Dear Diary,
This will be my last entry of 2022 as the mothership is away over New Year and is too cheap to pay for a stand-in secretary, thus depriving the world of my amusing musings.
So, here we are, at the end of yet another year pondering life’s important questions, like what-the-flip are advent calendars all about? Is murdering an unwanted relative in a real life Cluedo game over Christmas really a justifiable homicide? How does a creature with an IQ as low as mother’s actually remember to breathe? And what does a boy buy a new beau for Christmas when he is bereft of magic, money or the mothership’s Mastercard?
At least one mother – of the mother nature type – has decided to stop being quite so frosty and has turned the thermostat up a fraction. Now, admittedly this is now meaning rather than everywhere being an ice rink, everywhere is now a mud bath, which has led to mother and the ladies at the yard sobbing harder than mothers across the land when their darling offspring changes the requests to Santa at 4pm on 23 December, at the state of my once white feathers, but at least I’m no longer cold. Muddy yes, cold no. My mother (the more mercurial one, with fractionally less ability to unleash a typhoon on me) has suggested that I might want to try getting slightly less filthy for the sake of the yard’s hot water bill, but short of levitating, I’m really not sure how she expects me to manage that.
It’s not featuring highly up my list of New Year’s revolutions, that I can tell you. Got to be honest, after 20 years on this planet, I’m still not sure what spinning in circles in the New Year has to do with anything, but along with most other human traditions, I just roll with it. This year I’m more up for the snogging under the muscley toe than staging any circles or coups – call me old fashioned (or just old), but snogging is much more fun.
Now again, being honest, my latest conquest is quite high up the “hot and crazy” scale, so snogging her is a little like playing tonsil hockey with an equine John Travolta at times – you never quite know if this is the moment she takes your face off – but like the adverts say, she’s worth it. Besides which, it’s been that long since I had any action, we’ve gone through about 15 Prime Ministers…
All that remains for me to say is have an amazing Kissmuss, a New Year in which you sort the number of revolutions you’re going to do (never sure if it has to be full revolutions or if a small turn on the forehand will do) and I shall see you on the other side.
Laters,
Hovis
You might also be interested in:
Hovis’ Friday diary: the grass is like glass and my snot is an icicle… but I have had snogs
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