Poetry and Christmas
Like everybody else, I never really understood how bizarre my family was at the time - it's when you look back that you cringe at some of the inanity you had to put up with as a youngster.

I spent most of my younger years living in Wales in a sizeable farm cottage - the farmer had simply built a (tacky) new house next to the main road and barns, so we were surrounded by fields and fields of his veg. For some reason this made quite an impression on my youngest sister (to be fair, we didn't have a television), who would write all manner of poems about the crops and pin them up all over the house. My parents would encourage her by entering them in competitions etc., but unsurprisingly (to me, at least) her penned tributes to leeks and cauliflowers never really found a fan base.

The other thing that only really struck me later, when I compared my childhood experiences with others, was the epicness with which my mother regarded Christmas. For eleven and a half months we lived a pretty parsimonious life - sweets and chocolate were rare treats used as a reward, most clothes were passed down from sibling to sibling and we never went away on a proper holiday, but every Christmas my mother seemed to be on a personal mission to outdo every Dickens novel and feel-good film. Every room was festooned in decorations, the tree filled half the front room and was practically barricaded by a wall of presents, mulled wine, mince pies and other goodies were on tap, and the dining table would creak under the weight of the Christmas meal. She was a firm believer that there were twelve days of Christmas, so the good times would stretch until Twelfth Night, with presents from the more remote relatives held in reserve so there was always something to open each day. I'm feeling all nostalgic now just thinking about it. Where was I? Oh yes - my childhood. Farm leek odes and rich Yules.
(Vice Admiral Sir Charles Cockbrush KCB MBE DSO, who is finding it increasingly difficult to log into b3ta.com wants to duck your aunt and kick your puppy, Thu 27 Nov 2008, 10:00, 8 replies)

*applauds*...

this is full of awsomeness!

Please accept this click as a mark of your mastery of teh punnage!

...aaaaaannnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnd 'click'
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Thu 27 Nov 2008, 10:10, closed)

Why thank you sir
You'll be wanting this big glove back, I take it?
(Vice Admiral Sir Charles Cockbrush KCB MBE DSO, who is finding it increasingly difficult to log into b3ta.com wants to duck your aunt and kick your puppy, Thu 27 Nov 2008, 11:36, closed)

Best QOTW pun ever
click
(BarryChuckle, Thu 27 Nov 2008, 10:21, closed)

OK, I am annoyed
and impressed at the same time.

*grudgingly clicks*
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Thu 27 Nov 2008, 10:40, closed)

That is
A truly masterful pun; effortlessly presented and mercilessly executed.
(ShitBitch, Thu 27 Nov 2008, 11:29, closed)

You, sir,
are officially this week's winner of the golden frying pan award, with extra *Spang* for linking in the Christmas theme. Well done.
(cheez is feeling ergophobic, Thu 27 Nov 2008, 14:50, closed)

Sheer brilliance..
Hidden within a seemingly relevant and realistic story too..

They're not wrong, well done sir.
(AndyC4m Eject Eject [><], Thu 27 Nov 2008, 15:24, closed)

Bollox
Got me
(kitescreech still here, Thu 27 Nov 2008, 16:23, closed)