I'm sure there are others but right now I can only think of this one...
My family has an ironclad rule that if you start to say something you have to finish it. I've slightly added to it by referring to it as Martin's Law no. 40793.6 (or any other random number). This results in conversations like this:

"I tell you what, I'm... nah, actually never mind"
"Nope, sorry. You've got to tell me now. Martin's Law 3099764.2 you know."
"D'oh, but I don't want to tell you"
"Martin's Law 405528.7..."
"Alright, I was just going to say I'm really starting to think you're a twat!"

I've been caught out with this several times myself, and sadly whenever it happens I invariably can't think fast enough to come up with a plausible alternative to what I was going to say.
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Sat 22 Nov 2008, 8:36, Reply)

Cinema
when seeing a film, my dad always remained in his seat (or at the very least inside the theatre) until the film was actually over, lights properly up, etc. after all, you've just spent a stupid amount of money to see it, you might as well see everything. occasionally this has its benefits, as with animated cartoons where the producers stick extra bits in with the credits.

must be catching because i do this too. good test of a girlfriend's character too, seeing how she reacts to this bizarre habit.
(zenmeban thinks the weather could be better, Sat 22 Nov 2008, 5:28, 4 replies)

Not really a tradition but
When I was 12 my dad got me out of bed at midnight and sat me down on the couch to watch Fritz the Cat with the immortal line

"This was the first animated porn I ever saw with your mother."

For years I was left wondering how much other animated porn they'd seen together and when I was going to be fetched out of bed in the middle of the night to see it.
(misskitty reeks of sex and turpentine; laudanum afternoons, Sat 22 Nov 2008, 3:57, 3 replies)

The Mr Kitty and I have just started a new one
After much exposure to Alan Moore's spoken word Snakes & Ladders every time we say

"I love you"

we finish by imitating Alan's deep shuggothy accented voice and say

"You already know this."

Bonus points if you've listened to it and get the reference.
(misskitty reeks of sex and turpentine; laudanum afternoons, Sat 22 Nov 2008, 2:36, Reply)

Many...
When I was little (about 5) I got into a habit of standing at doors listening after I'd left any room in some kind of very poor effort to find out what the grown ups all talked about.

Despite how super secret I thought I was being my parents could quite easily tell and used to loudly exclaim, "Has he gone? oh good, now we can get that huge chocolate cake that we've been saving out. Thank god Tom's not here or we'd have to give him some", as soon as I was out of the room.

Without fail I would come running back in going "Can I have some cake/why have you been hiding cake from me/where's this cake then?".

They developed this on a theme and progressed to ice cream and many other delicious foods and eventually to the more subtle (barely) trick of "Should we tell Tom about the party we're having?" "No, I think we'll have more fun without him". Then I'd run in crying.

This must have happened about forty or fifty times yet I still fell for it. I think in my mind they couldn't be tricking me, because they didn't know I was there...a bit like the whole If-I-can't-see-you-you-can't-see-me thing kids believe.

As well as a propensity to fool small children into believing they're missing out on treats I've also inherited a number of sayings from both my parents;

From my dad: "Let's get that ball back" said when we're just about to leave the house, sort of like "let's go" except totally useless in that you only ever say it JUST as you're leaving the house.

Bad jokes. Mostly in a deliberately misinterpreting what other people say kind of way. Any time anyone finishes a sentence with the word shortly as in, "I'll be down shortly" you have to relpy with, "Don't call me shortly".

Any time anyone says something like "I'll just put the kettle on" the reply is "I don't think it'd suit you".

Also not a joke but if it's cold the phrase is "Ooh it's a bit nippy", a perfectly ordinary phrase but it's the ONLY ONE YOU CAN EVER USE for some reason.

My mum always says "Nothing taste's nicer than a Pembleton Twicer", when anything is nice (not only food) and I do too, I think it's an old lolly advert but she could be making that up.

Also "Fish is the new black". We heard this once on tv when I was younger in some ridiculous cookery programme and it's now the phrase for anything that's the new cool thing. "Have you heard about *cool thing*? Fish is the new black."
(Hippo_of_Doom, Sat 22 Nov 2008, 2:15, 4 replies)

Oh, the holidays
It was always the first Saturday in December - Uncle Lou would put on the leopard print peep toe heels and throw a roast in the oven. As the house filled with the smells of dinner to come, Lou would get on the CB radio and put out a call to any truckers in the signal radius.

"Surf's up," was all he would say, and while the sound of distant static sounded empty and far away, it was never more than 20 minutes before ruddy-complected men with sweat-stained ball caps showed up at the door.

