🎶 After all, it’s only one more sleep ‘til Christmas 🎶

Damn the kids are wound up…we spent the best part of last night with the kids bouncing around the room like little coked up baby Raccoons losing their shit to Tom Cardy’s smash hit ‘Have you checked your butthole’. Literally shaking with excitement.

Yes, as you can imagine…as the famous triple threat singer, dancer and actor once said…”It’s only one more sleep ‘till Christmas” (Kermit the Frog 1992). It’s Christmas Eve!!! Note to self: still yet to watch The Muppet Christmas Carol; get your shit together Dean!!

One more day until Santa arrives and passes judgement on our children and ponders whether a lump of coal is really worth Alaskas reckoning, or to just leave some gifts and appease the Gods of War and Mischief; Grayson and Alaska.

Digressing just a smidge…Christmas Eve calls for Christmas Traditions, and a prompt 10:30 Panto in Cardiff. This year; CINDERELLA…this year; missing Gareth Thomas…AGAIN!!! Let’s not riot before we start though, I’m sure there’ll be plenty of innuendo and half naked ex rugby players that can’t act for shit to go around.

Up bright and early…or should I say

, Up misty, dark and early; weather is shitter than a Swansea Christmas Panto today. Up to the sights and bewonderment (what do you mean that’s not a real word??!!) of Alaska quickly becoming TikTok famous. Bloody hell, who’d have thought drawing a line in a gingerbread person and calling it a fanny would incite virality (again…that’s a real word!!)…but hey, no idea how the algorithm works…250,000 views and counting…Grayson is more jealous of her than I am of the random YouTubers making millions from unboxing toys. Christmas morning will be full of kids doing the same for a grand total of nothing mun!

Cool head Dean…little morning Elf drop; finally Evri have got their shit together and delivered a gift I ordered over a week ago…thanks Mr Elf, it’s a Christmas miracle. Oh and apparently he delivered the kids Christmas Eve boxes too…thank god for that, Grayson was starting to sweat.

Right, late as usual, best get going, Cinders waits for no man…well, unless you own a palace and chase her round town with a glass slipper suspiciously tailor made for her feet…some people are so precious.

Thankfully, Dad had managed to strong arm some bloke out of his parking space and ensured we had prime real estate parking outside the New Theatre. “Shall I move him on? He looks quite hard mind…you may have to jump in and give him a good old festive kicking if it turns a bit spicy”. Bloody hell Dad, it’s Christmas…the only miracle would be thinking I could handle a fight with anyone…best take Alaska.

So finally here (round of applause please), 30 whole darn minutes early…ooooo. Now for the fun of finding our seats and descending to the cloud cover of the Upper Circle. Damn, needed to pack an oxygen tank and be Sherpa guided to make the trip here…that’s what we get for booking late I guess; altitude sickness and vertigo. To be fair, we could see ok, and had a decent view of the stage…though Mam and Grandma didn’t quite enjoy the incline, poor Paul had to carry them like a backpack as the elevator was out of order. Good thing he’s been training for his bout with Ivan Drago; a half dead Mags and a Tigger like Saran were no problem.

“How’s it going alright??!!!”…the show begins, and Alaska is quick to panic that I may take a few cheeky pictures of the family despite the warnings from the New Theatre team. Don’t worry Loo, the stage is safe. If only I’d heeded her warnings though…got bloody pestered by the New Theatre Gestapo the whole damn performance for daring to take a selfie with the kids enjoying themselves…I OWN THE COPYRIGHT TO MY OWN FACE DAMMIT!!!.

Ok, rules are rules I guess…bloody woman wouldn’t let me out of her gaze…the New Theatre terminator had me locked in her sights. Best behave Dean, we want to return next year, despite it now being under Cyberdyne rule. Phone in pocket, and on with the Panto!

Buttons and his Turkey Teeth kick off the show throwing all manner of terrible Panto jokes into the ether…ahhh, to traverse the boundaries between family friendly entertainment and flat out explicit humour…only at Christmas ey?

What’s this??? In a surprise turn of events, Mike Doyle plays a baddie this year…surely not?…I don’t want to answer a baddie when he asks ‘How’s it going Alright?’. Umm, I guess it’s ok, but this simply will not do Mikey. This is already turning into a shit show…no Gareth, Buttons with teeth to spark a Solar Flare and a Big Bad Mike Doyle…maybe we should have ventured to Swansea after all…or better still, Gray and Alaskas Drama group Panto…January 4th, here we come.

Can’t help thinking they took liberties in the story…especially the Forrest wrestling scene, Pumpkin King sparkly dance, and Flying Horse drawn Carriage. This is a new version…and a far cry from Disney.

