GOF’s Twelve Days of Christmas

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Santa arrived at a shopping centre in tropical Cairns on a stinking hot day in the first week of November.      Serves him right.
Premature Santas are abominations.

The Bucket wishes to share a smidgin of it’s meagre reserves of Seasonal Joy, so I hope you are in good voice today to sing along with me.

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On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me;
A  dunny brush in a plastic holder.

On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me;
Two floor-cleaning kneepads.

On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me;
Three sociability ultimatums.

On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to me;
Four earsfull of admonition.

On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me;
Five hours of unsolicited dream interpretations.

On the sixth day of Christmas my true love gave to me;
Six inaccurately flung boots.

On the seventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me;
Seven reminders of things I did wrong in 1984.

On the eighth day of Christmas my true love gave to me;
Eight flatulence suppressing medications.

On the ninth day of Christmas my true love gave to me;
Nine subtly disguised gift hints.

On the tenth day of Christmas my true love gave to me;
Ten dish-washing scour pads with bonus rubber gloves.

On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me;
Eleven bottles of halitosis mouthwash.

On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love gave to me;
Twelve $#%@&%* swearing jars,
and,
Eleven bottles of halitosis mouthwash,
Ten dish-washing scour pads,
Nine subtly disguised gift hints,
Eight flatulence suppressing medications,
Seven reminders of things I did wrong in 1984,
Six inaccurately flung boots,
Five hours of unsolicited dream interpretations,
Four earsfull of admonition,
Three sociability ultimatums,
Two floorcleaning kneepads,

And ……AND…..as if that wasn’t already enough for one bloody Christmas, I suddenly heard the grunt of a semi-trailer’s airbrakes as it came to a halt outside my backdoor and unloaded some sort of giant fruit tree, with a dopey, smug looking temperate-zone bird sitting in an upper branch.

I think I’m going to need all those swearing jars.

.

GOF’s postal address is now;

Patient # 26354,
Christmas Carol overdose clinic,
MONGOLIA.

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..

The Bucket will be going into extended hibernation.

Thank you to each and every one of my friends, old or new, wherever you are in the world, for your company and inspiration, and for putting up with me during 2010.

This year I am especially grateful to all the members of my Vox neighbourhood who thought our little circle of friendship was worth maintaining and moving lock, stock and barrel to WordPress.

Mrs GOF and I wish each and every one of you a happy, safe and peaceful Christmas.