|Twas the night before Christmas|
And all through the house
Not a creature was stirring
Not even a louse.
I know that's not the right word but in our house it was. The ex had the bad luck to be born on Christmas Eve and he rarely saw a sober Christmas Eve, Day or Boxing day.
I wish him a Happy Birthday and hope Blondie has all her 13 grandchildren tomorrow to trash the house and wipe him out. I wonder if he still has a BBQ on Boxing Day? I always had a hose hooked up to the tap the minute I smelled smoke. His preferred method of 'barbie-ing was to start with a 20 foot flame and reduce all to ashes including the food. The actual BBQ was moved several times over the years but the wind always managed to fill the house with smoke. It finished up at the front of the house near the patio where I could watch from inside until the flames dwindled and it was safe to take food near him.
The year after he bolted with The Blonde (bottle), New Year's Eve to be precise, I was looking out of that same window and wondering what was annoying me. Grey, black and rusting BBQ right in my line of vision. The only use it had been in the year was to illegally burn the miles of dried ivy I'd ripped off the walls. Rather spectacular in the middle of the night, all those flames but I was holding the hose. So New Year's Day out I went with a sledge hammer and started to wallop the barbie into bits. Well, who knew the concrete was laced with steel mesh. The BOH dropped by and took equal delight in reducing the eyesore to pieces. I carted the rubble down to the corner where his compost bins had stood and never composted, just stank and made a dry wall, filling it with climbing geraniums. They're still there but the lemon tree has delusions of being a giant redwood and is so big I haven't been behind it since I took off my toenail with the wheelie bin.
Santa, Baby, I really could use a chainsaw for Christmas.