Gingerbread lesbians and cast off stockings

The gingerbread lesbians are in a heap in a biscuit tin; the stockings have been pulled down and my sock drawer is overflowing, the corks have popped and the bird has been stuffed. Smutty turkey baster jokes continue to make me snigger but then I have an infantile sense of humour and can watch Ellen on repeat and still laugh each time (this I can see concerns my lover somewhat, but she has reassured me that she married me for my figure rather than intellect, as this reassures me her assertion apropos intellect may be well-founded ...)

Lover and I “celebrated” Xmas chez mother-in-law (I use the quote marks as said moth-in-law is blessed with an ability to make any occasion that otherwise elicits jollity into a sober one.) My other half and I shelved my otherwise excellent suggestion of gingerbread strap-ons and dildos as unsuitable for even mentioning to sectagenarion moth-in-law. Yet moth-in-law begrudgingly went along with our tenacious determination to make gingerbread dykes, to get into the Sapphic spirit, she then went out and bought a woman template in skirt. Needless to say (yet I shall nevertheless ironically continue, or else people would simply say needless to say…. only to then lapse into silence, and that would be witty on one level but not very enlightening) the “man” figure sufficed as a Levi-clad trouser-wearing lesbian. Indeed we got carried away and even made a gingerbread house, in which yours truly prudently fashioned an emergency exit in event of collapse.

Aside from treats, the bird and the stockings, the only other trapping of tradition is the Queens’ speech (HRH rather than gay male friends). Indeed, in the Queen’s speech on one memorable occasion, she (or should it be She?) referred to an “annus horribilis”. Consequently vast scores of Brits wondered why she was talking about her arse. As an emigrant/immigrant to Norway (concomitant afflictions: you can’t be one without being the other), I am treated to a King’s speech in a foreign tongue, little has changed: it is still just as unintelligible as ever.

Ambiguous ginger-gender-bred ambiguity and age clashes aside, we are now cranking up for the New Year celebrations. I believe these are symbolised by Janus (the two-faced God- who looks both back at the old year and on at the new). "Two-faced" evidently had different connotations back then. I am nostalgic to the extreme, and occasionally I yearn for the days before homosexuality was scandalised and when togas were fashionable (my lover claims life would be much nicer if she could swish around toga-clad and I am inclined to agree). I digress, now, someone should warn HRH to avoid all mention of Janus in any of her speeches, her accent created enough confusion once before…