Half time hits, there is a unanimous sigh of relief and a free for all for half time ice cream ensues. Dad nuts a few desperate fathers eager to secure refreshments for their children, and Anya forms a human shield to cease directional flow towards the refreshment stand…they didn’t stand a chance.

Basking in the spoils of war, Mam and Grandma reflect in dismay at the smut displayed in this years Panto, and act like this is the first time they have hear sex jokes shoehorned into Pantomime…come on guys, you know the score; innuendo and bad jokes are key to a fantastically shit festive Panto…wouldn’t have it any other way.

Same jokes, always bad story…oh no, the Theatorminator has spotted me dare to try take a selfie…shit shit shit…sorry love, I forgot the rules. She’s watching me like a hawk ai…(btw, I’m pretty confident on reflection in a year of so that I’ll have no idea what I’m banging on about here).

Attempting to take part in her own Panto in protest at the smutty offerings Cardiff had, Mam starts her own Panto…’Sleeping Ugly’ (damn that’s harsh mun Dean!!…Mam, I don’t mean it, it just made for a funny Segway)…I mean since we’re ruining Disney stories she may as well. Yep, Saran had had enough and was now 10 minutes deep into slumber and not waking for the traditional 12 days of shitmas starring the cast of Cinderella. Complete with entry into the Splash zone courtesy of Buttons and Baroness (insert Mike Doyle’s character here) and a handful of Supersoakers. See Paul, aren’t you glad we’re up in the gods now??!!

Anyways…great fun as always. If it was good, it wouldn’t be fun, and then we’d be sorely disappointed…bloody love a Christmas Eve Panto trip.

We disperse and hit up Asda on the way home…last year we snaffled a ton of free veg…this year the stock manager must have got things right and there were no freebies…raging.

Quick trip (understatement of the day), back home to get ready before Debs big Christmas Eve party featuring the new celebrity; Alaska Fletcher.

Oh…bloody Elves broke in to the house whilst we were out…we really have to start paying attention to the spate of elf related B and E’s this time of year. They did leave the kids some Christmas Eve boxes though, so I guess we can forgive them. Some new PJ’s, a few activity books and a Stitch and Angel for the collection…nice one Elves.

Ok ok, the time has come, let’s get a wiggle on, if we’re late Debs will kick off…let’s get Christmas Eve on the go…

PJs were this eves attire…thank god the elves had dropped off some fresh threads for the kids (damn I’m cool…check my new age lingo), oh and a lil bit of matchy matchy for me and Jo too. The Grinch…ahhh how relevant to my almost 40 year old view on Christmas. Not feeling it this year, but the kids are more than making up for my lack of enthusiasm. I do love Christmas, just been mental busy in the run up and missed the hype…the lack of Muppets and Scrooge hasn’t helped to be fair. Oh, and Mags…well she insisted that if she was required to wear sleep attire then she’d be going fully naked…not thanks Grams, normal clothes will do; it’s Christmas not Halloween.

Anyways, off to Deb and Chris’ clad in full on festive PJ’s…first stop…the garage. Looking like bells of a non festive nature I happily volunteered Jordan for the forecourt wall of shame and away we go.

Festive tunes of ‘Have you checked your butthole’ bursting across the airwaves, and Gray telling of his excitement for a Boxing Day beat down of Anya. Gray, we get it, but let’s get Christmas Day out of the way first…we can dream of battering Anya in a post Christmas blood fest tomorrow.

Finally here, and greeted by the family and a bloody delicious looking far from festive spread from Debs…bloody delicious even if it was served to us on Prison style plates. Something about her wanting us to experience Christmas from a different point of view…best not use the shower I guess.

Full on curry, hotdogs and ham, we then partake in Debs made up games. Throwing caution (or in this case the instructions) to the wind we were subjected to a Q & A from the worst quizmaster since Ann Robinson…don’t mess with her…seriously.

A bit of familial blackmail from Keilyn, and all of a sudden the sky turns red. Wait…what’s that??!!

The street fills with red smoke and light as a sneaky little elf legs it up and down the road in a Rudolph-esque manner as the big man appears to treat the children of Waunbant Court to a surprise Christmas Eve gift. Oh the magic, oh the joy and excitement in Gray and Alaskas face as Santa…yes the real life Santa marched up and down the street followed by his pyromaniac elf…known only as ‘Shelf’.

Bloody hell this was awesome…Chris and Logan pulled it out of the sack and really blew the kids minds…‘what’s your name? Graham?’…crying mun.

The evening ended with a few shots and a festive beat down by Logan on Grayson…inciting some form of retribution of a similar beat down he’d had circa Florida 2014. Then we headed home to prepare for Santa, leave his Mince pies out and puppeteer and give the Turkey a massage and stuffing Jordan would be jealous of.

Only a games table to build and Santa to play…

Merry Christmas everyone…love The Fletchers ❤️