For some reason I woke up with a feeling of deep anticipation, as if something magical was about to happen. Even Steve’s morning eggy guffs had an extra whiff of something unfamiliar and strange. As we arose we became aware of an usual white glow that filled the room, and I curiously crept up to the window, but it was then I remembered we currently live in a wendy house Steve found at the dump and the windows are only painted onto the plastic sheeting. I rolled up the door flap to take a peek outside and would you believe it, it was snowing! The shock almost made me forget that most of my body was covered in horrific burns – Steve has insisted so that I don’t catch cold I must sleep wrapped in two electric blankets permanently set to max. My red throbbing flesh sure may be excruciatingly painful but drizzled with a little lemon and garlic my arms are actually quite delicious.
We raced outside as quickly as we could, which was pretty much instantly as a small gust of wind blew the wendy house onto the dual carriageway. As I stood, entranced by the falling snow, all my worries washed away as the beads of frost settled on my face. I started to dance among the white sparkles as they floated down from heaven, tongue outstretched hoping to catch a snowflake or two. Steve managed to catch a whole mouthful and spat it all over my face, it was so invigorating. The crisp cold flakes combined with the essence of last night’s mackerel curry tickled my senses in such an intense way, I couldn’t help but be overcome by the whole experience and was sick in my own mouth.
Sadly the snow wasn’t settling on the ground, but there was still fun to be had. We laid upon the tarmac and wiggled our arms and legs, creating drizzle angels in the sludge. Later we had an imaginary snowball fight on the green, laughing as we ducked and dived amongst the invisible flying clods of snow. Unfortunately Steve has some difficulty in using his imagination and so had to throw big sharp stones, but we agreed a fun time was had by all once we got some iodine on some of my more serious flesh wounds.
Tired and cold from our wintry adventures, we treated ourselves to some of Steve’s famous hot chocolate (half a discarded Mars bar left held under a hand dryer) and climbed into the bottle bank at Morrisons to settle down for the evening. As we laid amongst the glass shards I asked Steve if he was prepared to apologise for calling my Mum “Madam Fat Arse” and if he did she’d probably let us move back in. He said he wouldn’t betray his principles and besides, there was plenty of free booze in our new home. I tried licking the insides of a few broken bottles, but in the end they just all tasted like blood. Best day ever.
I do hope you all have a Merry Christmas. Maybe you’ll have a good a day as me (good luck!)