Freddie shook his head as he watched his wife get up from the breakfast table and fetch a small pair of steps from the corner of the kitchen. "She's off again," he mumbled.Ìý"How ever have I managed to spend the last forty-two years with such a frigid and tight-fisted old...?" He looked up at the thin line of string which stretched from one wall of the kitchen to the other.ÌýIt wasn't used for hanging washing, however.ÌýFreddie was allowed two cups of tea a day - not because Maud considered it bad for him, it was for reasons of economy. The routine was always the same; after breakfast she would empty the teapot, extract the solitary teabag, wring it out, and hang it up on the line, where it would join the row of others until it had dried out thoroughly. There were upwards of fifty teabags at any one time, all in varying stages of drying, and, judging by the taste of the beverage, many had been recycled several times over. He sighed as he looked at another corner of the room, in which stood a huge pile of old newspapers - they were all free papers - none were ever bought.ÌýThe neighbours put theirs out for recycling, Maud's object was to save them and eventually sell them to a local scrap merchant. It was with a heavy heart that he moved into the front room to put on his shoes. He looked at the mantelpiece - there were about twenty-five Christmas cards on display, some were beginning to look rather tatty.ÌýThe couple only usually received two cards every Yuletide, after which they were put away and brought out again the following year.Ìý"At this rate," he mumbled, "I could be looking at over a hundred cards eventually," then added, "Providing I live on to the ripe old age of 125." Today, Christmas Eve, was the last day of his employment.ÌýHe didn't particularly like the job, but it did give him a little bit of pocket money - after he'd handed over most of his earnings to help out with household expenses - whatever they could possibly be. He always consoled himself with the fact that he would have the job to go back to the following year, and, as long as he kept fit, for many years to come.ÌýThe nature of the work was ideally suitable for a man of his advanced years. Freddie was hot - very hot.ÌýHe'd been sitting in the Christmas Grotto of Wilmott's Department Store for over three hours.ÌýHow was he going to get out?ÌýHis bladder was fit to bursting - if he didn't get out soon... Elsie entered.ÌýShe was Santa's helper, dressed as an elf. She'd been hurriedly brought in, under protest, from the perfumery department, to deputise for the regular elf, who'd developed a bad toothache.ÌýShe ushered in a particularly revolting-looking child of about nine-years old who clearly didn't believe in Santa Claus.Ìý"This is Elvis, Santa." Freddie smirked.ÌýElvis - fancy calling a kid Elvis.ÌýHe beckoned to the boy to sit on one of the imitation logs beside his throne.ÌýElvis immediately went into a tirade about the cost of coming to see a silly old man, dressed up in a red outfit and fake whiskers, and having to part with three quid of his pocket money to pay for the privilege. "Don't fink it's worth it," he said. Freddie bit his lip - another little horror, he thought.ÌýIt had been one of those mornings. The dear little kiddies had been particularly obnoxious today.ÌýOne young toerag had ripped his beard off - another pulled off his hat - and a sweet-looking little girl with a butter-wouldn't melt-in-her-mouth look, evidently not satisfied with the doll she'd been given, immediately launched into a screaming session, which ended up with her deliberately stamping on Santa's foot - his bad foot, as well. He had a particularly nasty corn on his big toe, which had refused to budge, in spite of the application of eighteen different plasters. Elvis glared at Santa.Ìý"I don't like you," he said.Ìý"You're 'orrible-looking - and you've got a dirty-great dewdrop hanging orf yer nose." Enough was enough.ÌýNot only was the prospect of one of his wife's culinary masterpieces looming nearer, but this horrible child..." How old are you, sonny?"
"Nine."
"And would you like to be ten?"
"'Course."
"Then watch out," he said, shoving a present into his hand and practically throwing him out.
Elsie grinned at the frustrated Santa. "I take it," she said, "That you don't particularly like children?"
"On the contrary," he replied.Ìý "I love 'em.ÌýPreferably boiled or fried." |
