Early morning in the burrow. Enter ben trovato, abstractedly flicking a feather duster around and muttering to himself: "This place is getting tatty. anticant hasn't done a serious blog for a couple of days now, and has pottered off along the river bank on a mince pie hunt. I suppose I shall just have to go on scouring the internet for weak jokes as stocking fillers. Oh dear....."
Enter anticant, waving a paper bag and chortling "Got 'em! And there's real brandy in 'em too." Slumps into chair and starts munching.
ben: "That does it. He's onto the hard stuff already. Merry Chrishmass everyone."