Archive for December 2011
Princesses, reindeer poop and the case of the runaway wrapping paper
Christmas was a panoply of princesses and puppetry this year. Santa was on the money with the princesses (and the aunties did not too bad with the puppet theatre).
No-one misbehaved too much except for Blixen who pooped in granny’s garden while the presents were being delivered. Luckily, Santa was good enough to scoop the poop and leave it in a nappy bag with a note of apology. Funnily enough, in case you’re interested, reindeer poop looks and smells a lot like prunes.
My brother invented a highly original approach to present wrapping. At three in the morning, it seems that the wrapping paper tried to make a bid for freedom so he had to wrestle it to the floor and shackle it to the nearest inanimate object with about 3 metres of sellotape. Opening our hermetically sealed gifts on Christmas morning was quite a challenge.
The Christmas day quiz was just about as close as it could be – lost by a single point with Jada Pinkett-Smith (whoever she is) to blame!
So that’s about it for the Spiller Christmas. Roll on New Year, I say…
Season’s Greetings
So ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, it’s that time of year again.
I may have rather front loaded my festive period in the past few days, leaving my liver cells looking and feeling like a ramshackle collection of pocket change and my brain cells, in both number and usefulness, like the rogue French franc you might find among them.
Tomorrow we are driving down to Manchester in a shiny new hairdryer. It’s a long story but our car is currently dismantled somewhere on the outskirts of Bonnyrigg and it seems that All the Kings Horse and All the Kings Men are currently on their Christmas night out so won’t put it back together again until sometime in the new year.
So before we head off I wanted to wish my loyal and avid readership (yes, both of you, lovely people that you are) a very Merry Christmas and New Year.
And share with you the best present I’ve received so far. From the coolest shop in Edinburgh.
See you all in 2012.
Rue Du Chat Qui Peche
I don’t think there are enough surrealist street names in this world. This one was called The Cat that Fishes Street.
If I ever win the lottery, I will buy an island, build a street and name it Boulevard This is Not a Pipe with a giant mosaic of a pipe created in the paving stones.
Who says Lottery Winners can’t spend their money wisely?
Shakespeare and Company
A little pictorial tribute to the man, George Whitman, who founded this magical place in the centre of Paris in 1951 and who died in his apartment above it yesterday, aged 98.
