Auntie Doris’s Twelve Days of Christmas. #11: Eleven Pipers Piping.



Some ruddy idiot got all mixed up.. i don’t know if it was the person who drew the pictures or my ruddy useless nephew when he gave me the titles to write about. I have my suspicions of course, the average illustrator is an intelligent person and my nephew is not.

Apparently, some variations of the song give the eleventh day gift as “Eleven Porters Portering” but the people who sing that are the sort of people who have no idea who plays drums in our Michael’s band, Pocketful O’Nowt. Anyway, there wouldn’t be much in the house to porter by day eleven apart from birds, lords and ladies, and ruddy milkmaids. I wouldn’t let that Simon Porter near my gold rings. He looks shady to me. His eyes are too close together. Anyway, it’s not Porters, it’s ruddy Pipers. And I don’t suppose we are referring to eleven piping hot Maris Piper potatoes, done in their jackets either. Which is a bit of a shame, as one of them would go down nice with melted butter and maybe a bit of cheese on it. But no. We mean ruddy bagpipers making a racket all day and all night. Actually, my Raymond had a bit of a thing about the Dagenham Girl Pipers, and if eleven of them had turned up at our house over the Christmas period, he would probably have shown Pan’s People and Legs and Co the door and sat in front of them, adjusting himself and grunting, whilst they played Flower of Scotland. He would have had to watch himself though. Watching them all blowing and fingering their pipes, I can imagine him giving himself a ruddy stroke. The filthy so and so. He always did have an unhealthy interest in female marching bands did my Raymond. He used to like it when they marched on the spot lifting their knees high with each step, in time to the music. He often got carried away when he saw that sort of thing. He used to make a nuisance of himself at majorette displays to the point where I dreaded going to summer fairs with him. He said that he was only shouting encouragement, but it was the way he did it, the gestures he made, and the facial expressions he used

to pull. One time, at the Withernsea Show, he stood on his chair to get a better view of the lass with the upright xylophone, and I had to pull him off and give him a slap before he calmed down. So don’t even think about sending me any Pipers this Christmas. They would do nothing for me, and you would only be encouraging my Raymond to make a spectacle of himself. Uncle Raymond’s Christmas Cracker Cackle of the Day. “She was only the balti house owners daughter, but she liked a dollop of yoghurt in her tikka masala”


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