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Dreadful Nonsense

"I've read your blog. it's really funny. you should write a column." - Jon Ronson

Last night I went to the first of four Christmas dinners I'll be attending before the actual dinner on the actual Christmas Day. I discovered there that two people I know read this blog quite regularly, so before I go on I'd like to say HI AL! HI ROSIE! It's always a bit weird to find out about new readers I wasn't previously aware of, and I always start wondering about what I've put up, whether or not I've given anything away that maybe I shouldn't have, if I've mentioned these people at all, and if I have, whether it was in a good light... but I think I'm safe. Welcome to the two of you. Please join in the comments.

But I mustn't get side tracked. A short note on the background to this Christmas dinner: Every year since a long time ago, He Who Only... and all of his freaky friends gather together to have what is known as the Gentlemen's Christmas Dinner (the capital letters and italics are implied by the way that each and every one of them referred to this hallowed of all nights). The Gentlemen's Christmas Dinner involves them preparing with great care and eating a five course meal, complete with dessert and cheese course; partaking in port and cigars; drinking an unfeasible amount of booze; taking part in a quiz which this year stretched to eight rounds; sitting around and singing songs of their own composition; generally being manly in each other's manly company. From the title, I think you'll already have guessed that this is a masculine-only event, and the various ladies in their lives are annually abandoned on this evening, only to be woken up in the early hours of the following morning by their other halves arriving home, bloated and belching, reeking and farting and generally being fit for absolutely nothing the following day. So this year we decided to hold an event of our own. We decided to call it the Ladies' Christmas Dinner (but without the italics).

Unfortunately we didn't start planning it last September (as, genuinely, the Gentlemen did) and so ours was a little more understated. Many of the WAGs had to pull out due to other commitments - probably having made plans to do something with the sweet, sweet freedom afforded by their other halves' welcome absence, perhaps getting on with the ironing, darning some socks or whitewashing the house - but five of us, left bereft in our respective partners' absence, were pleased to brave it out in each other's company.

Every time we started on another juicy topic of conversation - the night began with the names we would call our children, the manner in which we'd like to get married, and kind of went down hill from there - we kept commenting on the fact that there was no way on earth the gentlemen were talking about the same thing. Mind you, half way through the lengthy conversation we all agreed to refer to as the Cock And Balls Discussion (capital letters and italics), we agreed they had probably covered that particular topic at some point during their evening.

We weren't as prolific in our booze intake as the boys managed to be, and only managed to limp towards 3am before having to call it quits and retire to bed. He Who Only... turned up at 8.30am the following morning, and inexplicably took a shower before coming to join me in bed, "explaining" that he didn't want to smell of booze. Which is a beautiful gesture, but I'm afraid one made slightly in vain as, over 11 hours later, the booze is still oozing out of his very pores.


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