I'm not sure if it was the dog collar or the honey that made me feel humiliated more, but Lou would chain me to a clothes pole in the yard, spray paint "Slut" on my back, and connect my nipples with a chain of safety pins and paper clips.

The first year, I protested, but Lou's charm and cheerful, "But I insist," always made me cave in. Besides, unless there was an early snow, it wasn't really that uncomfortable.

Aunt Peg was a wet nurse for Local Boilermakers 776 with wonderful, thick, chaffing teats. It wasn't until I got a little older that I was able to appreciate the fact that she could shoot a mouthful of breast milk more than six feet - 12 feet if she had a running start.

Anyway, while it was bitter, that milk was great for soothing fresh tattoos. Lou would always ink me up with some funny phrase like, "Put it in my ass, that's where I put everything else," or "I'll fist for donuts." Peg would shoot her stuff over these tats, which not only soothed them, but kept my mind off the hornets that always came after the honey that Lou dripped all over my back and chest.

After several hours, the truckers went home, and we would have a family read-aloud of "120 Days of Sodom," with just the close family.

Other than that, things are pretty much like everyone else's posts...
(DeSade - is grannyfappin, Sat 22 Nov 2008, 0:16, 3 replies)

Douglas.
My dad grew up as an only child with a single mum. His father had died of TB when he was 3 months old, and his mum was of questionable sanity. As a young man he seemed to gravitate towards wise men, and one day while out walking he met the late and great Douglas Carter.

Douglas was a man of the cloth. Jilted in love, he'd become a Roman Catholic priest and lived a life of celibacy. Dad and he hit it off as mates. Drinking in pubs, walking the hills of Yorkshire and setting the world to rights. It was Douglas who pointed my dad in the direction of my mum, Douglas who married them, and Douglas who baby-sat my brother while I was born.

Douglas taught us chess, draughts, patience and other ways to pass the time. He even tolerated our noise and constant unplanned interruptions when he was performing his own private mass in the dining room when he stayed.

However.. Douglas wasn't a normal man of the cloth. He had a beautifully sharp sense of humour and a deeply mischievous mind. It was he who offered up a bottle of my parent's elderflower wine to the local wine snob, (who thought it was a very expensive something-or-other, and even suggested which slope of which valley it came from), and it was he who sent my parents a novelty condom for a joke wedding anniversary present.

Take that in for a moment... A seriously devout RC priest, buying and posting a novelty condom... I can imagine his infectious cackling laugh even now :o) Dad inflated the thing like a balloon, and it turned out to be defective... So he put a puncture repair patch on it and sent it back... :D

I digress.

Amongst the Many bad habits Douglas tried to deviously instil in my brother and I, was the ritual of the butter-knife. My mum - the only religious one in the family and the only one who cared about manners - insisted upon a butter knife. Douglas would ALWAYS take some butter, then stab the knife into the pat of butter in a flourish that could described as a "Reverse King-Arthur" :) Mum hated this, but couldn't tell a priest off....

My brother and I - to this very day - regularly stab the knife into any pack of butter, be it StIvel, Lurpack , or (welcome to Sweden) Bregott or Lätta. When visiting our parents We make a point of doing it. It's allowed, because "Douglas taught us to"

Over a decade ago, Douglas finally succumbed to old age, and we went to help clear out his tiny old flat. Framed in pride of place on the wall next to his chair was a novelty Condom - Dunlop repair-patch and all.

I'm not a religious guy by any mark - Infact, being an engineer I consider myself to be completely the opposite. However, I believe that if I fail to take any given opportunity to execute a "Reverse King-Arthur", that Douglas - Father-figure to my dad and Grandfather to my brother and I - would turn in his grave. Given the vast respect I hold for that man, I'll never take the chance.
( Humpty Dumpty was Pushed Is unaware of having any limits., Sat 22 Nov 2008, 0:00, 2 replies)

Christmas!
Ever since I was really little, we've had our big Chrimbo dinner on Christmas Eve night. And then just lounge on the day. We like it, it makes it that bit more special, and since we're older tards (my sister and I) now, its a real bonus for seeing our lot and the outlaws. Plus, I can get shitfaced on the eve and not really have to be compos mentis for the day. Works well.
The reason behind it is even more prosaic. My Mum, after years of having a wonderful, time consuming, hard cooked dinner ready for us at Christmas lunch realised that she was wasting her time. We'd be off finding batteries for toys or just desperate to get back to Mini Munchman or whatever Santa had brought and not give two shits about the incredible meal.
So she shifted Christmas. Genius :D
(thebdaman hmmm....., Fri 21 Nov 2008, 23:53, 2 replies)

Just an addict, addicted to music
SugarSpunSister's post put me in mind of my own family. I have always thought of us as atheists but I am thinking of starting to put "rockist" on forms.

