Bucket pissed

Season's greetings!  (It may be Boxing Day but I'm a firm believer in the 12 Day of Christmas mantra so we're only getting started).

We had a great day yesterday (thanks for asking).  The kids seemed happy with their lot, which is always pleasing. 

Jamie and I shared one present.  Yes, we're off to see The Eagles in concert next summer.  Jamie's been a big fan since I took him to see a tribute band earlier this year. Eagles tunes have also encouraged him to push on with his guitar practice.  Money well spent, I say.

Charlotte was just as excited to learn that she and her mummy will be going to see Little Mix in November.  I'm not so keen for Miss White to follow in their scantily-attired stiletto steps, but still.

In the early evening, I did my big family phone call back home.  Everyone was gathered at my eldest sister's.  Jacquie has had a time of it in 2018.  She returned from holiday in the early part of the year to discover that her house had flooded.  Completely.  Ceilings, carpets, furniture all destroyed.  She's had to reside with family and friends ever since whilst the inside of her home was essentially reconstructed.  The kitchen and bathroom were only finished last weekend, finally enabling Jacquie to move back in.

However, my father phoned me in a grump on Christmas Eve to report a problem.  Jacquie's toilet wasn't working and everyone was going to have to use a kindly neighbour's loo for all of Christmas Day. But my dad wasn't having any of that.  Not a chance.

So when he arrived at Jacquie's for his Christmas lunch, his hands were full.  One was carrying his presents.  The other was clutching a "portaloo," otherwise known as a bucket.

It was only when he went to "try it out" that the rest of the family revealed the toilet was indeed working and always had been.  It was all a wind-up and everyone else was in on the joke - including the kindly neighbour. 

The Whites can be so cruel.