Anne Dickens | The Day After Yesterday

Well, what can I say? A happy berluddy new year to you dahlink! That's what. Mwahh x

I know that 2013 is going to be a good one for you .... I can see it in Naughty George's urine. And even in the steam that rises when his yellow stream hits my favourite patio pot plant. It's a bit like reading Tarot cards. I was just born with the gift. And my mutt's piss says that this year you are going to be lucky, lucky, lucky (just like Kylie Minogue .... bless her and her frozen features).

So where to start? Ummm. Well I would have added a new blog post about a week ago if I hadn't been pole-axed by Man-Flu, which is obviously normally terminal. But when I posted my near-death status on Facebook, I was trumped by Gumpher, who declared that he was suffering from Manthrax.

Man alive, that's got to be bad, and if I was Gumph, I would be checking who sent all those Christmas cards. As far as I can work out, Manthrax is generally transmitted by a baddie putting it into an envelope and getting good old Royal Mail to do the deed.

Anyway, I digress. Back to what went on over Christmas. I have never known anything like it. As you know, I moved house just before Christmas, then the whole house was thrown in turmoil again because new windows were fitted. And between all that, I had to do my Christmas shopping ..... which I just about managed to achieve .....






After visiting Auntie Christine, we (Sarah, Izzy, Louise -Sarah's sis, Margaret -Sarah's mum, and me) headed back to Sarah's house ..... only to find that the road had been cordoned off with Crime Scene tape and there were coppers swarming everywhere.

"Yoo hoo! Excuse me!" I shouted to one of the coppers. "What's going on here?"

"We're dealing with an attempted murder at Number 3," he shouted back.

Blimey, it was all action in Leeds. Back in Oxfordshire, I remember the whole community were once shocked when six eggs were taken from a roadside stall without any money being put in the Honesty Box.

The upside of the action was that we had a constant stream of coppers visiting the house to use the facilities and blag cups of tea. Sarah dribbled a bit and almost fainted when one buff young man graced the doorstep.

Anyway, I digress. Back to the Christmas action. Once we had adjusted to the constantly-flashing blue police lights through the living room window, it was present time. Huzzar!




I had bought Izzy an iPad for her Christmas present because someone told me that she would be entertained up until the age of 18 and I wouldn't have to do any parenting. That's got to be the dog's danglies.

And to top off a bloody marvellous Christmas, we had a huge feast at the end of the day. I was supposed to supply the turkey, but I left it too late to order one, so we had a Capon instead. Apparently, they are bloody big chickens.

Boxing Day - Bolton Abbey

After stuffing our faces all over the Christmas period, we decided that we needed a bit of exercise to try and get rid of some of the lard that we accumulated. So a gang of us decided to head to Bolton Abbey. Bolton Abbey is a bloody big estate which home to the ruined 12th Century Bolton Priory (actually built in 1154). That's older than the tin of Corned Beef at the back of my cupboard.












And then it started pissing down with rain and I was one of two people nominated to run back and get the cars. I was wetter and colder than a fish's chuff by the time I got back with the car. That's oop north for you.

29th December - Pantomime

Sarah had booked for a group of us to go to a pantomime. For my friends across the pond, a pantomime is a slapstick musical comedy based on children's stories, and this one was called Cinderella.

And given that I am not particularly partial to slapstick, musicals or children's stories, I was clinging onto the fact that the comedy might redeem the performance.


Nope. Needless to say, after two and a half hours, the show was still going strong and I was losing the will to live. Sarah caught me surreptitiously trying to watch 'Zoolander' on my iPhone, and unceremoniously pulled out my earphones and called me a heathen.

I actually punched the air when I finally got out into open air again and mouthed 'thank you God,' and everything.

But despite the Cinderella blip, I have to say, our Christmas in Leeds was bloomin' marvellous as always. Especially because as I managed to avoid eating pie sandwiches as is the northern wont.


Izzy and I head south to Leicestershire to spend a second Christmas with my cousin Jane. Every time I see her, her hair is a different colour, but that isn't relevant to anything. 

She had made us a bloody marvellous tasting Christmas dinner which was bigger than my head. And I scoffed the lot. Then it was time to exchange presents.







So my dahlink, I do apologise that I haven't blogged for a while before this post. I promise I won't leave it this long again, but I just got pooped out with the whole moving house / Christmas / New Year / being ill / Izzy being ill / trying to catch up milarky.

I was quite surprised because I received quite a large number of complaints about my lack of blogging activity recently. As punishment, I shall self-flagellate with al-dente some spaghetti tonight.

And my next step is to try and catch up with reading your blog. Huzzar!