When I was a wee girl, we owned a fucking shit-hot stereo - very high quality amp and speakers, with the ability to run sound through the speakers, headphones, or for some bizarre reason, both.

My dad used to put a pillow on the floor, position the speakers on each side of the pillow and put the headphones on, set to play through headphones and speakers. He would then put on Led Zeppelin's "Stairway to Heaven", volume cranked up as far as it would go. When the song was over he'd get up and declare "that song is better than an orgasm!".

As a kid, every Xmas I received an annual voucher for the big Aussie music chain Brashs (and hoo boy, did I spend that on some great music - Thru The Roof '83, anyone?). I now continue this by giving my ten year old niece JB Hi-Fi vouchers (which she spends on shitty DVDs like Snow Dogs).

My mother confessed to me once that their marriage was more-or-less based on the fact that "we both love music". And one arvo when my sister and I were hanging out at home listening to Black Sabbath's "Paranoid", my mum walked past with a basket of laundry and sighed "I had my first passionate kiss to this song".

I know this is about families, but I started at a new workplace recently and I knew I was going to fit right in when my boss's phone rang and the MP3 ringtone was The Saints "I'm Stranded".

More
(Emily Bruce-Dickinson http://jovialfellow.blogspot.com/, Fri 21 Nov 2008, 23:16, 2 replies)

*feels sad*
*at being and only child and not sharing family traditions especially at Christmas*
( Mrs Entity is in hiding., Fri 21 Nov 2008, 22:56, 2 replies)

Deflecting trouble with humor
Back in the early eighties there was a campaign for seven up soda - it was a catchy tune that had a song to it but the very last line was (after a refreshing sound of a can being opened a hefty swig of soda followed by Aaahhh sound)

"Just for the Taste of it!
...SEVEN UP!"

Brilliant marketing of course. We'd imitate it around the house sometimes making a big lip smacking Hmmm Aaaaah and then chanting it like good little consumers whenever we drank anything. No big thing... kinda stupid but whatever =)

Well, one time when my mom was well and truly pissed off at us, we had pushed her to the very edge and she was ragged and mean and just wanted to throttle the very life out of us, I was making the astoundingly wise move of arguing with her over whether or not we'd really done anything wrong or whether it was all just a big misunderstanding... her reply to us:

"You two better be quiet or I don't care what happened or who's fault it was - I'm going to beat you up just for the hell of it!"
followed by a big sigh of frustrated crazy as she opened the fridge... Hhhmm aaahhhh...

My 9 year old mind clicked, everything fell together and I dropped to one knee, spread my arms and sung in my best announcer's baritone...

"Just for the Hell of it!
...Beat-you UP!"

It was the perfect tension reliever and she just sat down on the kitchen floor and laughed till she cried and hugged us and then she'd laugh some more. (good soul my mom - she never would have done anything - we just pushed her pretty hard.)

"just for the hell of it, beat you up" became our catch phrase whenever you wanted to playfully tell someone they were pushing it from that day on =)
( Allisade would love to hear from you, Fri 21 Nov 2008, 22:52, 1 reply)

code names
I was "Garbonzo bean"

My brother was "Matt the rat, the river cat, who combs his hair with chicken fat, and beats up girls with a baseball bat."

Later that was shortened to "The Boy Who Could Do No Wrong" when my father got a bit tired of mom playing favorites.

My first girlfriend was "Keli keli of the buckskin belly"

Thanks dad. Stop looking at her belly now, eh? ok.

Whatever they called us, they could never remember our names anyway.

Any conversation had a fair chance of starting "David, Alli, I mean Matt, Meg? I mean Fred, Irving? You - hey, whatever your name is - get me that screwdriver."

There was a smattering of names we'd recognize - brothers or sisters - and then Fred and Irving always made it to the list along the way.

We didn't know any Fred or Irving.

When we asked Mom who Fred and Irving were, we were told ominously, "They were your brothers... the ones who *didn't* do what they were told."

Thanks mum.

I'll just go over here and play with my naughty dead brothers.
( Allisade would love to hear from you, Fri 21 Nov 2008, 22:38, Reply)

mother and tea
when she wants a cuppa, mother will often say something along the lines of "schnerglefblumberlub", rather than simply asking.
immediate family members all know what this means, but it is a complete mystery to others.
she did it once when my friends were there. i simply asked "tea or coffee?" to which she replied "tea."
my friends followed me into the kitchen, where one of them said "that was amazing! how the hell did you know what she wanted?"
having to explain that this behaviour was quite normal put the tin lid on mum's reputation as a nutter.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Fri 21 Nov 2008, 22:32, Reply)

Christmas day
My family have a lot of bad habits and worn out jokes but I think Christmas is the only thing we have by way of a proper tradition.

