During the night I ended up filling the sink with cold water and sitting in it with my legs dangling over the edge in an attempt to extinguish the flames that were shooting out of my backside. Soon afterwards Mrs. Snowman tried to venture into the toilet but was forced back by an environment of noxious odours. I was then submitted to a tirade of abuse from my good lady. It didn’t help when I pointed out she was technically responsible for the situation which was further enhanced by a mid sentence fart.

    Besides, I tried to warn her beforehand that she shouldn’t go in there without a canary.

    Sometime after the air had cleared into a breathable atmosphere, I decided I might as well get up and ventured downstairs to start my day, it was certainly safer for my lungs than staying on the first floor.

    Having previously neglected the finishing touches to the decorating it was probably wise to spend a few hours doing that, as not only would I not have to worry about doing it over the Christmas period, but also it’s not contusive to arguing with the mother-in-law in what amounts to a building site.

    I carefully removed the paintings from the walls and got the brushes ready. Mrs. Snowman then came in and started to put all the paintings back up again. On enquiring the reason for her actions it was firmly explained “…no one will see behind the pictures so it’ll be easier if you just paint round them”. Using the same logic I pointed out that no one actually sees her bare arse cheeks but she still takes the trouble to decorate them with clean underwear.

    I see no point in telling you all her exact response but the summary would require a proctologist, a pair of surgical tongs and a tub of lubricating jelly.

    I was very pleased with my efforts and by the time Mrs. Snowman came home from work the walls were painted and the celebratory beers had been opened (actually my ninth can of the day). The only minuscule issue I had to explain was the residue from the walls. When I say residue, what I really meant was paint splatter. My hair looked like a bird had scored a direct shit hit from 3,000 feet and the carpet was speckled with enough white dots to camouflage a hyena.

    Even the cat was not immune from my vigorous brushwork. It had previously found a nice warm spot near the radiator to curl up and go to sleep and awoke to find itself looking like a newly scrubbed zebra. The current Mrs. Snowman obviously considered I also needed a scrub and frog-marched me upstairs and stood guard while I stood under the shower. Sadly it also had the effect of sobering me up.

    With hindsight, I may have been better off sticking with the booze rather than the poker as all three freerolls proved completely fruitless once more. Each time I managed to get up to four or five thousand chips before doing something stupid and losing them to drawing hands.

    One day maybe I’ll be able to report a winning day in these pages for my esteemed readers…but I’d advise an oxygen tank if you intend to hold your breath.

    Oxygen was also something that should have been pumped into the house later in the day. Not content with forcing a curry into my system, the wife also made a roast dinner with brussel sprouts, cabbage and stuffing. Don’t be surprised if tomorrow’s entry informs everyone that a night time high powered fart propelled the bed into the garden.

Starting bank:  $0