It was about this time last year that I posted a piece beginning...
Lest you think the title of that last post followed by an ominous silence meant anything well, no, it didn't...only that the pre-Christmas rush has left little time for blogging and, despite there being so much of importance going on in the news and in the world of BBC reporting, this post is just to say that things will be very slow here in the coming couple of weeks (well on my part anyway), bursting out anew in 2014...
Well, the pre-Christmas rush is proving even more of a rush this year and it's only going to get worse. Friends, family and two (visiting) three-month old babies will be taking up most of my free time, so there's going to be very little time for blogging - again despite there being so much of importance going on in the news and in the world of BBC reporting at the moment.
As Sue is struggling to find any free time whatsoever at the moment too, things are likely to be very quiet here for the next couple of weeks or so.
Apologies for that, but we will strive to burst out anew again in 2015.
Last year's pre-Christmas 'out of office' post turned into a festive carol-filled Christmas party - well, actually, a history of Christmas carols. This year - as it's been a grim day news-wise - we'll have to make do with a few festive jokes instead:
Santa was very cross. It was Christmas Eve and nothing was going right. The elves were complaining about not getting paid overtime. The reindeer had been drinking all afternoon and the sleigh was broken. Santa was furious. ‘I can’t believe it!’ he yells. ‘I’ve got to deliver millions of presents all over the world in just a few hours, all of my reindeer are drunk, the elves are on strike and I don’t even have a Christmas tree! I sent that stupid little angel to find one hours ago! What am I going to do?’ Just then, the little angel opens the front door and steps in from the snowy night, dragging a Christmas tree. ‘Oi fatty!’ she says. ‘Where d’you want me to stick this?’ And thus the tradition of angels atop the Christmas trees came to pass.
A mafioso’s son sits at his desk writing a Christmas list to Jesus. He first writes, ‘Dear baby Jesus, I have been a good boy the whole year, so I want a new…’ He looks at it, then crumples it up into a ball and throws it away. He gets out a new piece of paper and writes again, ‘Dear baby Jesus, I have been a good boy for most of the year, so I want a new…’ He again looks at it with disgust and throws it away. He then gets an idea. He goes into his mother’s room, takes a statue of the Virgin Mary, puts it in the closet, and locks the door. He takes another piece of paper and writes, ‘Dear baby Jesus. If you ever want to see your mother again…’
Did you hear about the dyslexic devil worshipper? He sold his soul to Santa.