I am the eldest of 6 grandchildren and my sister the second-eldest. As a result, when we were small we were the only kiddies in the family, and my grandad would come over for christmas dinner. This started a tradition that we would wake up, go and wake up mum and dad, and open up our stockings before breakfast. We were not allowed to open any christmas presents at all until grandad had come over and we had had christmas dinner.

This tradition carried on even once other grandchildren were born and grandad started going to other houses for christmas, and we still do it now even as adults. It makes christmas last the whole day instead of all being over at 4 in the morning!

My sister and I had our own private ritual of waking up ridiculously early, alerting the other that father christmas had been and then opening up our stockings and meticulously putting everything back in the same order so mum and dad couldn't tell we'd already seen everything. Oh, and it became tradition that you had a mug, a chocolate santa, some underwear and a Lego kit no matter how old you were or what other presents Santa bought.

Boxing Day is as big as christmas except all the aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents get toegther for present swapping and huge arguments. The argument last year was so big that I think that tradition has now officially ended - and I missed that one, as I was away for Christmas. Bugger, it sounded like a good 'un too.
(sanity challenged, Fri 21 Nov 2008, 22:17, 1 reply)

Dun dun duuuuun
My dad has many strange quirks (we call him Captain Mannerism) including saying 'shirtly' instead of 'shortly', singing stupid songs to me even though I'm 20 ('Hippity hoppity hippity hop... flippity floppity flippity flop' doing bizarre bunny-like dancing), calling me 'poppet', 'sprocket' and 'chick-pea' despite aforementioned age. And so on. But the one that goes furtherest back is when any sort of soap or drama ends and the credits roll, he'll announce to the room

"AND ON THAT BOMBSHELL."

He will also do it after The X Factor.

In a similar vein, my grandmother warbles her way through the soap theme tunes (Emmerdale is particularly excrutiating), made funnier by her incredibly strong RP accent.

On the other side of the family, my great aunt - 95 this year - has soft toys called The Creatures. These are two vile teddy and bunny things (with another teddy addition a few years ago around her 90th) who are about 40 years old and haven't been washed. They're pretty grim. When we go to see her she feeds us year-old cake - "I can't rememeber whether this was made last November or the November before..." IN MARCH - and makes us kiss The Creatures. We, seasoned veterans, know not to actually kiss them as they're probably poison. My aunt's* fiance didn't... I'm surprised he's still alive.

*That's a different aunt. My great aunt is not a gereatric bride.
(Judge Society would be a pexagram, Fri 21 Nov 2008, 22:09, 1 reply)

The insular family bubble of weirdness...
I am rather enjoying the stories of weird sayings in family units. They've made me realise that Los family Doofus have an enormous amount of them...and they probably shouldn't be revealed on teh web. Oh well...

When I was a young thing I used to say "I git bin" instead of 'excuse me', which makes absolutely no sense. I also used to call Fireman Sam 'Fibey Dodo'.

My Dad upon his return from work every evening, without fail, would exclaim, "It is I, the father of the house" (He still does this.) He also has a habit of sometimes answering my mum's questions in a pretend gibberish language, such as, "Shnig mafabi" much to her (total) annoyance.

My older brother when he was a youngster had a bizarre loathing of the word "Blood" so we would refer to it as 'blah' instead. Upon growing out of this, he developed an irrational hatred of the word 'chap' and would instantly replace it with 'bloke', under his breath, in conversation, if someone dared to use it.

My younger brother, when he was small, would refer to my mother's little finger as her 'tootie' and would ask to hold her 'tootie' on days out - but only her finger was known as the 'tootie' - not his. Weirder still, he had names for all my mum's digits but I can only remember the name of one other... 'Mimi with a shoe'

Yes, go figure that one out. More stories to come children…
(Eldoofus, Fri 21 Nov 2008, 22:08, Reply)

When I was a little lad
and my dad would take me somewhere, as we walked along holding hands he would hook his little finger over my wrist like a backwards thumb.
This used to irritate the hell out of me, and I would furiously yank it away and refuse to carry on walking if he did it again.
I vowed then that I would never annoy my own kids as much as he annoyed me.

These days when we walk into town, and I hold my little boy's hand, I hook my little finger over his wrist like a backwards thumb.
( mictoboy shitting in your cunt since, Fri 21 Nov 2008, 22:05, 1 reply)

Does anyone else's family
have practically an entire language crafted out of all the children's baby language and slash or stupid quotes from childhood?

