We've put the Christmas tree up! I'm so excited. No, really, I am.
Mr WithaY unravelled 400 miles of LED lights, and went and wrapped them around the rose arch in the front garden, so that is now a vision of glittering be-lighted loveliness. We put up our tree in a hastily-cleared corner of the sitting room. It's an artificial one which we bought in 1994, and it looks very pretty, if a little wonky.
New tree next year, I think. I'd like a real one, so we might get one in a tub to live in the garden and be hauled indoors for the festive season. We'll see.
Mr WithaY has carefully pinned up the dozens of small straw dollies in the shape of angels and fir cones all over the hall ceiling, which is very effective. He gets extra kudos for doing it with a stonking hangover, as well as (he says) the start of a cold.
Yesterday was his work Christmas lunch. They went to a posh French restaurant in Bath, where he crammed his pie hole with cold meat, and confit of duck, and figs in honey, and all manner of fine wines. He said it was lovely.
I think the trouble started after they finished lunch at about 4.30pm, and went on to the pub. I was half expecting him home any time after about 5, and even looked at the train times online to see roughly when I might be greeting him into the bosom of his adoring home, hem hem.
Well, it got to 8pm, so I had a bite to eat and watched some TV.
It got to 10pm, and I checked the train times again.
It got to 11pm, and I went and played World of Warcraft Cataclysm (yes, yes, I know, I know) for a bit, fully expecting him to be home soon, as the last train gets in at 11.15-ish.
Midnight came and went.
I went to bed and read my book, waiting for a phone call to say "I missed the train and I'm mysteriously stuck in Bath/Frome/Trowbridge/Exeter...will you come and fetch me please?"
Readers, it was almost 1am when he finally burst through the front door. Drink had been taken, he informed me.
He was very cheerful, having had a delightful meal and then a fun time in various pubs in Bath. And yes, they'd missed the last train and got stuck in Westbury. I have done that myself, although in my case the last train was cancelled, and I had to phone home to ask Mr WithaY to come and fetch me. Which he did without a grumble.
I asked how he'd got back from Westbury.
"Taxi!" he bellowed as he hopped around the hallway trying to take his shoe off.
"Was that very expensive?"
"Fuck yes!" More hopping, on a different leg as the other shoe was removed.
"Why didn't you ring me and ask me to come and get you?"
"Hahahahahahahaaaaaaaa. I'm not brave enough."
Hmmm.
3 comments:
It must have been the weather. Mr G came home "steaming" (in his own words) on Friday night, ditto the circumstances, and ditto the explanation. It's nice to strike fear into the hearts of those who love us, isn't it. Now, where's my whip?
A delightful post. It reminds me of my boss, back in the 1960s, who came into the office the morning after Christmas drinks with one of our major suppliers. He was not only sick, but bothered because he'd woken up in the early hours of the morning in an empty train in a terminal yard some distance from anywhere. But what was really disturbing for him was the fact that he was cradling a brand new rugby football. He had no idea how he'd come by it – had he bought it somewhere, won it in a pub raffle, or maybe even taken it from some small child?
Isabella, what are they like, eh? *tch*
FigMince, hello there. Great story! I like to imagine the small child trying to explain to his annoyed parents exactly HOW he lost his ball.
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