Ho Ho, Fucking Well Ho
It's Christmas eve and the house is quiet save for the gentle, drunken snoring coming from Dad as he sleeps where he'd been sat drinking all evening.

He awakes with a start, farts and wipes a hand across his brow before descending into a coughing fit brought on by the 20 Embassy Number Ones he's smoked throughout the evening.

He pulls himself out of his chair, farts again and necks the glass of sherry that has been left for Santa: "I'm doing his job for him, I'm drinking his fucking sherry." he mutters, before demolishing the mince pie and throwing Rudolph's carrot bin ways. The boys'll be too old for this caper soon, he tells himself and picks up a few parcels before turning the lights off and climbing the stairs.

"Bollocks", he pauses to check for the faint sound of three snoring boys, having booted the foot of a bed as he stumbled into the room: "is that you, Santa?" asks the youngest. "Shit. Yes, now go back to sleep or I'll take all your presents away again." he half lies and an exaggerated snoring immediately sounds out from the bottom bunk.

Dad carefully manoeuvres about the room, distributing presents with all the grace of an elephant on acid, before making his way to bed, happy in the knowledge that he'll be able to sleep off most of his hangover having provided sufficient distraction in the shape of small Christmas presents that require no Dad related assistance.

I think this ritual carried on until they split up. After that it was the 'don't wake Mum up unless you want a slap' ritual, which seemed pretty effective, too.
( Moey, Thu 20 Nov 2008, 19:03, Reply)