The turkish bishop is coming, look REALLY well-behaved and, uh, make sure there's beer
"So, Lashes, Fingers, what does St Nicolas need? Do we leave him anything?"
"Uh, sugar for his coffee. Or his donkey. And shoes. And beer."
"Is wine ok?"
"We haven't got any beer"
"BUT HE'LL PUT ME IN THE SACK! AND HIT ME WITH STICKS!"
"Listen, Fingers, we'll leave him a note. I'm sure it will be fine"
"Dammit, if this is the effect it has on you I'm telling him NOT TO BOTHER COMING!"
[Emma exists stage left, muttering phlegmish curses]
The credit crunch hits big bad bastard law firms and we don't care one bit
BMF: I have just received the list of prizes on offer for our Christmas raffle. It includes "an office chair" and "dinner for 4 in the partners' dining room". I can't help but feel this is significant.
Less fun than this would be difficult
I commented earlier today on the Hairy Farmer's blog that I was generally complimentary to the CFO on these pages. Of course, moments thereafter he surgically removed the fun from my afternoon with such precision and grim determination that I have to complain just a little. I don't even feel up to details. Suffice to say, if an intensely cost-conscious Frenchman makes you the unforgettable offer of expedited Christmas shopping at an out of town shopping centre in the driving rain the eve of St Nicolas, and said Frenchman has a furious hatred of queueing, a morbid fear of spoiling children and a desire not to spend any money, the best thing you can do is decline graciously. Unless you want to experience the kind of dark night of the soul in the video game aisle that leads you to question your life, and romantic choices, in the most profound fashion. And to spend the rest of the day snarling with resentment. I'm just saying, ok? Just in case the situation arises. Every year Christmas nearly leads to the irreconcileable breakdown of our relationship, and every year I forget shortly thereafter. If I start to sound perky in late November next year, I'll be counting on you to remind me of today.
He also indicated that from January he would look very darkly on 'out of hours' (evening, weekend) blogging. I have yet to take a view on this. It's for his own good. If I were to take a view now, it would involve disembowelling.
Does your conjoint/concubin/époux/partner impose blogging limits? Am I within my rights to stick something sharp up his nose? Answers on a glittery postcard with a donkey on.
Oh, and worst of all, one of us appears to be auditioning for panto. Horrors!