For example, in our family anything we really like is described as 'The nicest little spoon I ever saw!' and displeasure is signified by saying 'Never, ever take magazines away from girls.'

Probably more awful/ amusing than that, however, is the ritual that stems from an early childhood quote by my sister.

My mum was about to embark on a diet and being the goody two shooz ('shoes'- agh, family lingo!) suck up five year old I apparently was, I say sweetly: 'Mummy, you don't need to go on a diet, I think you're beautiful just as you are!' (probably while putting my arms around her waist and batting my eyelashes).

Cue a pause which I like to imagine involed her smiling fondly down at her lovely, thoughtful eldest daughter (but may have actually involved concealing a smirk/ vomit).

Then, as my mother was mid- bask in the feeling of 'Parenthood! What joys it bringeth! To be idolised and loved unconditionally by those whom you have brought life to, the unrelenting worship of ones own kind, one's own flesh and bloo-'

'I hate fat people.'

Unceremoniously spat forth from the mouth of my 3 year old sister over a decade ago, it still features regurlarly in muttered asides every time we stop in a McDonalds on long family car journeys.
(Mr._F is not actually a man- this username is a lie!, Fri 21 Nov 2008, 22:04, 1 reply)

Random Family Slang
I've no idea where it came from,but the term "goody" is used in my family to describe the feel of very short hair that grows in one direction,such as on the cat's nose or on my head when i've had my summer shearing.The only problem is i tried to explain this to some friends and now they think my family is mental.
(yob soddoth happiness is a Dane called Hamlet?, Fri 21 Nov 2008, 22:02, Reply)

Kiss and a Lick.
I don't know. My Granddad does it to the side of my head whenever he sees me. It's alright, he does it to other people too (well, grandchildren). Then demands reciprocal action.

Ever licked your Granddad's face?
( Captain Wow currently being a cunt in Infamous, Fri 21 Nov 2008, 21:38, 1 reply)

In this, the b3ta family,
we have teh upload codez...

/coat
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Fri 21 Nov 2008, 21:29, Reply)

Smoking
There was a family ritual that whenever my mother asked if I smoke, my dad would reply for me "no, she doesn't" knowing full well that I did, so the blame wouldn't fall on him because he smoked and she would have said he was setting an example (which he was, 'cause I always thought smoking was cool because of him).

This would carry on to this day apart from the fact that Sparrow Dodger has made me give up and now I'm fucking miserable because I love smoking and I'm at least three quarters through a tub of Ben and Jerry's and I think my skin might be itching on the inside. And it's only been six days. (Technically only two because I had a bit of one [but not a whole one] on Wedsnesday).

I know it's off topic but I don't care. I want to share my pain. Come and fight me if you dare. I am a woman on the edge.

(Ps, hints and tips would be very welcome)
(Ryfelwr can't stop here... this is bat country, Fri 21 Nov 2008, 21:10, 11 replies)

Bear with me...
The sun is setting in the sky, Teletubbies, say goodbye.

Thank Christ that was over, thought Tinky-Winky. There had been major tension between the stars of the show today. Dipsy had been wanting to take the Tubby Tustard scene in a new direction, perhaps including tubby bananas, and maybe even a little tubby nutmeg. After all, they had to eat this slop. Tinky Winky had liked the idea – after all, the Tubby Tustard had a knack for curdling under all that lighting, so anything to make it taste less like armpit was more than welcome. But when management refused, the shit hit the fan. Dipsy threatened to invoke the creative clause in his contract, then threatened to walk out, and THEN Laa-laa had a massive falling out with the producer and so on, so please. Po was ok. She usually spent between takes sat in the corner sipping absinthe. It made her calm and pleasant. Originally they had banned her drinking on set, but after a couple of cameramen were hospitalised, and they couldn’t find a replacement, it was agreed that she could consume one bottle of the stuff per filming. So yes, bad day all round.

“I swear, I am this close to walking out on the show.”

“Hey. C’mon, we all have bad weeks”, said Jenny Winky, his wife.

“It’s not just that. The writing has gone stale, and I was thinking of doing more work in theatre anyway. They’re doing Ibsen’s A Doll’s House at the royal next year. I’d love to be in that.”

“Well, it’s up to you. Anyway, come up to bed soon, I like it when you’re aggressive.” She kissed him on his aerial and went upstairs.

Fame shouldn’t have been like this. And Noo-noo! He hadn’t talked to Noo-noo since he married Jenny. Ok, it was only a month after she had been Jenny Noo, but love is love. It can wait for no man, Teletubby or personified vacuum cleaner. He poured himself a mug full of scotch, downed it in 3 swallows and went to bed.

