Have a Good Time, All the Time

Good evening folks, it's Christmas day and as you can probably imagine I have been drinking for quite some time.

I am currently in my parent's home in a picturesque village, and am listening to the 'delightful' percussion solo as performed by Ted: White Rabbit - Pain in the Arse. Ted has been in the family for a few years now and is usually in Bristol being waited on hand and foot by my sister and (in)significant other; however over the festive season he has been given a holiday while his parents are up in Aberdeen being Scottish at one-another. Probably wearing kilts and saying 'och eye the noo' all day. As Scottish people are want to do. I've read about them you know; in books.
Thankfully, to help me write this post my mother's cat Missy has helpfully decided to sit directly in front of the monitor and therefore I cannot see what it is I am typing. As such I will try and type what I can and put up whatever I think is the reiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii

To recap, the cat decided my arm and face area were special mountaineering and claw sharpening outposts; as such she has now been 'removed from play' due to my screams, which were not unlike a young whale being eaten by ants whilst being dragged into a combine harvester. Anyway.

My Christmas was a quiet affair, and that's great. Forgoing turkey this year we went with fillet steak (which could replace any food item in my opinion) and I have eaten more than seven people could comfortably eat in the space of a few hours. Still, as I don't plan on moving much for the next week I am okay with this, as I will lay still and digest my food in a similar manner to a Boa Constrictor: massive distended belly and antlers sticking two feet from my grotesque snout. Though saying this, the Boa won't be lying on a cider bottle-strewn carpet, so that's one up on the animal kingdom.

Anyway, time to check some emails and go to bed. Merry Christmas all.

Oh.

The rabbit is still stamping. Why he does this is a mystery; do my key presses sound, in his mind, like the distant panicked foot thumps of his brethren? Or has his brain simply broken, leaving behind the sole and all encompassing desire to annoy the shit out of me? Rest assured, the latter is proving to be more likely. And more and more likely, Ted is soon to become quiet.

Dead quiet. Ho. Ho. Ho.