One day. One single day has passed and the amount of plastic which will have exchanged hands across the land would cover 10,357 football pitches. (I just made that up by the way, but it sounds about right and people always use football pitches or double-decker buses in such 'cor blimey' comparisons of mass and distance)
We even had 'plastic that didn't work' plastic, care of Amazon, otherwise known as 'Ama-too much hassle to send back-zon'. Twenty quids worth of Bop It which is slightly useless cos the sound doesn't work!
Between the four of us we amassed 87 Christmas cards which, if stood on end, would be as high as four double-deckers. Actually, I have no idea how high a bus is but the number of cards IS a true statistic, how popular are we!? Thankful as I am for the well wishes, it's now Boxing Day so I'm chopping them up to make next year's gift tags.....and you thought I wasn't a yummy mummy! Mind you, Jack Dee's idea of having a shredder attached to behind the letter box also appeals.
I don't want to plagiarise the pros, but did anyone see Michael McIntyre's Christmas show with his hilarious take on 'getting out of the house'; without kids 'v' with kids? It was superb. First case scenario, without kids; he simply walks a few steps, opens a pretend door, goes through then closes it behind him. 'With kids' is a hilarious scene of utter chaos with Michael ranting and gesticulating wildly as he mimes the daily scene of bedlam AND mayhem which takes place in his, and most child-rearing households across the land! Hilarious.
I digress, where was I?
You know, friends have likened the manner in which I recount a tale to that of Ronnie Corbett sat in his Mastermind-style black recliner. I don't know what on earth they mean!?
That's right, I was going to tell my own comedy encounter at the Co-Op on Christmas Eve. Well, me and the little lad had just been to a lovely Christingle and had to leg it to the supermarket to grab some milk. I begged to be let in as the manager was literally closing the doors. We hoofed it up the chiller aisle and arrived back at the check-out with lightening speed. The manager looked at us, sighed and said, 'just excuse me a minute'. He then slowly leaned towards the tannoy microphone and declared over the airwaves to the deserted aisles: "Can all remaining customers please make their way to the check-out as the store is now closing, thank you".
I looked around me with sit-com-worthy melodrama and then pointed out to the manager that he knew full well there was just me and the little lad left in the building, and we were standing right in front of him!
Like the Jet2 operative (previous blog), I think it may be a while until he sees the funny side.
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| The serious business of present opening |