The mood on set the next day wasn’t much better. Laa-laa was now using her make-up artist to act as a communicative go-between with her and the executive producer. Dipsy had been placated into doing the regular Tubby Tustard thing, but it was obvious he wasn’t selling the experience to the camera. Tinky Winky couldn’t decide if it was some passive form of protest, or whether Dipsy’s spirit had finally been broken. Po hadn’t been able to obtain her usual bottle of absinthe, and so was drinking a potent mix of Jack Daniels and Brake Fluid out of an old biscuit tin. She was her usual placid self, but kept sporadically screaming something about hanging giraffe-thieves. Luckily she remained an absolute professional while the cameras were rolling.

The show went ok. By no means was it their best effort, and Toyah Wilcox left the set at the end of the day muttering something about “Thodding pweemadonna amateuws”. But Tinky Winky had had enough. He kept quiet about his decision to leave, at least until he could secure some kind of theatre appearance. His agent had told him about a part being needed for Lysander in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and seeing how Kate Winslet had been cast to play Helena, that was something he was willing to walk over Ibsen for.
“Mr. Winky, tell me why you want to be in this play”.

“Well sir, the previous show I was with started to go stale in terms of foresight and creativity. I feel that your theatre company has always been able to keep this fine play fresh and exciting, and I feel I can aid that process.”

“Well, you have been part of a media aimed at the younger generation, and I do like to see Shakespeare being brought to the youngsters.”

The rest of the interview continued in a similar, obsequious vein, and it was agreed that Tinky-Winky would play the part of Lysander on the opening night. The tabloids had a field day with the story, claiming that he had sold out, and that the walk out had resulted after a fist fight between Tinky-Winky and Po. Truth be told, Po was the one person Tinky-Winky could get along with. She was living proof that the solution to life’s problems can actually be found at the bottom of a glass. Or biscuit tin.

Nonetheless, Tinky-Winky’s hesitance to inform the cast about his departure had left many people bitter. The head of the BBC was rather annoyed that Tinky-Winky was allowed such a flexible contract that stated he could leave the show on the condition he did not sign with another TV channel. So several people were fired, and the show was put on a hiatus until a replacement was found. A rather unsavoury element was added to the mix when a drunken Noo-noo tried to assault Tinky-Winky outside an exclusive restaurant, in full view of several photographers.

Fast forward to a week before opening night, and Tinky Winky was in a bad way. The stress from rehearsals and the hammering he’d taken in the tabloids, who were now claiming he had impregnated Jordan, had lead to a rapid drop in the quality of his health. His aerial had drooped, he couldn’t control the TV footage appearing on his stomach, and for some reason he kept displaying footage of how peanut butter was made. Whether that was symbolic or not was irrelevant; it meant he had to wear thick jumpers when he went out to stop people watching his belly, and it was the middle of July, and the subsequent bouts of profuse sweating made things worse. Jenny was starting to feel somewhat left out of the marriage, and her reconciliation with Noo-noo was going a little too well It seemed – she would be out all day every day, and come back about 11pm.

“I just think that for me to feel at peace and for our relationship to continue to grow and mature, I need to make peace with Noo-noo. He’s changed a lot, you know. He’s taken up pottery, and performs improvisational poetry in a small café in Covent Garden. He’s so caring and attentive.”

Tinky-Winky’s aerial was now drooped flat against his head.

“I do have to say Jenny, I’m glad that you and Noo-noo are working things out, but I barely see you these days. I miss you”.

“Oh, I’m ever so sorry, Mr. Theatre! I’m sorry that I have a life of my own! I think the only thing missing is the love in this marriage. Noo-noo told me that on one of the seminars he attended…”releasing the inner rainbow butterfly of youth”, I think it was called, that men have less connection to their inner chrysalis, which can lead to marriage problems, depression, impotence and baldness. I think we need to see a councillor.”

“Honey, if that’s what you’d like then that’s ok. But can this wait until after the play? I’m seriously ill, several people want to kill me, and Jordan is claiming I got her pregnant.”

“Well, I don’t know. Can love wait? Does our love mean so little to you that you put it on the back burner?” She slammed the door and walked out. It was to be the last he saw of her until the play. He knew where she was. She was vacuuming.

Next on the list of pitfalls was the vicodin. He needed something, anything to keep him going. Just make it to the opening night, he would say. Make it past the first night and fate will force all the pieces into place. Things would work out. Po, Dipsy and Laa-laa would befriend him once more, Jenny would come back, and he would make his peace with Noo-noo and the BBC. Time for another scotch.

