CLICK ON THE SNOWFLAKE TO OPEN THE DOOR!
HAPPY HOLIDAYS FROM BARBARA ELSBORG
Let me say straight away that I have the most awful memory. I think I’ve always struggled to remember things, even at school. I coped with exams by spending the month before learning everything off by heart—which worked perfectly until I had to cope with applying knowledge and then I came unstuck. Now I cope now by making lists. I have lists of lists. I am the Queen of Lists.
So when people talk about memories of Christmas, I go blank. I can barely remember what I did last Christmas let alone what happened when I was a little girl. I have a younger brother. Do I remember him being around when I was younger? No. I think I must have lived in a bubble. That would be a bubble with plenty of books and a TV.
So for things to stay in my memory they have to be quite major and usually funny. And to be honest, most of them involve my son. This would be the boy who drove his toy car into the Christmas tree and knocked it over along with the container of water it stood in and flooded the living room. The boy who fell off his chair at the dining table and took the cloth, the roast chicken and all the food with him. The boy who took his new bike out on Christmas morning and drove straight into a neighbour’s car causing a lot of damage. The four year old boy who when I took him Christmas shopping asked in a very loud voice, “What are you going to steal in here, Mummy?” It’s a long story and no, I’m not a thief.
But one Christmas, my teenage son and his friend played in the snow in our back garden. They spent a long while stamping up and down on the lawn and we had to call them in when it got dark. The next day, from a bedroom window, we saw what they’d been doing. They’d stamped the outline of a huge erect cock and balls – and the cock was spouting like a fountain.
With young kids living on one side of us, we sent out son the next day to muddle up what he’d done and thought no more about it until the snow melted. A hard frost had killed the grass he and his friend had exposed and we were left with a very clear outline of cock and balls on the lawn. It could be seen by passing planes. Hell, it could probably be seen from outer space.
So I wish you all a Happy Christmas – if you celebrate it—Happy Holidays if not and I also wish you lots of lovely memories, but not a giant size cock and balls on your lawn.
Barbara Elsborg lives in West Yorkshire in the north of England. She always wanted to be a spy, but having confessed that to everyone without them even resorting to torture, she decided it was not for her. Vulcanology scorched her feet. A morbid fear of sharks put paid to marine biology. So instead, she spent several years successfully selling cyanide. After dragging up two rotten, ungrateful children and frustrating her sexy, devoted, wonderful husband (who can now stop twisting her arm) she finally has time to conduct an affair with an electrifying plugged-in male, her laptop.
Her books feature quirky heroines and bad boys, or just a couple of bad boys and she hopes they are much fun to read as they were to write.
email – firstname.lastname@example.org
Advent Calendar Giveaway!
For one lucky or unlucky commentator, I offer a e-copy of Cowboys Down, my MM erotic romance out with Samhain publishing. The tale of what happens when an uptight English stockbroker gets down and dirty with a Wyoming cowboy.
The BONUS BUMPER PRIZE QUESTION (don’t answer this – just save them up for Christmas Eve.)
4. What Christmas song was written by James Lord Pierpoint in 1857?