every other family out there.

I might just whinge about my daughter (or rather my ex wife!) and that damn DS. Her mother forbid her to bring it to my house all year in case her little brothers broke it (which was fine by me), but then decided to let her bring it on the two visits before Christmas. The outcome of this you can get in detail from the wife's blog in detail, but to get you in the picture, R changed his Santa wishlist only a few days ago. After Santa has done his shopping. Rumour has it that SS was heard telling her brother to "just ask for one, you can get it in whatever colour you like." Who am I to spoil Xmas for a little boy who seldom asks for anything.......?

Or I could tell you that I was a pratt of the highest order. The storms had forced a tree over in our garden a few months back. I decided (eventually, as my Mrs like to remind me) to cut it down and dig the root out. I spent nearly a whole day grafting my backside off - no mean feat for a self confessed desk jockey now - but couldn't quite shift the last bit of the root. Ahh ha says me, I'll get the truck and a tow rope and full the fecker out.

I got myself organsied. In a rather manly kind of way, with my jeans hanging off my arse, I lifted said root from every direction to make sure all the big roots were broken. It was just a tad heavy for me on my lonesome. I got the truck into position, got the rope around the root, connected it all together and gave it some welly.

MPLST at this point (she never tires of reminding me of this bit) says what's that smell? It'll be nothing I assure her, just give it a bit more. Mmm, this root is more stubborn than I thought. Give it more. And more........oops, no grips. Shit! Ahh, there's a big root right underneath I've missed says me.

A few days later the clutch dies and the truck is useless. Into the garage she goes.

Here's the lesson now (if you've not gotten bored yet). When I called home yesterday, I was told the truck was fixed, and asked how much I was budgeting for the bill. I was hoping for change out of £500 say me rather hopefully. I had a sneaky suspicion I was being somewhat ambitious judging by her smug "I told you so" attitude.......

Double it and add some, says the wife. And closely follows this with a bout of I Told You So about the burning smell.

Good bloody job Santa's elves can make a DS I tell you. Good job I'm out here for all the Christmas nights out too........

Ho ho ho.