Come the opening night, Tinky-Winky was calm. He had a look in his eyes that suggested that he could nip any problem in the bud before it even became a problem. In truth, he was high as a kite. The vicodin and scotch he’d been living on had caused him to lose weight. He had no idea how on earth he made it to the theatre. He put it down to some kind of inner auto-pilot.

“Mr. Winky! You all set? My goodness you look fabulous! Have you lost weight?” He still hadn’t gotten used to casually conversing with Kate Winslet.

She looked divine. She was already in stage attire – a full, plunging green dress that was just tight enough to show what was underneath. Like when you see a Christmas present shaped like an elongated triangle. You know it’s a toblerone. Mr. Winky smiled at the thought of Miss Winslet’s toblerone. He realised he’d been staring at her and smiling vacantly for 24 seconds now. Time to say something.

“Yes, I have been working out. I look forward to winslet with you, Miss Working.”

The mischievous Puck had applied the potion, and now came the dual courting scene. Tinky-Winky and Michael Barrymore (playing Demetrius), vying for the love of Kate Winslet. He stuck a piece of cloth over his faulty screen, made sure a hat covered his aerial, and made his way from the darkness of backstage to the hot, bright lights of fame. He couldn’t help but look to the crowd. They were there! Laa-laa and Dipsy laughing and joking together, and Po, vomiting into a large bag of Doritos she had managed to smuggle in. The producers were there, and sitting beside Keanu Reeves, who had been brought in to replace Tinky-Winky for the one off Christmas special that Tinky-Winky’s departure had very nearly railroaded. The lights just seemed to get hotter. And then he saw it. Jenny, sat next to Noo-noo, her hand on his extension cord. He felt rage, but turned to Kate. Yeah, they were on stage, but such a kind, loving look resided in her eyes. She had been so supportive of him in rehearsals. Maybe this was fate? Maybe he could start a new life with Kate, and Jenny and Noo-noo could go off together. Maybe this was the happy ever after! He walked towards Helena, and began to speak.

“Why should you think that I should woo in scorn? Scorn and derision never came in tears. Look when I vow, I weep; and vows so born…”

The world of Science or Health and Safety have never widely publicised the dangers of going on stage under very hot lights, with a famous actress wearing a revealing dress, all whilst tanked to the brim on painkillers and alcohol. The whole world seemed to go vertical and slow motion. Tinky-Winky stumbled forward, grabbed for anything to keep upright. Her dress. He, and the dress, went down. Kate Winslet, and her breasts, did not. They stayed attached to her chest. Pale, and reflecting the lights to the point where they seemed to be glowing. She went to run off stage, and subsequently tripped over an unconscious Tinky-Winky, who was laid flat on his back, belly exposed, showing a film of how Rosie, 6, has just learnt how to use the grown up toilet.

The tabloids ripped what little meat was left from his carcass. He had stayed in the empty house alone for 2 weeks. Kate was now out of hospital after suffering a concussion, and while she wasn’t angry at Tinky-Winky, he felt terrible. That, and her agent had told her that associating with him now would be career suicide. He was alone, his career was over, and his future was destined to a derogatory reference in some nostalgia show, where D list celebrities would talk about how great the Spice Girls and Tamagotchis were.

One night, when the sun was setting in the sky, Tinky-Winky decided it was time to say goodbye. He went to Tower Bridge, to see if he could fly.





Since I have a large, grown up family and most of my siblings have kids of their own, we tend to have a big family gathering on Boxing Day instead of Christmas day. This is always great fun for me - I'm the childless single one of us 4 kids, and I'm also the only teetotaller. So every Boxing Day, while my family has their traditional drunken, chavtastic get together, I'm usually ousted up to my room, where I partake in a tradition of writing a pointless short story every day Boxing Day evening, like the one you just read.

Length? Mine's just regular sized. Everyone else in the world is tiny.
(GONEism, Fri 21 Nov 2008, 21:03, 9 replies)

short and sweet
As a small collective we are by no means the slimest or best looking of families but have always played 'Spot the fatty' and 'Spot the ugmo'.

The scoring system is vast and complex but a holiday in America years ago yielded fantastic results.

