Father Christmas, My Son

In an Ideal World, Tory Boy would be Santa Claus.

Oh, wait, he is:

Tory Boy works as an assistant producer for Ideal World shopping channel; an excellent training ground for his future career in politics, getting people to buy what they neither want or need, but it looks good and they talk a great game, so why not?

The presenters needed a Father Christmas; Tory Boy volunteered.  He had great fun ho-ho-hoing around the studio, playing with the toys.

He sent us a text to let us know he was going to be in front of the camera.   As he lives darn sarf and we haven’t seen him in months, we sat down, excited, to watch.

We cringed with embarrassment.  So did one of the presenters, who made a point of pointing them out: Tory Boy was wearing shoes he bought six years ago, when he was still at school.  We could smell them from several hundred miles away.

I hope he’s added new shoes to his list, so he can bring himself some.

We tried to replace those shoes last Christmas, over my loud and lengthy protests.  The Hub was convinced Tory Boy would love the new pair we bought him.  I was not.

To my joy – it almost never happens – the Hub was wrong; Tory Boy thought they were dreadful.  My joy was short-lived – Tory Boy thought they were dreadful; we ruined his Christmas.  What terrible parents we are.  We bought him lots of other stuff but he didn’t like one of his presents.  We ruined his Christmas. What terrible parents we are.

Maybe my son, Father Christmas, can bring himself a new father for Christmas.

Just a new father: it’s a lot harder to replace a mother.  Especially when she’s clinging to your trouser legs and begging you not to leave her to go off to work/university/school/any place she can’t be with you.

In an ideal world, husbands would always be wrong and my children would still need me.  I hope Father Christmas can sort that out this year.  Failing that, I’ll have to undercook the turkey – nothing says ‘I need you, Mummy,’ like food poisoning.  

*

The legal stuff:  The first two images are of Ideal World and the transmission belongs to them.

The kid in the red suit and scruffy shoes is mine.  

 

Joke 635

wants to be a dentist (Photo credit: istolethetv)

A guy goes into his dentist’s office just before Christmas, because something is wrong with his mouth. After a brief examination, the dentist exclaims, “Holy Smoke! That plate I installed in your mouth about six months ago has nearly completely corroded! What on earth have you been eating?”

“Well…the only thing I can think of is this…my wife made me some asparagus about four months ago with this stuff on it…Hollandaise sauce she called it…and doctor, I’m talkin’ DELICIOUS! I’ve never tasted anything like it, and ever since then I’ve been putting it on everything…meat, fish, toast, vegetables…you name it!”

“That’s probably it,” replied the dentist. “Hollandaise sauce is made with lemon juice, which is acidic and highly corrosive. I’ll have to install a new plate, but made out of chrome this time.”

“Why chrome?” the man asked.

“Well, everyone knows that there’s no plate like chrome for the Hollandaise!”

From dezert-rose.com.