Season's Greetings to all my bitches.

< This is a portion of the tree and the theme this year was not giving a solitary fuck.

I post these pics knowing full well the most punchable Instagram knobends are doing exactly the same thing, but rest assured we neither paid $450 per head + tip nor sat anywhere near Cara Delevigne.  

Lunch was conducted on the shady deck and we went for roast leg of lamb plus parsnips, kumara, potatoes and a shit tonne of shiraz-based gravy as you can probably see.  That's just one of the many great things about a you-and-your-boo xmas; you can eat in your underwear, submerge everything in all the fucking gravy (in the barbaric manner) and pass emphatic, tuneful wind (also in the barbaric manner) with complete impunity.

We're about to retire to bed, possibly with ice-cream and stewed rhubarb.  No chocolate because a spliff made me eat the Lindt creme brûlée block last night in the midst of a Kath & Kim marathon.  The ghost of carbs passed will be biting my arse next week but I'm content to live in the slightly greasy and thoroughly satisfied now. 

Cheers queers; hope yours is a good one.

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