C Day.

“So this is Christmas, Da da deda.” Yes it’s Christmas morn and the turkey’s in the oven, which is no mean feat for a mouse. I’ve had personal Christmas greetings from Homebase, eBuyer, Amazon and Screwfix and I’ve just finished wrapping the cats’ presents, (having recently learnt how to use the apostrophe after the s) which consist of a garish gold tinsel mouse on a bed of ‘catnip nibbles’ and ‘milk drops’ within a wrapping not unlike a French four cornered hat. I’m hoping this might win us £250 on ‘You’ve been Framed.’ Bethmouse is watching television as always: personally I’d prefer cleaning drains. I’ve wrapped an assortment of old belongings, books I’ve read etc, and things I’d like to buy for myself but opted to give other people because it’s nicer. It’s a strange time, Christmas morning; the one time in the year when one’s surrounded by food but when one goes to the fridge for a nibble there’s nothing to eat. It seems full to bursting of things that aren’t nibbly or nibbly things you’re not allowed yet. I’m secretly hoping for a Ducati 680cc Monster this year but it looks like I’ll be disappointed yet again as there’s no presents with two wheels sticking out the bottom of the wrapping paper. Personally I like celebrating the birth of an exceptional human being. If only some twat hadn’t gone and changed the name of his father on the birth certificate perhaps we’d all be able to lose the feelings of inadequacy, or at least know we’re only inadequate because we’re just not trying hard enough.