Written by armfeetandtoe
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Saturday, 1 December 2012

image for Fingle Christmas Night (Clives writing compo) Mrs Fingle profers Santa a kiss

Mr and Mrs Fingle sat quietly in their lounge. The Christmas tree lights sparkled, filling the room with soft colours. The only sound that could be heard was the clicked click of Mrs Fingles knitting needles as they came together to create another pullover for Mr Fingle.

"Nearly time Ethel" said Mr Fingle.

"Yers, I know dear, but let's wait till the last minute" replied Mrs Fingle.

"Are you sure you want to do it?" Mr Fingle asked.

"I didn't at first and then I thought yers it's the only way to teach him" said Ethel.

"I've swept the chimney so he shouldn't have any problems coming down". Mr Fingle said

"That's nice Ernie, don't want his clothes getting dirty do we" Ethel replied.

"Shall I turn the heating off, cos once he has gone we can go to bed" Ernie asked.

"Go on then dear, save a bit on the gas" replied Ethel.

Up in the stratosphere, Father Christmas slowed the sleigh in anticipation of the last house on his list.

37 Hanover Street Plumstead is the house he enjoyed the most. The chimney was always clean, there was a decent glass of port and the mince pies were homemade unlike the crap he normally had to eat.

On the stroke of midnight, Santa began the descent down the chimney, he took his time, making sure the small sack he had did not snag on the brickwork. Finally, and with one last effort, he emerged from the fireplace into the lounge. Standing in front of him, were two naked elderly people.

The smelling salts worked, Santa opened his eyes to find Mrs Fingle standing over him with a small glass of brandy in her hand. "You alright dear" she asked.

Santa sat up he could have sworn they were naked, now they are in dressing gowns and pyjamas.

"What's this all about Mr and Mrs Fingle" Santa asked.

"Last year, do you remember crashing down our chimney?" enquired Mr Fingle.

"Oh yes, I got stuck and fell down" replied Santa.

"Well, Mrs Fingle and I were in bed, asleep, the noise caused Ethel to have one of her turns.
I woke up with a start, covered in Ethel's shit the dog leaped off the bed scarring the cat making it jump three feet in the air landing on my bollocks which made me jump knocking over the tea's maid.

The hot water burnt my feet, Ethel started screaming which alerted the next door neighbours who called the police, they kicked the door in, came crashing into the bedroom, saw me jumping up and down shouting the odds, Ethel by now is lying face down on the Wilton covered in shit, the police put two and two together and come up with six, and I end up spending Christmas in the nick".

"Oh dear I didn't realise" said a meek Santa.

"So, me old mate, we thought we would give you a scare" Said Mr Fingle.

"And you did" replied Santa.

"So next year, can you leave our presents at the front door, there's a love" said Mrs Fingle.

"Another brandy Santa" offered Mr Fingle.

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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