Shhh…Secret Santa Strikes Again!

Ho ho ho…It’s the same every year at my husband’s company work do: Around a fortnight before the event, we all get sent a name (all shady and anonymous like) of the member of staff (or their partner) for whom we need to purchase a gift for a tenner or under.  Sounds easy enough doesn’t it? And it is if you know the recipient of your gift, but if you don’t, it can be a bit boring – chocolate liquor for the men and a book token or such for the ladies – a little bit of festive cheer nevertheless. But why is it, that every year around the festive dinner table, ‘the team’ wait with baited breath and goggle eyes (a very silly look when paired with sparkly pointy Christmas cracker hats and red wine stained teeth) as I unwrap my treats? I’ll tell you why! Because for the past 3 bleedin years, I get gifts that must be from a shop called something like  ‘Phwoar! Tits and knobs R us’ which is obviously run by dirty old flashers in macs and instead of a little tinkle bell above the shop door that alerts the salesperson somebody has entered, there’s a cacophony of Carry On phrases such as “Phwooooaaaaaarrrr!” and “oo-er Missus!” Followed by the unmistakable dirty chortle of the late cheeky Sid James.

The first year I unwrapped a rather tasteless bikini made entirely from sugary sweets ‘for him to nibble on’ …YUCK!  (We shan’t talk about what did actually happen that evening after a glass too many but let’s just say, the sweeties were very sticky…)

The second year, I unwrapped a little bell which had ‘ring for sex’ on it along with some ‘naughty notes’ that you were supposedly meant to leave on your partner’s pillow to suggest what sort of action they could expect that evening. Unfortunately, they went straight in the bin as they were no good. Well, there wasn’t a note that said ‘You’ve had it once this week so piss off now, I’m tired and want to sleep’

And this year, I was lucky enough (ahem) to receive these lovely little presents:


Which, when you add tea or coffee, turns into…


Of course, there was much chortling around the table and getting into the spirit of things, I decided to drink champagne from my fireman mug (keeping him chaste) and passing around the chocolate willies – which were actually yummy. However, the next day, at home, hungover and in desperate need of a caffeine and chocolate fix, I delved back into the chocolate willies, dipping them into my hot coffee. I just took a suck of the lovely melting choc as My Boy (14) came into the kitchen, took one look at the naked man mug in my hand and chocolate willy on my tongue and almost choked out the words “Eeeew muuuuuummmm! That’s bare minging!” (for those not ‘down with the lingo’ that means ‘really disgusting’ in teen talk).

I won’t tell you what he said when I offered him one of my chocolates!


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