Dear Friends, family and other animals,
Merry Christmas to one and all from the Brackenridge clan!
What an eventful year it has been for all of us. How many of us can believe that Martin has turned sixteen! It seems like only yesterday that I got arrested for questioning his parentage on the maternity wing! I would normally add that he’s never been kissed, to add a humourous aside to kick things off, but that wouldn’t strictly be true after that little bit of unpleasantness with Mr Fletcher in his last year at St Mary’s High. The blackmail payments keep the wolf from the Brackenridge door! I have arranged for Martin to be wed to his first cousin, a rather simple girl from County Tyrone, with a pronounced limp and tendency to dribble.
As you may recall, Martin unfortunately fell afoul of the Thai authorities whilst smuggling heroin, so we await the outcome of the legal proceedings with baited breath! He remains incarcerated, but his last letter informs us that he has made friends with a delightful bunch of fellow internees, so some good has come out of the whole sorry saga. I won’t mention the large sum he owes me for the smack - It is Christmas after all!
The shock to the system this year came with the tragic and premature passing of dear old Aunt Mabel. For those of you who haven’t managed to keep up with events, I’ll paint a little background. Some years ago, Mabel used the insurance money from Uncle Ernest’s spontaneous combustion to purchase a rather pleasant little flat near to Marbella. Her innate racism led her to live in fear however, and she was rarely seen outdoors without a kitchen knife and shovel. The Brexit campaign caused her innate paranoia to come to the fore, and she sought urgent repatriation to Blighty fearing the waves of Turkish rapists that were spreading across the continent.
Her efforts to seek transportation with British Airways were rebuffed. It turned out that emergency flights were being laid on to return bloated racists to these shores. The demand exceeded supply, leading to Aunt Mabel having to stow away in the landing gear. Sadly she fell to her death as the aircraft lowered its wheels on the approach to Heathrow. She landed on a golf course near Richmond. Thankfully, it appeared she had more or less frozen to death during the flight, so she wouldn’t have suffered. To any great degree.
On a happier note, the Brackenridge family successfully annexed Swindon. There was some bloodshed, however our losses only amounted to a handful of mercenaries from Skegness. They were hopelessly inbred, so I doubt we’ve lost any future Nobel Prize winners!
The eldest son, Marion, continues to cast his net of success far and wide. As you will recall from previous missives, he underwent gender re-assignment surgery a number of years ago. The physical changes presented some challenges, particularly when he refused to reveal his status to the drunken dockers he would insist on picking up and bringing back to the house. We still have a Ukrainian secured in the basement.
His mental health appeared to have suffered with his gender uncertainties, however we remain forever indebted to Dr Beat from the surgery in Rodney Road who suggested Marion consider becoming a cult leader. As you know from his success as a Sumo wrestler, Marion never does anything by halves, and always rises to a challenge (unlike some of our docker friends)
The ink was barely dry on his prescription before he’d traveled to Nigeria and formed Boko Harum. We Skype often, and I must say, I am very impressed by his determination to form an Islamic state in West Africa. He often jokingly calls me an infidel and threatens to be-head me when he comes over for Claudia’s christening. He’s at a loss about what to do with the hundred or so schoolgirls he had kidnapped a couple of years back. He says they’re eating him out of house and home! I’m sure he’d love to hear from anyone who may be trekking through the wilds of Nigeria anytime soon. Stick your head in to say hello, just look out in case he cuts it off!
On that note, I will draw proceedings to a halt, and wish you all a happy and prosperous Christmas and New Year. I would offer words of cheer from my darling wife, but I managed to get a good price for her from the lovely family that run the new butchers in town. She’ll be served as an accompaniment to the leftover turkey for those joining us for our traditional Boxing Day get together. Fucking bitch.
Until next year, I wish you all warmth and prosperity!
Love and best wishes,
Sir John Brackenridge Bsc MBE Grade 3 Piano.