Ho Bloody Ho!

This bobble has survived many Christmases and has appeared on these pages at least once before.
When I pull it out of the decoration box every year at the start of the tree decoration and the count down to present wrapping, with the nightmare of fighting paper and sellotape, it never fails to raise a sardonic chuckle from me.
It would appear that son #2, who gave it to me, and I share the same humour of the distaff side of the family.

His Lordship and I made a conscious decision this year to limit the number of Christmas cards we send. The Royal Mail is not going to be making a profit at our expense, and if we can't deliver by hand, then no one under the age of 80 will have wee fat robins on snowy boughs or golden angels with trumpets falling through their letter box.

Neither will there be any beautiful Blipfoto calendars gracing the walls of our nearest and dearest or even our own.
I'm sad about that.