I would dish out sparkly advent calendars with delicious chocs behind every window to all my OL friends, but WonkaTelly hasn't been invented - yet - so I've placed a short story up on Instafree - just shoot over there, say 'Hi' and mention my name:) Or rather, Crombie's name.
As you can guess from the cover, Detective Inspector Crombie's having a miserable time of it. Out of his comfort zone, a zillion miles away from friends and family, and constantly mistaken for a German Gentleman.
And why shouldn't he suffer?
For most men, Christmas is a walk in the park (- or a stroll down the pub). A fortunate favourite female is nominated to take care of the gifts, food shopping and other sundries. On the big day, the man of the house might deign to saunter into the kitchen, but only if certain conditions are met:
- A jokey apron - "kiss the chef" etc.
- Chef's hat.
- Electric carving knife.
- All veggies pre-prepared
- Copious amounts of wine/sherry/brandy/whiskey - for culinary purposes, of course.
- At least two assistants on call
- Said assistants take care of the dirty dishes
- Everyone sings the chef's praises until the stroke of midnight on Boxing Day.