I have it on good authority that Redcar produces high scores too.
(i anglepoise, Fri 21 Nov 2008, 20:49, 1 reply)

SSPs
When my sister (and our cousins) were little, my Poppa (Dad's dad for those who don't know the term) would ask us questions and the first correct answer would receive a Small Sealed Prize. When we were little, it'd be whoever sees Hode Monument first gets an SSP, and stuff like that. As we got older they became more difficult, such as 'What does 'crepuscular' mean?'. (it means animals mostly active during twilight, or that light and I'll never forget it). I've earned thousands of these SSPs.
He passed away last week and never coughed them up. I'll miss him.
(thebdaman hmmm....., Fri 21 Nov 2008, 20:32, Reply)

Squeeze my head
When I was but a littlefanny whenever I had to go the loo for a number two I would shout my Mum too come and 'Squeeze my head' (hands either side and squeeze in) as this helped remove the offending poop. (I confess to still doing this whenever a nasty bout of constipation hits)
I also used to call the window cleaner Dad. No reason.
(fannypack, Fri 21 Nov 2008, 19:59, 1 reply)

new year
Every year for the last 3 or 4, we have, at about 11.30pm on December 31st, slightly drunk, gone out onto the patio, and had a barbecue, making sure it lasts into the morning - so we can safely say we were the first people in the world to have a barbecue in the new year (at least in GMT - I bet the aussie's do it, but its hot at christmas over there).
Not bad eh! I bet loads of people do it though, but we are all joint first!
(macomateo is procrastinating on, Fri 21 Nov 2008, 19:49, 1 reply)

traditions
I’ll try to be brief and there is a positive ending to this

Growing up the daily ritual would be my dad (I find ‘dad’ hard to say or write) would come home hammered every night. Although not physically violent towards us he was extremely aggressive. Torrents of verbal abuse, the place smashed up, my mum crying hysterically. He would say the most foul disgusting things about my mum – she met him as a 19-year-old virgin in 1968 – they had sex once and bosh there I was. So they married - common tale.

Every Christmas was ruined. No hugs or fatherly love. No expression of love at all. I was told around age 7 I was ‘all the man I was ever going to be’. He terrorised me daily and I was petrified of him all my childhood. The problem was not just drink – he was foul sober too – usually because he needed another drink but it ran deeper than that, he was bitter paranoid all the time, convinced the world was sneering at him. He was insecure and a massive underachiever. I was a bright kind, creative inquisitive. He resented this, put me down at every turn and told me that because I was interested in drawing and being creative I was a poof. He had and still has classic small man syndrome.

When I met my now wife I was 19, we will have been together 20 years this Christmas we have been married three years and have a beautiful son aged 2. When we met it didn’t take long for her to find out about my upbringing – as soon as she met my dad things became pretty apparent. She heard him one night, drunk calling my mum the most horrible things you could imagine.

My wife tried to get me to understand him, his alcoholism and his other issues (his father was by all account the same).

After years of this and him still treating me my home and my partner like shit I snapped. I wrote him a letter detailing the damage done.

I never got a reply. That was 10 years ago, I did not see him during that time. He missed my wedding, the birth of my son a decade of my life.

My sister got married 3 weeks ago. She was terrified what might happen on the day. She insisted I meet him before the wedding. I flew back to Scotland early on her request/demand that we go for a ‘family lunch’. He got hammered and stood us up.

My sisters wedding was the first I saw him. This was also the first time he saw my son. For my sister’s sake I was on my best behavior when really I would have preferred to kick him to death. I was pleasant and spoke to him. He made no attempt to apologise for all he has done. A simple acknowledgement and the words “I’m sorry” would make the world of difference to me.

During the ceremony my wife was tearful but not in a good way. I realised something was wrong. Badly wrong.

The following morning she told me that over the last 10 years I had become more bitter, aggressive and my drinking had increased. She told me that at times I had become so aggressive and abusive towards her she was often frightened of me. Basically I was turning into my dad. I should stress my behavior compared to his was a fraction of the severity and that my wife was keen to stress that I was a kind gentle caring and affectionate husband and father but unfortunately on occasion I was abusive, aggressive and frankly, at times – terrifying.

I have never felt such shame.

Over the last few weeks I have read as much as I can on emotional abuse and my wife and I have talked at length.

As a result we have found a way forward. (I also massively cut back my drinking 3 or 4 months ago on my wife’s request, I’ve have also been at the gym religiously, so I’ve lost a lot of weight and got somewhere near fit again). Sadly it took the potential flashpoint of my sisters wedding to make me realise I was in danger of becoming my father and losing my own family as a result.

My wonderful wife and beautiful boy join me out here in the dustbowl in January (I’ve been in Dubai for 4 months). I’m going home for Christmas then they come back with me. Without seeming overly dramatic it feels like the start of a new life.

I speak to my wife at least 5 times a day - the phone bills are HORRIFIC. We are both convinced we have reached a massive turning point in our lives.

Sometimes family traditions need to be dropped.
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Fri 21 Nov 2008, 19:25, 19 replies)