What’s today, my fine fellow?

Posted: January 27, 2012 in Photography
Tags: , , , , , , ,

Is it too late to post Christmas pictures? (I ask, having only just gotten round to transferring them onto my computer.)

Kicking things off: an ugly sweater party with Lindsay! (’tis the season, and all.) Someone on Facebook commented that Lindsay is the clear winner. I replied that if it were a competition, we wouldn’t even be in the same league because Lindsay’s is Olympic-level hideous.

Courtesy of my mum, though this is tragically the only picture I have of him in it because he hated wearing it so very much.

I will never understand the raw magnetism between cats and cardboard boxes. (Or, as some wonderful internet person summed it up: “If it fits, I sits.”)

Aaaand back to Dundee for the Christmas holidays.

I inadvertently boarded a full-on crazy bus to my mum’s house, with no fewer than three passengers talking to themselves for the entire journey. Home sweet home.

Beth and Bobby – the latter proving that my mum can, in fact, overfeed any animal, regardless of species.

On Christmas Eve, Colin and I watched Anchorman while Kim started work on her wonderful gingerbread house. Little did it suspect the cruel fate that awaited it…

When I got home, my brother and I continued our annual tradition of watching one godawful movie every Christmas Eve. Sadly, these are meant to be amusing bad and not – as was the case this year – Mean Girls 2 bad.

Not pictured: being woken up by an 8-year-old girl every hour on the hour the rest of the night asking if Santa had come yet.

Christmas morning! This was not my present…though I secretly wish it had been.

“She may be the key to Triton’s undoing…”

(Little Mermaid may or may not be favourite Disney movie of all time.)

So my mum decided that the theme of this year’s Christmas would be nostalgia (omg, Chip ‘n’ Dale Rescue Rangers in the first thing I ever owned on VHS!), which manifested itself most hysterically in my good friend in the bottom right there. To explain: let me take you on a journey of humiliation and shattered dreams.

The year was 1991, and young Mark – fresh from the excitement of having seen Beauty & the Beast at the cinema – was told by his mother that he would be getting an extra special present that year: one which he was guaranteed to love forever more. Cut to Christmas Day, where I open this wondrous gift, only to discover that my mum had – incomprehensibly, and with no apparent irony – bought me an actual Beast doll. By which I do not mean a Beast action figure…

…but a full-on fucking Barbie whose torso lifted off to reveal the dashing prince beneath, with a flowing mane of flaxen (brushable!) locks.

I. Was. Mortified.

Needless to say, it went down as the worst Christmas present of my life, which we continued to laugh about for years until this very Christmas when mum somehow managed to track down a doll that hadn’t been in production for 10 years to effect our emotional reunion. Finally, he could fulfil his Christmas destiny of actually being appreciated.

And of course no festive season would be complete without The Wizard of Oz, which we’ve watched every year at this time for as long as I can remember. (When John came to Akita during my first year, he picked up the DVD from Nagasakiya for ¥300 just so that it would feel like Christmas.)

For some reason, our crackers all contained wind-up Brussels sprouts, along with three medals for the winners of the ensuing race. Since mine was only capable of waking in a circle, I did not take home the prize. (Regardless, this was still a step up from the year our crackers all contained nothing but prizes suitable for a 6-year-old girl with a princess complex.)

(I swear I took my pictures of my actual family, only I don’t think any of them would thank me for posting pictures of them first thing on Christmas morning.)

This is my brother’s new puppy, Molly. John is less than amused that my brother’s dog has the same name as his sister…not least because his last dog, Jack, had the same name that John’s entire family calls him.

Lucy hates Molly with a fiery passion – as she does any animal that threatens to take attention away from her and her alone. She’s basically Alf in dog form.

I think this might have been the same night we watched Pretty Woman, and my, but that film is funnier as an adult. (“I appreciate this whole seduction thing you’ve got going on here, but let me give you a tip: I’m a sure thing.”)

Omg, Akita on the Discovery Channel! So painfully 懐かしい. I was dying a tiny bit. (This is literally around the corner from my old house. T_T)

Lucy is a picture of grace. (I originally typed pigture, which is – I think – fairly apt, as typos go.)

Mico and her ridiculous Frankenstein arm.

Lucy is actually a grand old lady, which accounts for the fact that she’s now lost the majority of her front teeth. When she sleeps, her tongue just lolls out of her mouth unfettered.

Later that week: Kim’s gingerbread house – the finished product! My sole contribution (at least to its construction…): the suggestion of candy canes forming a love heart.

Portents of things to come.

I mean it’s beautiful and all, but I still think it lost something after she removed the mass grave of gummi bear body parts holocaustically plastered to the wall.

Such attention to detail!

…aaaaaand then this happened. Alas, its saccharine majesty couldn’t save it from a slightly ignominious fate.

I hope you’re proud of yourself, you monster.

Clearly, I was just a bystander and played no part in suggesting/filming/directing its destruction.

That night, Colin forced me to watch ultimate cage fighting and I forced him to watch Lady Gaga presents The Monster Ball. Since both involved half-naked men, I’d say he got the raw end of that deal.

Theeeen back to Glasgow for Christmas No. 2 with John and the cats.

Alf is affronted, always.

Setting the scene with Funny Face and oak-smoked salmon deliciousness.

Failing to permeate the rest of the house, the Christmas spirit vomited all over our window ledge.

I’m noticing a theme with the presents John gives me…

(And somehow, despite me being the one to give him the ultra-rare extended director’s cut of Supergirl, it didn’t occur to me that I’d have to spend my evening watching it.)

My lovely, lovely presents from John; as (unintentionally) modelled by Willabix.

Geek chic.


I would say Wilfred doesn’t look terribly pleased but with that face, how does one ever know really?

And lastly, in case any of these pictures have given the impression that Wilf is beginning to rival Alf in size…

…he is not.

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