Granddad declares Christmas ruined because you haven't warmed the plates

EVERY effort you have made for Christmas has been entirely wasted because you forgot to warm the plates, your grandfather has confirmed. 

From tidying up to stocking the liquor cabinet, from buying a turkey to decorating a tree, none of it means a thing now you have neglected to adequately warm plates before serving dinner.

The elderly man, who really hoped he would enjoy this Christmas, said: “Why? For God’s sake, why?

“Such a tiny thing. You know how important it is to me. You know that a hot meal on a cold plate’s lukewarm before it even reaches the table. But you didn’t do it.

“It has to be deliberate. You couldn’t have slapped me in the face like this, serving up food that’s inedible, just as an oversight. You’ve done this to hurt me and well done, you’ve succeeded. This is how I’ll remember this Christmas. As an insult.

“No, I can’t eat any of it. It’s freezing cold! Are you trying to kill me? Is that what you want? Come on, Mavis, we’re not staying here. Get your coat. I hope you’ll at least have the decency to drive us the 75 miles home.”

He added: “And open a bloody window. It’s so stuffy in here I can hardly breathe.”

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Single professional woman home for Christmas besieged by hunky widowed lumberjacks

A WOMAN who has returned to her hometown for Christmas has been overwhelmed by the attentions of gruffly handsome lumberjacks, it has emerged.

Lucy Parry left her career in the big city, where she was about to make partner, to visit her parents in the quaint Shopshire village where she grew up and was met from the station by a hot but melancholy hunk driving a battered pick-up truck.

She said: “Instead of Dad, a six-foot-sixer called Luke who’s bought the neighbouring Christmas tree farm collected me on his way from delivering firewood to the orphanage.

“He was charmingly cynical about my high-powered job and said all he needed, since his wife tragically died from an unspecified-yet-glamorous illness, was the great outdoors and his loyal dog Shep.

“When I went to the village pub I met Matt, a tree surgeon whose girlfriend had passed away after a freak baking incident. And Cranston, a bad boy heir whose rough manners disguised a true heart. And Sven, raising his child alone in a treehouse he built himself. And Karl.

“They were all sad and gorgeous and renewed my faith in small-town values, and by Christmas Eve I had seven marriage proposals and had been willed a remote Scottish castle by a previously unknown relative.

“Will I accept? Will I f**k. The countryside’s shit boring and it’s a 20-minute drive to Asda.”