I’m so glad Mister Husband opted to give me a bottle of perfume for Christmas this year. Oh, and that work-out DVD. Despite what Ray D’Arcy thinks, I loved this present. The Battle of the Bulge is on-going and all the help I receive is greatly accepted and appreciated. I was thrilled yesterday when my PT (that’s Personal Trainer to you. Up yours, Davina! I have one as well!) called to get the Fat Club up and running again after the Christmas break. Alright, so there will be approximately 6 or 7 more in the same room as us but that’s just semantics. Back to the Christmas present. Perfume and a work-out DVD. Perfect. Exactly what I wanted and needed. Years and years ago an aunt arrived at our house in the run up to Christmas, bearing our presents. She had two massive objects that were unmistakably books all wrapped up in paper depicting a snowy, white winter scene. One book was for me, the other was for my sister. I almost wet myself. I loved, and still do, a good book. And these were massive altogether. Huge. No lie. They were exactly the same size as well so we were both going to get the same value for our money, thus no arguments. I couldn’t stand it! It was killing me! What book could be that big other than the Bible and I knew aunty wouldn’t be that unchristian at Christmas. So I stared and stared at the wrapper, trying to imagine what stories the book contained. I was hoping for Enid Blyton. I would have been flung to the far corners of 7th heaven if it was. I remember stroking the page, doing my best not to on purpose tear away a little corner. The hard backed cover was killing me. It would take me days, glorious days to read this. What was it? So I used the corner of my nail to thin out the paper a little bit, just at the base of the spine where nobody would notice. A black hard back book. Serious looking. No pictures of any sort, no words. Just black. It was too much for me and I scraped away a piece of paper at the top of the spine. Gold lettering. My heart thumped with a strange mix of dread and anticipation. If this turned out to be the bloody Bible after all, I’d bury it in the back garden. Fek it! This was the exact situation Sellotape was invented for. I could tape up a bigger hole. So I carefully ripped the paper, just enough to make out either an author or just the title of the book. First word: English. Ok, I could live with that. That’s my language they were on about. Next word: Irish. Oh oh. My finger stopped pulling at the paper. I was confused and slightly nervous now. I wasn’t liking the look of this a tall a tall. To hell with it and I pulled off another bit of paper. The final and last word was: Dictionary. The disgust mixed with pure and utter disappointment I felt then, are still very, very real and fresh to me today. I can still feel the tears that stung the back of my eyes. A fukin English Irish Dictionary!! So what was the other book then? I grabbed at it, all reason gone. It either better be the Bible in which case my sister can have it. But if she gets the better book……my hands were frantically tearing off paper. First word: Irish. Second word: English. Third and fourth word: Fukin Dictionary. I cried that day. I really did. I had gotten myself worked up into such a state of anticipation, my body couldn’t handle the adrenalin rush and I cried my eyes out. I think those tomes are still knocking around in my mother’s house somewhere. They were so big we couldn’t even bring them to school. There just was not enough room in our school bags. Several years down the line and I have been given wine for Christmas when I was pregnant. This happened a couple of years in a row. Yes, yes, both the wine giving and the pregnancies. I like to think they were having a gentle laugh at my expense. And while we’re on the subject of crap Christmas presents, I heard a really good one today. Apparently, Angelina bought Brad a……………wait for it! A whole waterfall all to himself. I mean, would ya like? Jayz! He’s going to design the perfect house on the land that came with it. Or something. I mean would ya like? Imagine all the Organics shampoo you’d have to buy to wash your hair in that shower? A waterfall! I’ve heard it all now. I wonder what their kids got. A glacier? An avalanche about to crumble, or do whatever it is an avalanche does? A dormant volcano? A rain forest? An iceberg? A small, sparsely populated country? I bet you anything you like; there were no dolls and their buggies or video games under that tree on Christmas morning. Now Brangelina, if you’re reading (imagine! Morto!) don’t go getting your knickers in a twist, folks. I read it in the Irish Independent so therefore it must be true. God, imagine being sued by the Jolie/Pitts for libel. Ah, don’t mind me. Maybe I’m just jealous. Sure wouldn’t I love a waterfall all to myself? I’d be a great way to clean the kids at the end of the day. I’d be able to get rid of the power hose! I wonder now, I wonder would himself, as in Brad, be interested in a second hand English Irish dictionary. I’ve just checked. The Irish word for waterfall is, aes. There now. Isn’t that grand? Bet Angelina doesn’t know that?