Good morning you cum drenched fuck mittens.
My best Christmas Day memory won't translate to the written word, but my Dad trying to do the Charade for "Forrest Gump" reduced the rest of us to helpless crying loons as he sat there looking miserable in his paper hat waving his hands above his head. Apparently he was trying to be a tree blowing in the breeze.

Also, realising Nan hadn't actually died at the Christmas table, but had just stopped talking and gone a slightly funny colour after tasting Mum's turkey may not be the best memory, but it was certainly a relief.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Fri 2 Dec 2011, 9:16, Reply)