I’m concerned that you sticking your head in front of my camera over and again might compromise your www anonymity. I’d hate for someone to snatch this photo of you, for use in advertising cheese, or bad hair porn. Your head has the random bounce of a parent in her first year of Nativity play attendance. That’s sweet, but I’m sure you won’t mind if this old hand of six Key Stage 1 Nativites in a row raises that old hand to flick your ear. This is my last Nativity play, you see. Now shift.
Oi, bloke with the head.
I know you. I like you. My son likes your son and your son likes my son. But when my camera auto focuses on your head because you are sat in the front row – and probably missed lunch to nab those three seats for yourself, your nice wife and nice mother, and didn’t think to save a couple more for my adequately lunched self and my husband, also your friend – that, I don’t like.
Ta for showing me your perfectly focused, unobliterated-by-mass-head front row shots of my son.
My son. Joseph. The one in front of your son. A shepherd.
Yes, you’re right, they’re great shots. And yes, I would very much like copies. Ta.
(Your neck looks fat. Just saying.)
Oi, ghost.
It's not big, and it's not clever.
Oi, shaky hands.
Damn you, shaky hands.
Oi, Joseph.
Nice dress.
Things To Do
Cake:
Pressies:
Pressies from kids:
Cards: buy / make; give out / post.
Decorations:
Christmas dinner: yeah, right.
Booze:
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