Mr & Mrs Nicholas

It was a traditional scene.

A bit of a nip in the air and a brightly decorated tree surrounded by a number of wrapped goodies is enough to get anyone excited. I’m sure that was how the Nicholas children had gone to bed a few hours earlier. I was also pretty sure that their tree and presents had been in their 8th floor living room then. Instead of all over the car park outside their tower block as they now were.

Mrs Nicholas was all for tradition too. After a day of preparing the food for the inevitable family gathering the following lunchtime, milk and mince pies out for Santa and putting two over-excited children to bed she had been busy cleaning when Mr Nicholas had returned to the bosom of his family.

Having spent all day partaking in a Small Corner custom himself, he was now ready to mix his liquid diet with some solids. The mince pies and milk just weren’t going to cut it. It’s just as well his lazy wife had made up a tray of sausage rolls and another of hors d’oeurves, seeing as how she hadn’t bothered to cook him any supper. After a hard year of Job-seeking it was the least he deserved.

Who does she think she is? Not for me?! I paid for it! Just like all those effing presents and the effing tree!

Had he not been so tired and emotional, Mr Nicholas may have remembered that the presents were still owned by the catalogue company for the next year and his wife’s part-time job paid for most of the rest. Mrs Nicholas wasn’t as tired and emotional and had pointed this out.

Time for another Small Corner tradition then, being the season of goodwill he didn’t clench his fist. That’d teach her to talk back to him. If he wasn’t allowed to celebrate then no-one else was, time to make a point. No sense having all that clutter in the living room, if he couldn’t have a midnight snack.

Having passed the bloody nosed Mrs Nicholas at the door it was time to play Santa. The Positive Arrest crew were about to get one of many seasonal presents. I hoped they reciprocated with at least a card next year.

Laden with a tray of cheese and pineapple in one hand and some much needed alcoholic refreshment in the other, scrooge was heading for the balcony door. Unfortunately for him, this meant he now had to pass me.

I thought I was reasonably polite in requesting he stopped what he was doing. However, the feeling wasn’t mutual.

“**** *** it’s mine and I’ll do what I ******* want with it.” Mr Nicholas helpfully pointed out as he was trying to barge me out of the way.

I have no idea how painful it is to land on top of a couple of dozen cocktail sticks on the way to the floor. You’d have to ask Mr Nicholas. By the way he squealed, I wouldn’t recommend trying it.

Merry Christmas ******-*******.