Sunday, 22 November 2009

Day 833 of Captivity

The infidels recently invested in some new shackles and bonds for the kelb and I.  The female dragged the male infidel off into to town to collect a parcel that she was most excited about.  The male infidel didn't seem to share her enthusiasm, particularly as it involved him driving her down town after a "hard day in the office".  This was snorted at and the male, under protest, drove her down town.  They returned some hours later, having been ejected from the shop to observe prayers, clutching a package.  The female infidel then proceeded to produce a shiny new infidel shackle for my neck.  The only saving grace to the fact I have to endure wearing the infidel bonds of ownership is that these ones are actually very stylish. The kelb has one too, but of course he does not manage to look at all elegant in his, but more like an overdressed transient, all drool, no class and smelling of wee.

The female infidel has gone quite insane; she happened to be passing the recreation centre a couple of days ago and noticed that they have erected their Christmas tree and put up the decorations.  What followed her discovery was a ubiquitous feast of festive festooning, as she took this to be the go ahead to swathe the villa in garish garnishings, whilst listening to pre-pubescent crooners murdering Bing Crosby classics.  It was quite frankly the worst afternoon of my life!  The female Infidel sweating and wheezing at the top of ladders hanging fat santa mobiles from the ceiling and looking very pleased with herself.  None of the other infidels seemed particularly enamoured by her efforts, much to the annoyance of the female infidel.  She seemed determined that they would all embrace her particularly demented version of Christmas, involving decorations that are reminiscent of Liberaci's Wardrobe , in NOVEMBER!

Finally the dust settled and she returned to levels of sweat and sanity normal for her (and a wilderbeast).  Apart from the fact she is now more obsessed with shopping than ever, something I never dreamt possible.  The male infidel looks miserable all the time and seems to spend much of his time looking forlorn whilst fishing money from his wallet and handing it to her, the glistening of a tear in his eye, uttering the words "I'm not Bloody Rockerfella ya know!".  None of which seems to perturb the female infidel on her manic mission to force everyone to have a good time at "Gulag Ibbotson".  On one of her crazed shopping expeditions, I was left in the care of the adolescent infidels.   This was a most excellent opportunity to abscond with and subsequently eat the baby Jesus, from her "special" home-made nativity.  The female infidel was positively beside herself when she returned home to discover the now mangled, spit covered remains of her home-made baby Jesus lying in the half eaten manger.  It has now been replaced with a crude Lego version, grinning inanely out from the patched together manger.  I was going to point out that in the interests of authenticity they would not have had sellotape never mind Lego in those days, but thought better of it and held my council.

The female infidel is now sat in the kitchen sipping hot chocolate and squawking away to endless Christmas carols, whilst manufacturing hideous Christmas cards that she intends to force upon her poor unsuspecting family and friends.  I am sure they will be positively thrilled to hang her infantile glittering efforts in their homes!  When will this madness end?  She is bustling about and making lists for endless amounts of baking she intends to throw herself into.  The masses of sumptuous food piled high on neglected plates is the only thing I enjoy about this pagan festival.  It is a great opportunity to brush up one's counter surfing prowess.  

I had a practice run last weekend.  The infidels invited over some friends for dinner.  Whilst they were all prattling on after quaffing down a lovely dinner of roast beef and yorkshires, having kept me prisoner in my cell only allowing me to get the odd whiff of the delectable meal, I crept into the kitchen upon my release and ate the remainder of the cauliflower cheese and a bowl of french beans.  The female infidel was not amused on making the discovery, as she just knew this would involve numerous trips to the back yard during the night and frantic bum wiping to avoid subsequent carpet skiing (a behaviour the infidels find quite disgusting and harrowing when carried out on their expensive kilims); rich vegetables never agree with me and I think she over did it rather on the garlic front!


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