Wednesday, 26 December 2012

Boxing Day!

There are a lot of ideas about the roots of the name of this festival. In the Roman Catholic calendar, it is the feast of St Stephen - that day when King Wenceslas (the Good) first looked out. In my house, it is the day when out family descends, en masse, to our humble abode. It is an absolutely joyful day of drink, family, and gay dogs.

Other people's Christmases may vary, but this year my boxing day was merely the backdrop to an absolutely beautiful canine retelling of Brokeback Mountain. Brokebark Mountain? Perhaps. In any event, it seems that the Jack Russel that my cousin brought down has been forced to face the side within him that was always desperate to come out (of the closet) and it turns out that Ozzy, this dog, is a terrific flirt. Every time my dog seemed not to be paying attention to him, there he was, and the minute my dog paid him attention he bounced away. Adorable.

What else? A new wallet from an aunt which will house my French cards and cash and looks terribly smart, a second meeting with my cousin's fiancée (who seems unsure over who has been invited, which has made me a trifle nervous about who exactly is organising this wedding) and an introduction to a possible wedding photographer - her name is Helen England, and she's fantastic, her website is over here.

The day didn't start well. Ozzy was still fighting his inner gay, and tried to attack my poor dog. I should explain, at this point, that my dog is the Sir Ian McKellan of dogs. Gay, but also fantastically sweet and full of energy, despite his age. He brushed off the more aggressive dog, and then apparently gently brought him out over the course of the evening.

I seem to be focussing a little too much on the gay dogs, but almost every blog on the interweb will be going on about Christmas and the dangers of drinking too much, saying rude things to your nan and the other things that happen at Christmas. I feel this makes my blog slightly more unique. Jonathan Kerr, bringing gay dogs to the Internet since 2012.

A dubious claim to fame at best.

I've got some cash from relatives too, which is really interesting, because I pretty much live in France now. Sterling is essentially pecunia non gratis in France, but not to worry - I can pop it in a jolly old bank account and accrue masses of interest. This time next year, Rodney, we'll be millionaires.

So we're about to retire for port and cheese; everything that passes my lips for the next couple of hours will have been matured for between 3 months and 25 years.

Chin chin.

I should note, as a post script, that I have a wonderful family. Especially my cousin Agnetha, who I love the most.

Unless another cousin of mine is reading, and then obviously I love them the most.

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