Last night we left Homesea - now a frozen village forever destined to be part of the Antarctic wastes.
Cowgill landed the helicopter, for the last time, on my tower and whisked Beaver, Hitmouse, the Old Monkey and I back to Homeward.
I must say that my brother Rudolph has made an excellent job of organising the traditional Christmas celebrations at Homeward - despite the inclement economic climate.
As usual, the big tree stood outside Homeward.
We all gathered around the tree to celebrate the season, and our safe return.
We sang all the usual Christmas songs, Noddy Ninety did his famous rendition of "On a Bitter Winter's Night".
To commemorate my return we also sang that great paean to Homeward:
"I was walking one day in the streets of the city When I thought of my home so far, far away. Oh, why am I here in this place! What a pity! When I could be home at the close of the day."
Now the chorus all together!" I said, waving my trunk to keep time:
"Homeward, Homeward, there in the sunset, Waiting for me with each window aglow. Homeward, Homeward, there in the twilight Waiting for me who has so far to go!"
Several of the party, relieved at my return, were sobbing.
At which point Beaver interrupted. "Don't you think that line 'Waiting for me with each window aglow' is a bit over the top - when you consider how many bloomin' towers you own!"
We chose to ignore this acid comment.
For the most part, The Badfort Crowd had all been most well behaved.
I remarked to the Old Monkey how I felt that our experiences on Homesea had proved to be a salutary lesson for Beaver Hateman. I felt that he clearly understood, now, that rather than exercising one-elephant rule over Homeward for my own self-aggrandisement I carry the burden from a sense of civic duty.
It was then that we heard a raucous tune drift across the winter landscape.
"Welcome home to great big Unc. Home he comes, and brings his trunk. Blow the whistle, beat the drum!
So far, for the Badfort Crowd, the song seemed quite polite. But then Beaver began to sing the insulting end of the verse. "When Bully is here things start to hum! Yah! Yah! You and all your doped half-wits! Soon we'll blow you all to nits!"
"You were saying, Sir?" said the Old Monkey pointedly.
Yes, well it seems that there is little chance to an end of my conflict with Beaver in the New Year.
At least Rob Bourassa, the Badfort Crowd's resident guitar player gave us a fine rendition of "Christmas Time is Here"