On Christmas Eve, dear Reader, Shiny and I were
horrified pleasantly surprised to hear the whirring blades of the Lamb Family’s Chinook overhead, and the thud as Babykins missed the Humanities Lighthouse helipad and landed in Jade’s parking space.
The Lamb Clan has gathered once more.
I thought you might like to see a few polaroids of our Christmas dinner together, dear, inquisitive Reader.
You remember Billy, of course, falsely accused of arson? Here he is, in charge of the crackers.
And here’s a snap of Pa ‘Safecracker Lamb, Jo ‘Whiskers’ Lamb, and Edgar ‘Fop’ Lamb, gathering under the mistletoe to discuss their compensatory facial hair.
The twins, playing dead –
Great-Uncle Herbert, Master of Disguise –
Babykins, sent outside to play –
Ma ‘Roast Potatoes’ Lamb, ready to carve the turkey, and Mary ‘Had a Little’ Lamb, with sprouts –
And last of all, dear, sweet Brian, nestling in a bed of profiteroles.
And now, dear Reader, I would like to raise a glass of my finest absinthe to you all.