Sore finger

You wouldn't think that there would be anyone in this world who would be so pathetic and moronic that the first thing they believe that they must do on Christmas morning is leave a sectarian, bigoted and foul mouthed message on a photographic gallery. To the sad little loser whose life is so empty that they feel that this is an acceptable way to behave, I have to correct you on several points: I have no desire to have sexual intercourse with you; I am not a Fenian; and my parents were married in the Church of Scotland. Anyway, enough of pathetic morons. Onwards and upwards (just like Celtic, really!). I didn't get the 20D for Christmas, but I did get £400 to put towards it! I got no camera related stuff at all - mainly because I told Linda not to get me anything, as I can get it cheaper on the internet. I got the usual 'man' stuff: the smallest pile, and the most amount of socks. Liam was spoiled as usual, getting a portable DVD player from his gran (he wants to be able to watch films while we are driving to Rothesay), as well as a huge assortment of PC and PS2 games and a Swiss Army knife. He wanted an air rifle, but we persuaded Santa that we don't want one of these things in our house, so he didn't get one - and nor did he get the slingshot that he wanted. The penknife was as far down that route as we were prepared to go, and to demonstrate just how dangerouse even the 2 inch blade is, I managed to cut my knuckle with it. It was a painful lesson (well, it was for me - the cut is very deep!), but one I hope he has learned from. The rest of Christmas Day passed in a turkey and red wine frenzy, which came to an abrupt end for me at about 9pm, when I fell asleep while writing my bowl of Stu. I was up early this morning, though, because I knew that the Morcambe and Wise 1976 Christmas Special (the one with Elton John and a high-kicking Angela Rippon) was on. So, while the rest of the house was asleep, I sat chuckling away to Eric and Ernie. Almost 30 years old, seen umpteen times, and still hilarious. I must be becoming incredibly domesticated, because during the Hearts v. Celtic game, I agreed to go with Linda to the furniture shop for four kitchen/dining chairs! What on earth can that mean? It was a very short shopping trip though, with me simply agreeing to purchase the first chairs Linda liked. We were back home sitting on them before the start of the second-half! Oh... and we won 2-0 (sorry, Richard). So I guess our pathetic friend the bigot will be crying over his orange sash. Now isn't that a shame.


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