Aunt Chuffer-Dandridge and her Big Shoe

Ok, here's the crack. I've been inundated with dreadful, violent deviants from all three corners of the British Isles (not Welsh) - and they're all relatives.

Now the time of Hogmanay is nearing, we have our visitor from India on her way. She's steaming her way to us via the train from Rawalpindi as we speak, and personally, if I cared less about her visit, I'd pass out. But there you go.

Here's a poem, have a read. Don't mind me, but I have a stinking case of the Plague and I've got a Bergerac box set to get through and three more mince pies.

Aunt Chuffer-Dandridge...And Her Big Shoe

Aunt Gwendolene Chuffer-Dandridge
Comes from our Scottish line,
She's lived in Rawalpindi
Since eighteen-eighty-nine.

She likes the Raj and plenty of wicker,
Straight from the Empire she's come.
All wallas and cricket and darjeeling tea,
And maybe the odd snifter of Rum.

She walks lop-sided up and down
On a very built-up big-shoe.
The base of her foot was chopped clean off
In the Sword Dance at Loch Dhu.

Her wallas are her most faithful aides,
A book walla to read her Dickens.
There's a tea walla too, with an excellent brew,
And a cock walla - for the chickens.

She's a mean shot with a rifle, our Gwendolene,
Drops an elephant at 500 yards,
She owns a palace with snakeskin floors
Cos she cheated the Sultan at cards.

So now she descends on Trebollocks
In a big shoe and a riot of tartan.
I fear she may have the hump though,
As my home is awfully spartan.

But the New Year will go with a bang, I'm sure,
Amid beautiful wintry flurries.
With old Chuffer and Tossa McGurk both here,
Bloody Folly is the least of my worries.

Wishing all of you a wonderful New Year, and hoping you've all had a good Christmas/Yule. Thankyou for you're insane support, your unbending commitments to things not really very tortoisy, and all highly sensible comments, you all make my day. Kisses and plague stuff. x MAB