Foreword by my mate Troppo.
So it’s gooch-week, or goochmas* (not Christmas). This amazing time of year helps us celebrate all things in between, both moving and stationary. Sandwiched between two important events, it’s easy to overlook the feelings aroused at such a time. Christmas dinner, being an extravagant affair, always involves leftovers, which begs the question; what shall we do will these sloppy seconds? Offer them to a friend? Have a nap and see where eating a bit more takes you? Lets look deeper and see what goochmas, the space with grace, can offer.
I went to the shops today to find a walking frame for my liver, a magical potion to re-boot my brain and maybe something to carry my enlarged belly around in. Disappointingly though, none of these items were available, so it looks like I will have to just soldier on.
Details of the last few days are kind of scarce. Photos shall make my life a whole heap easier today.
On Christmas day my children notified me that the official time to get up to open presents is dawn. As in the time when the sun comes up. So I missed the memo, but shone through my tired eyes with flamboyant Christmas cheer. Once the pressies were opened and the new inflatable sea world creatures were blown up, it was straight into the pool for a test run. The test run was a success; the inflatable pool toys stayed inflated and held the children on the top of the pools surface like a real life nativity scene… without the sheep and goats and all of that stuff.
Then it was time to eat, drink and be merry.
By 9pm I had eaten myself sober. I tried to remedy this by downing 3 beers in the space of twenty minutes but this did nothing. There was nothing else I could do but raise the white flag of defeat and take myself off to bed. Not having an actual white flag at hand, I quickly fashioned one out of a broom pole and the white pelt of the kids pet rabbit… bunny went to a better place this Christmas.
The next few days were allocated to drinking more and eating all of the leftovers from the pornographic spread that was our Christmas lunch. Now, as the dawn of a new year approaches, I leave you with visual documentation of this gooch-week and the hope that this new year brings you plenty of good food, tasty beverages, great company and finally, I hope the doctor finds a cure for that horrible rash and your bad attitude.
*goochmas or gooch-week. Reference to “the gooch”. A week between two important events. The gooch, aka no mans land, is the area between one’s primary sexual organ and the exhaust chute nestled between thy buttocks. An area often ignored, except for the few brave travellers who like to tread the less beaten path. Speaking of beaten, I once managed to break my gooch after landing on my bum from a great height during a failed attempt at extreme sports maneuvers. From that day forth, my respect for the gooch, and the role it plays in general forward movement, was solidified.