Christmas at the Wheelie Bin Laws

The day began welll, it was Christmas Eve after all and I promised not to weep copiously for a change. To my deep surprise S gave me a lift into town, and may the baby jesu be praised, she was on time, in fact early. She'd left the B i L in the city to buy trousers and avery expensive bottle of whiskey- alas not my yuletide gift.

The roads were clear all the way to Bridge of Don until we turned into their road and there seemed to be have been a recent avalance. SpagettiBolognaise was on the menu and copious cups of cofffe.

Then by increments things startd to go wrong.

'Can I have one of your beers B i L?' he relied in the affirmative. yet, I swilled it down before he had a change of mind. While S and B I l were cloistered in front of Prince Caspian I stuck back to the fridge, twisted open the bottle and drank it as dast as I could in case they started looking for me round for mwe at the precious moment.

Thus it was that war began

B i L started screamimg, spouting on about the myth of self-control and wandered about with the remaining beers looking for a place to hide them from me.

The shouting of B i L and the cajoling od S lasted over half as I sat in the spare bedroom writing my journal. The rest of the evening went relatively smoothly and they even allowed me into a church without paying.

They went to bed and I remaind awake for 6 hours determined to finish my journal as I'd just bought a new one. Dotting down and up the stairs for urine breals, coffeee refiills and a slice of pineapple I left all the lights on all night.

The silence was plapable when I emerged at ten down in the angry den. Yet, my S and B i L are good, kind people, slow to anger and mainly tolerant of me so I wasn't battered senseless and made to walk to the garage to get milk.

Love, mygod, would you believe it