Purveyor of Bollocks to the Crowned Heads of Europe
Thursday, 25 December 2014
How The Rat was born
Posting on Christmas day? Has that Tom Stephenson got a life? Well no, actually.
We did the Christmas thing last night, so I have the whole day to myself today. I washed-up before I went to bed, and when I went to put something back into the oven this morning, I found a huge tray of roast parsnips which I had forgotten to dish out last night. Parsnips are not too good when re-heated, and don't go well with omelettes.
H.I. couldn't stop herself from buying six Christmas crackers for £35, and when we pulled them last night - all in one go - not only did they all fail miserably to crack, but the stuff that fell out of them was of no better quality than the £5 ones that I wanted to buy. Even the jokes were crap - so crap that I cannot remember a single one today.
I thought that the whole thing about crackers was that they are supposed to be crap and the price should reflect this, but then I remembered my friend who was a nanny for a Saudi family in London and how she used to have to sweep up the Rolex watches in the bathroom which had fallen out of the children's crackers the night before. You are talking about £40,000 for six with those crackers. I wonder if they had Mullah Nasrudin jokes inside, and real crowns?
I briefly mentioned yesterday about seeing the European Space Station fly over in the dark last night, and how I went out to watch it. It is the size of a football-pitch - like everything else which isn't the size of Wales.
It is worth mentioning again how I managed to ruin a whole family's Christmas by shouting out, "Look! It's the European Space Station!" at a group of children who had been told by their parents that it was Santa's sleigh going over at about 30,000 miles per hour. When I looked back I saw another group of children waving at it, so it's a good thing they were out of earshot.
I have spent hours making the above cake which features the Rat who represents me. You might think that this was a heart-warming and charming thing to do, but in reality it is nothing more than a pathetic attempt to get the children to love me after another year of enduring my real, belligerent, selfish and rude behaviour.
I remember how this rat came into existence long before the kids were born, and it was an ignominious beginning to a sly and untrustworthy existence.
H.I. would go to the kitchen cupboard to fetch the last of some tasty morsel which she had been saving for herself to eat the next day, only to find that it had gone.
"Have you eaten the last ...?" she would ask me, and I would deny it, adding that I had seen a large rat sneaking into the cupboard before she had come downstairs.
Before long, this rat had taken on an almost real existence of its own, and came to be known as Rat. It took the blame for all sorts of shameful things, and in order to divert the justifiable accusations and recriminations away from itself, it would portray itself in all manner of beguiling and disarming ways, such as the one below.
The children grew up with The Rat, so needed no suspension of disbelief to go along with the ruse, and - unlike with Santa - they continue to play the game, 22 years later.
When Green Eyes or The Boy gives me a card or present, it is addressed to 'Ratty'. I really don't deserve it - either way.