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We got through a family Christmas without a single murder this year. In fact aside from some squabbles and minor injuries amongst the younger family members, everything remained civil, one might even say loving.
After making short work of Santa's offerings, we headed to the manor for breakfast, because it was important we got as much food as possible in today. There was another stocking for both kids here too. Santa had really been tricked here - giving two lots of gifts to the same kids, but it must be an organisational nightmare for him - it certainly suggests that he will fill any stocking he comes across without much admin. He may have checked his list twice, but he hasn't got time for a third look. The fucking idiot.
Afterwards we reminisced about Christmases past and I remembered one night in Loughborough where me, my brother and sister had woken very early and had decided to go downstairs and get one present each to open (they might have sent me to get them). I also started telling the story about us hiding in my bedroom and watching for Santa and seeing a figure in red going down the stairs. It was, I suspect, my dad in a dressing gown and it was a bold gambit if that was the case, but we believed enough to think that we'd seen Santa.
I realised that Phoebe was in the room and so didn't go into full details, but dad took up the tale and it took some skilful interjections from me to get him off the point before he spilled the beans and ruined a child's Christmas.
He luckily told us that he couldn't remember much about anything any more, but then, prompted by some presents he'd got about being a child in the 30s and 40s, started telling us very detailed stories about his own childhood including names of schools and other schoolkids.
He asked us if we knew what a gawker was and then recounted a sad tale of some disadvantaged kids who went to his school who were from some kind of home (he remembered the name of it of course) who really had very little. If dad was eating an apple one of them would say "Hey Kipper, give us your gawker." The gawker was the core of the apple, something that most people would discard, but a treat for this poor kid.
Dad wondered why they didn't take an extra apple in for that kid or let him have the whole thing, but it was a time of rationing and so an apple was a prize. Such a prize that the person getting to eat the horrible middle bit with someone else's saliva all over it, might consider it a treat.
Those of us not involved in making Christmas dinner walked up to the local pub around midday. It was about 20 minutes away and I was glad to see my legs still worked. The pub was doing great business, filled with village locals who were very welcoming to these strangers, even if we were largely from as far away as a different part of Somerset.
As we started the walk Phoebe shouted "I saw a mouse" and I was suddenly reminded of one of the first sketches I ever wrote. It was probably the funniest of my childhood sketches and based on "A Mouse Lived in a Windmill". It was performed at the first revue me and my friends put on for the school and this sketch was picked out to be performed in the evening at some event for parents.
I was the soloist and my friends formed a little choir to respond.
It started with us dum dumming the tune and then me singing "I saw a mouse" at which point the others all jumped on on their chairs scared and screeching "Where!?"
That in itself is a pretty solid quickie joke for a 15 or 16 year old to come up with, but it then went on to dissect the song in a manner that would become almost my signature for the rest of my career. I wondered if I could remember all the words and I think I pieced the together.
Rich - There on the stair.
Choir- Where on what stair?
Rich - Right there.
Choir - (looking) Where?
Rich- A little mouse with clogs on.
Choir- What? That can't be be true.
Rich Well I declare, going clip clippity clop on the stair.
Choir - No.
Rich - Oh yeah
General disgruntled reaction to this nonsense.
Rich- A mouse lived in a windmill in Old Amsterdam
Choir - (not convinced noises)
Rich- No, he did really - I wouldn't lie to you would I?
Chorister - What about the clogs?
Rich - Yes, he did have clogs on and was dancing away. I think it was tap, though it might have been ballet.
Choir- oooh, he doesn't even know.
Rich - I saw a mouse.
Choir - Rubbish
NOT SURE ABOUT NEXT TWO LINES BUT SOMETHING LIKE
Rich I promise it's true
Choir We're don't believe a word.
Rich - Well why not?
Choir - Because it's crap that's why. Do you expect us to believe a lie like that?
Rich Well perhaps it was a rat.
Choir (beat then spoken) That's all together more likely.
As always with my early stuff it owed a lot to Monty Python, but looking back from a distance of 40+ years I am still quite impressed with that as an effort. Also like my dad, I am able to remember almost all the lyrics to that after not having thought about it for decades, whilst I would struggle to remember anything that happened last Christmas. Or even today.
