Thank you for hanging in there for another year chez Boo. I think you deserve an only slightly made up Christmas round robin, inspired by someone on Twitter who made me laugh very much. Here goes:
So, we face another Christmas here in the Boo household. What a year 2015 has turned out to be. It has been rammed full of incident and I cannot wait to share it with you all.
Jason started the year with an epiphany, which only adds to his already startling similarity to one of the Three Wise Men (Balthazar, if you must know). He cannot give up the myrrh habit. We’ve tried, but you just cannot get the patches on the NHS and they’re so expensive without a prescription.
He has finally shucked off the corporate manacles and decided to become a deity in his own right. He has spent much of the year developing the tenets of his religion. So far he has decided on:
Endless supplies of tea/coffee/hot beverage of your choice instead of communion wine once a week.
Chocolate digestives as the host (over 12’s only)
Priestly vestments to be substituted for pyjamas and overlarge dressing gowns.
Hats: optional (although, no sombreros. It’s a width thing)
It’s a good start, I think you’ll agree. Goodness knows what 2016 will bring. I’m hoping for levitation and the miracle of yule logs 52 weeks a year.
Tilly has gone on to develop her art skills this year to good effect. She has taken up decorating fruit and vegetables in a bid to become the more humane version of Damien Hirst. So far, her butternut squashes have been very popular, and she is carving out a successful niche market for herself. She started the year with satsumas and has been pushing the vegetable envelope ever since. Next year she will be found haunting the produce tents at a village fete near you looking for the world’s largest turnip, which she plans on turning into a diorama of Leicester by night, including Richard III’s grave site. We are very excited and will be putting her in for the Turner Prize (note how I resisted substituting Turner for Turnip. I am so good). Fingers crossed.
Tallulah is still undecided about her life plans although she has narrowed it down to two options: world famous superstar or world dictator. She approves of anything with the word ‘world’ in it. Domination, as ever, is on her mind. She has dominated many things this year and will no doubt continue to do so for many years to come. I can only say in my defence, that I did warn you all.
Get on side now while you still have the chance.
Oscar has spent much of 2015 growing ridiculously taller just as he has been bought new trousers, thus rendering him a permanent extra in Star Trek films. He has not, so far, been shot with a laser weapon, or attacked by Tribbles, for which we give thanks. He has spent the rest of the year emulating a sloth in its enthusiasms and habits, albeit a sloth who plays Minecraft until its tiny, blinky eyes fall out. His intention for 2016 seems to be to grow to heights previously uncharted in our diminutive family and spend a lot of time with plaster dust in his hair.
It may be time for Jason to build his first church.
The tortoise is, as ever, insane, and spends half its life trying to eat bits of furniture/hardware/carpet and the rest of it trying to hurl itself from the highest point possible it can scrabble to with its tiny, useless claw legs.
The cat has taken up shouting this year, and is doing really well with it. She now has a whole range of noises from a sort of peculiar chirring noise to a full on non-stop yorp, which she likes to exercise at about 2.30 a.m. when she gets stuck in the bathroom blinds trying to exit the house out of the smallest window in existence. She is still not convinced she is a cat and has absolutely no intentions of remedying this personality disorder in 2016. As far as I can tell, she simply will not have the time due to her pressing need to vomit at least once a day in the most unlikely place you would imagine cat vomit appearing.
It’s good that she has a hobby.
The children wish to buy an alpaca, two llamas, a bunch of midget goats and a brace of pug dogs next year.
This will not happen.
As for me, I continue to be a champion biscuit eater, bullshitter and semi-professional invalid. The chaise longue of death (TM) has been in constant use as I aim for full on Victorian consumptive by summer 2016. I continue to champion soup as the cure for all ills, am firmly convinced that swearing is the only thing standing between me and a stress induced heart attack, and still feel aggrieved by people who persist in putting up Austrian blinds. I am still not gainfully employed, unfit as I am for real life in almost every guise it turns up in. I have plans to get a job when either a) everyone else retires or b) when we experience a zombie apocalypse. According to a test I did on the internet, I will outlive all my family by forty years should we have a zombie apocalypse. I put this down to my continued obsession with Ray Mears.
It seems unlikely that I will get Idris Elba for Christmas, as requested. On the other hand, snacks are up, unwelcome visits from strangers are down, brussels have been resisted with all might and main, and I have not managed to accidentally listen to Chris Rea once during this festive period, so I am counting my blessings.
As I hope you do, too.
Love from me.