We were not looking forward to a very merry Christmas here at Homeward.
Following my contretemps with the European Community they have blockaded Homeward.
We were therefore trying to make the best of Christmas, with my finances depleted and none of the usual imported festive treats.
Beaver had taken advantage of the situation and launched a full scale aerial bombardment with Treacle Bombs (that he stored up after the Great Treacle Tower Flood) in an effort to depose me.
Imagine, my surprise, therefore, when instead of the expected rain of sticky missives from Mister Hateman's plane this morning - many brightly coloured parcels started to rain from the sky !
The folk of Homeward scurried around picking up the various parcels. They were full of all sorts of goodies - puddings, mince pies and other Christmas delicacies.
"Look, Sir, a big parcel with your name on it!" cried the Old Monkey.
Before I had the chance to start unwrapping it, out burst Beaver Hateman !
"Hi Unc, sworn enemies we may be mate, but we always have a truce at Christmas and you always lay on a slap up meal for us - just to show you that the Worker's Revolutionary party can organise just as good a do as a fat billionaire we decided to return the favour !" declared Beaver.
"All stolen, I presume ?" I replied sternly.
"Of course, mate - we nicked it all from the EU food mountains !" cackled Beaver.
"Well done - excellent intiative!" said I, with a smile.
I have to say it was one of the best Christmas Eve parties we have had, here at Homeward, - despite the Badfort Crowd's dubious musical contributions.
The people's flag is deepest red,
It shrouded oft our martyr'd dead
And ere their limbs grew stiff and cold,
Their hearts' blood dyed its ev'ry fold.
Then raise the scarlet standard high,
Within its shade we'll live and die,
Though cowards flinch and traitors sneer,
We'll keep the red flag flying here.