Auntie Doris’s Twelve Days of Christmas. #9: Nine Ladies Dancing

 

9th

I wouldn’t thank anyone for giving me nine ladies dancing for Christmas. Don’t get me wrong. I used to like that Anita Harris, it was fascinating to watch her doing those high kicks, but I wouldn’t actually want to receive her as a gift, let alone nine of them. That’s ruddy ridiculous. Anyway, where would I put them all what with all the swans and geese and calling birds and French hens and turtle doves. Not to mention the Ruddy partridge. I don’t think my Raymond would have turned them down though. Top of the Pops used to be a big part of Christmas Day. And funnily enough, whether it was the Christmas Day edition, or an ordinary Thursday night one, my Raymond always used to insist on having it on, despite the fact that he didn’t hold with long haired men wearing make up and bell bottomed trousers or any of that sort of malarkey. He always used to reckon that he wasn’t rally bothered, but he had heard that there might be something “good” on, such as Peters and Lee, or Harry Belafonte. But if I tried turning it over to the other side, he would get into a panic and insist that I switched it back. Unless I had waited until after Pan’s People had done their act. Because that was the only bit he was really interested in, the filthy so and so. He used to come over all unnecessary when they started prancing around in their gossamer outfits. You could see the beads of sweat appear on the back of his neck, and he would sort of wriggle in his seat and adjust his trousers. It got even worse when Legs and co took over. He actually used to make little noises while he was watching them. He used to say he didn’t realise he was doing it, or that he was singing along, but he wasn’t, he was grunting like a ruddy animal. And if his true love had sent him the whole of Pan’s People and Legs and Co around on Christmas morning. I don’t think he would have done anything different. He would have just sat there gawping at them, fiddling with his trousers and making grunting noises. So I’m glad the situation never arose. It would have been embarrassing. For me and those poor young lasses. At least when they were just on the telly there was only me who had to put up with the sight of him. Anyway… Merry Christmas to all my Facebook Friends. Now go and spend some time with your ruddy families like you are supposed to. Uncle Raymond’s Christmas Cracker Cackle of the Day: “she was only the Nativity play director’s daughter, but everyone admired her Mary”

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