Christmas is regarded by the majority of the Australian population as a festive season; a day, for the average punter, of gluttony, sore stomaches and a bank statement that declares in no uncertain terms that the race between income and expenditure did not require a photo finish; the latter winning by an easy two lengths. It is understandable then, that Christmas is a day followed by a day of mourning; taking one's wrath out on oneself or another on the aptly named 'Boxing Day'.
To further worsen this Christmas, we were given a pledge (no less in a Christmas card addressed to someone other than yours truly); a pledge promising the company of Rob, his wife and spawn. You may be a little confused that a pledge of the company of Rob and Co. (as they will be referred to in the rest of this pericope) resulted in a further demise in emotions by myself. Be patient, dear reader, and you too may find yourself wiping a tear or two in sympathy, for no sooner had the pledge party started (as we called the celebration that followed the reading of the card mentioned earlier), a text followed (cursed technology) stating in no uncertain terms that the pledge had been withdrawn due to work commitments.
No grape has been squashed nearly half as hard for wine as my heart was upon receiving this horrid news, dear friend. While you wipe your tears with me, console yourself, as I did, oh fellow championer of Rob, with a reminder that some other soul was blessed and graced with Rob's presence in our stead.
Truly, the greatest gift we gave this Christmas was Rob to another Christmas lunch.
