At the boy's insistence, alongside my reading of St. Luke, Michael will recite the following poem before bed tonight. He says that the reading of this poem on the Eve of Christmas is a highly popular American Tradition.

"Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads.
And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled ourselves for a long winter’s nap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer.

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

"Now Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! On, Cupid! on, on Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of Toys, and St Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.

His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose!

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"

For some, Saturday evening at my parents' home was a less than pleasurable event.

In the wake of what occurred, my extended family, in particular those that know nothing of my intimate relationship to Ms Victoria, (which would be the majority) are ringing my mother to say how shocked they are to learn that I am a flagrant homosexual and how terribly disappointed she must be to learn of it at Christmas.

What happened?

In short, over the course of the evening the boy became drunk and when it appeared that my cousin, Celia, was attempting to interest and possibly even pursue him, he informed her that he was spoken for.

As I now understand it, she then asked had he a girlfriend, to which he replied in the negative. The next assumption was drawn and Celia pressed on, asking was it a boyfriend he had then. To which he said something that could best be rendered as 'yesh'. This is where I entered upon the scene.

I had noticed a bit of commotion and innocently came alongside the boy to see if I could assist in any way.

"And here he is now", He says. Do keep in mind that I had no idea of the topic of discussion, only that there had been a slight commotion in Michael's general vicinity.

At this juncture a fumbling attempt was made by the boy to procure a kiss from me, which I hastily thwarted.

There is a time and place for everything. This was neither the time nor the place for a clumsy demonstration of lush love. It became quickly evident that he was well and truly wounded. Shadows of sorrow crossed his contenance as swiftly as clouds before the sun, clouds that in this circumstance were threatening rain.

I hurriedly made our excuses, before he could precipitate more than a few tears, and with Father's help led the boy to my childhood bedroom. I assured Father that I could manage the situation alone and that he should return to his guests, at which point he departed and Michael, taking his cue, burst into tears.

Slowly and methodically I made my explanations to Michael for not wishing to make a spectacle of ourselves. I informed the boy, for a second time, that most of the guests did not know of my personal life at all and a few would certainly relish a bit of gossip to share. Our private life is just that and it would not be wise to make all of my family privy to our intimacies.

It proved impossible to get through to him. He seemed crestfallen, verging on heartbreak, and I could find no suitable remedy to ease his upset. He then informs me that even though he is hurt that I would not show affection for him publically, he would still appreciate a kiss here in the privacy of my room.

Realising that this is likely the only way to appease him, I tell him I will happily kiss him, but that prior to doing so I must lock the door. He strenuously objects and I have the urge to throw my hands into the air, gazing heavenward, and ask "What next?"

I attempt a quick but affectionate osculation only to have my face taken in the vice grip of his palms whilst he more than returns my sentiment with vivacious ardor.

As it often comes to pass, when one believes a situation cannot become any more dire, it quickly becomes exactly so.

My mother enters the room, sans announcement and is a bit taken back at the sight of us 'lip-locked', as Michael likes to call it. Although slightly embarrassing, this is not a tremendous problem.

I have, in the past, been able to speak to mother about sensitive matters and she seems to take it relatively well. After breaking free of Don Juan I explain to her that Michael has had a bit much to drink and is not himself.

She enlightens me further, saying that she is not surprised as my father had taken the boy under his wing and shared a bit of his private stock "home brew" with him. Michael, perhaps in an effort to impress, overindulged himself.

I close my eyes and shake my head. Is it any wonder at all that the boy is behaving like a swooning schoolgirl? This does indeed explain it all.

Despite mother's protestations, insisting that we ought to stay the night, I drove Michael home. It was necessary to make three impromptu stops along the bypass to allow for purging.

I could not blog about this Sunday because I was still a bit too cross to see things objectively.

"This too shall pass"

I feel a chill this evening. Even with the warmth provided by the fire and the heating throughout, my fingers and forearms are terribly cold.

Michael is reclining on the sofa with his Stephen King novel. Ms has attempted to redirect his interest in something a bit more refined, but Michael has stayed his course and once more, Ms has relented. It never ceases to amaze me what the boy is allowed, without so much as the batting of an eyelash from Ms.

It is the quite the same as the hamster purchase last year. He puts on his pitiful little boy look and the love in Her heart rises to the surface and pours over him in the form of lenience and gifts.

I cannot speak of it much, as to carry on along this line would be displeasing to Mistress.

In very fact, it is not mine to question why, and therefore I shall change the subject.

We are having a late tea tonight. Fiona is preparing a meal from one of the recipes given to her by MsV's New Orleans cousin. So this evening the flesheaters will be treated to a serving of chicken jambalaya. I shall have the rice and veg version. It does smell quite nice. Perhaps taking on a hot meal will break the chill.

Michael and I chopped a bit more firewood today. He splintered and blistered his hands because he refused to wear the gloves allocated to him. His reasoning was that he could not get a firm grip on the axe whilst wearing them.

