There is a number that has a one followed by a hundred zeros. It’s called a ‘Googol’. A ten to the power of a Googol is called a ‘Googolplex’ and as units go, it’s a biggie. Now then, if you were to add up all the elementary particles (protons, neutrons etc) in the accessible universe you’d have a figure that was twenty or so decimal places short of a Googol and absolutely nowhere near a Googolplex. So, why have such bigger than astronomical numbers? Well, it’s simple; the reason why such cosmotical digits exist is to calculate exactly how many calories I consumed on Christmas Day.
I stuffed so much booze, sweets and turkey that I was on the verge of my own critical mass. I was a single delectable wedge of chocolate orange away from a fatal implosion. Loose objects got stuck in my own personal gravity. It was funny at first but then a fart failed to exit me with the required escape velocity and became trapped in a geostationary orbit just under my nose. For six hours all I could smell were semi-digested sprouts. Worse thing was I don’t even remember eating any! The aroma brought a tear to my eye which because of the gravity was now tidal and kept going in and out.
Density also had mothers “let’s see how much ingredients we can stuff in here” chrimbo cake on its side. I’m not saying it is compact but it manages to stay warm by a raisin fuelled self sustaining fission reaction.
a chocolate covered black hole waiting to happen
By Boxing Day though, all was calm. Gravity had returned to normal, the elastic in my pants had stopped making funny noises, I was no longer on the ‘at risk’ diabetes chart, I’d finished washing the dishes, I was nearly sober and the toilet enamel was lighter by several layers.
By the end of Boxing Day the kids had finished opening all their prezzies and when they enquired where the rest were, they were told they had about as much chance of getting more as Daddy had of seeing his toes again this side of summer.
Cheeky feckers! I still can’t work out how they got so many gifts. Clearly, Santa must have got the lists muddled up again. The only plus side to a mountain of boxed rewards was that while they were covering the floor with wrapping paper, (and for nearly five whole minutes afterward), they weren’t fighting or yelling at each other. This cessation of hostilities, this venture into No Man’s Land, this fragment of peace alone was worth the build up.
Talking of presents, me’n’the missus did alright as well.
Well, we are awesome!
Baby Jesus got gold, frankincense and myrrh but I got way more than him. I had quite a few aiming for the number one spot. A new bell for the bike, choccy, smellies, a hand knitted banana cosy.....yeh that’s what it was, what else could it be? (no I’m not posting a pic).....some new clothes, more choccy, more smellies and several rather fine bottles of fizzy over-priced vino.
The best of which was a Moet 2004 Grand Vintage. It scored an impressive 9.5 corks which considering the scale only goes up to five made it even more special. The only let down was how quick it got me plastered. I was barely a pint in when I realised the lights on the tree didn’t have a ‘spin’ setting. It crept up on me like a stealth ninja in ballet shoes. My all time fave, Veuve Clicquot, would never dream of doing that and is much more polite. It prefers to gently enquire well beforehand on whether sir would like to spend next few hours giggling like an idiot before retiring.
and boom! you're pissed
All thoughts of getting squiffy have been put on hold for January as we undertake ‘Dryathlon’. I’d love to say we are doing it for charity but the simple truth is our livers (and bank accounts) are still dealing with the backlog. Normal service will be resumed in February, promise! Hopefully by then, the Easter Eggs will be hitting the shelves!!
I love Christianity.
Same time next year?