Auntie Doris’s Twelve Days of Christmas. #10: Ten Lords a Leaping



These Christmas presents get more ridiculous by the day. Have you ever seen what goes on in the House of Lords? It’s even on television these days, but I can’t imagine anybody watches it except if they have tuned in by mistake. There is precious little leaping going on in there. More like ten lords a dribbling on their own shoulders while they sleep. Besides, who would want ten Lords for Christmas anyway, wether they can manage to leap or not? How many ruddy Lords does the average person need. For that matter, how many Lords can the average person name? And what would you do if they all arrived at your front door on Boxing Day? The doorbell rings and there stands Ian Charmichael as Lord Peter Whimsey, the posh detective, he might have managed to unearth Lord Lucan, and brought him along. You would be surprised at the sight of that. Nobody’s seen him in years, since he did for the babysitter. Screaming Lord Sutch would make a mess of your flowerbeds tiptoeing through the tulips, or just getting his ruddy feet muddy trying to tiptoe in the claggy sod where he imagines they might be coming up in the Spring. Lord Haw Haw would be there probably wanting to interview you for one of his ruddy silly radio broadcasts. And Lord Snooty might show his face, and bring all of his pals. (Apart from the black one, because they wrote her out when it became against the law to draw cartoons of black people in comics). Then there’s Lord Sugar, and his friends, Colonel Mustard and Mrs Pepperpot. Ray Alan would turn up with Lord Charles on his arm. Ray Alan once tried to chat up my sister Pearl in Hammonds Department Store, but she didn’t realise it was him until she got home and saw in the paper that he was on at the local theatre. She said he looked different without his hand up a puppet’s arse, and he stank of dettol anyway) Lord Byron might treat you to one of his poems. Lord Nelson might frighten the kiddies by showing them what’s under his eye patch, and Lord Baden Powell might rightened the kiddies by inviting them into his tent. There! That’s ten of ’em. But my true love can keep ’em to his ruddy self. I don’t want them. I prefer a bit of peace and quiet. And I’d rather not share that bottle of Harvey’s Bristol Cream that our Michael got me for Christmas. Uncle Raymond’s Christmas Cracker Cackle of the Day: “She was only the executioners daughter, but she appreciated a well hung fellow.”

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