I would say this was a plausible argument if the gloves were not meant for outdoor work, but they are. I fair quite well with mine, and as a result have incurred no injuries to date. In time I hope the boy will learn that my advice is sound.

We have been given our 15 minute warning time so I must spur Michael on to the bath so that we might both wash our hands and faces before presenting ourselves in the dining room.

I am aware that this post is short and filled with much of nothing. I wish all a pleasant night and I shall write next of the party at Grayson on Saturday.

Be Well,
Ryan

It is with a sigh of relief that I write this evening.

Today has been such a lovely day of relaxing and enjoying the company of only those who reside here. After all the stress of the past week it is a pleasure to have a moment to exhale and take account.

Our Solstice and Christmas celebrations have now transpired and I am most pleased to say that both were smashing successes. Michael missed the Solstice party due to being physically unfit to attend. He was dearly missed by our guests, in particular Ms Liz's boys and Ms Tamsin, who inquired after Michael at least twice that evening.

The Christmas party took place on Saturday evening and ours was a full house indeed. Of all those invited only one was unable to attend due to a death in the family.

Thankfully there were no true c*ckups. Apart from the goose liver pate being a bit on the salty side for some, and the large serving tray of assorted nuts being very nearly tipped over by Michael(not once, but twice), all went according to plan.

My father popped in for an hour after visiting his old bowls friend, Chester, in Brandon. This was a totally unexpected surprise which pleased Ms Victoria emmensely. I must admit to being a bit unnerved at first but as it turned out there was nothing to trouble myself about.

In the end Father complimented the wine selection and my general presentation of our home to receive guests. I needn't tell you I was quite touched. Father is a renowned perfectionist when it comes to the coordination of festivities in a stately home. It was inwardly pleasing to be awarded his seal of approval.

Father also spent a fair amount of time speaking with Michael. Michael assures me it was strictly financial talk, but I find that difficult to fully believe. I kept a keen eye and did notice quite a burst of laughter from the two of them at least twice during their conversation. How can taxes and/or various other accounting matters be at all humourous? However, I suppose Michael does possess the innate ability to make even the most mundane topic a point of hilarity.

My parent's Christmas do is this weekend. It is actually the last formal celebration in our diary this year. As I mentioned in the previous post, Michael shall attend with me. I am less nervous about this now. The boy conducted himself very much like a gentleman last evening and I suppose lightening has been known to strike twice on occasion.

Before closing, I will say that our carolling concerts have been wonderful for both the entertainers and the entertained. Both Michael and I have greatly enjoyed socialising with the ladies and gentleman in the homes.

If any of you have opportunity to give a bit of your time do try to get out and visit with the elderly, many of whom have simply been forgotten or have had all their friends/family pass on before them. What a wealth of life history they have to share.

Michael was pleased to talk to some WWII veterans who told him about the Yanks they'd befriended during the war. Apparently the American soldiers came into some of our towns and villages and stole the hearts many of our young ladies. I think Michael's grin was ear to ear upon hearing this, lol. The song remains the same.

I wish one and all a lovely holiday and a joyful new year.

Be well,
Ryan

Once more, I have been lax in posting. I beg your forgiveness.

This is the time of year in which I find myself tremendously pressed for time. Thankfully I have completed my gift shopping but there still remain other preparatory tasks in anticipation of the coming festivities.

Ms hosts two parties in December. The first is in honour of the Winter Solstice which Ms refers to as our Yule Celebration. This is a fancy dress occasion and rather informal. A meal is served, usually buffet style, and gifts are exchanged, many in a humourous vein.

There is much emphasis placed on the lighting of the Yule Log to give brightness in the shortest day and the placing of mistletoe to remind us that life remains present in winter.

It is a smaller scale party to the Christmas celebration, being a dinner party with invitations for approximately 40, Mistresses and their boys included.

The Yule typically stands as the Network's Annual Seasonal Play Party as well. A time for pronouncements, and occasionally ceremony, as will be the case this year with Michael. I think I shall fully faint with relief when his vows are at last completed.

On the other hand, the Christmas Celebration is a formal, evening dress occasion. Entirely vanilla, as many of the guests are family and business associates. At this function I am strictly the butler and household manager and Michael is strictly Mistress' personal financial advisor and accountant.

I find this particular event most stressful. It was curtailed a bit last year, but this season it will be a grand stage. Nearly full attendance is expected. As is my nature I am highly concerned that all the linens are perfectly pressed, the centrepieces exquisite and well placed, the food and wine perfectly delightful and the entertainment impressive and pleasing to most if not all.

It is my duty to deliver a successful event, especially as the fruit of my labours is a reflection on Mistress Herself. There are only a few little niggling items to sort, but be assured I will be tweaking and touching up right to the last minute before the guests arrive.

Also, my parents are hosting a family gathering at their residence this year. I shall see numerous persons I have not encountered since childhood. Curious though I am, my feeling is still somewhat shy when reuniting with people. Mother will quite naturally pull me to the centre ring and make much of anything and everything she can think to boast about. On cue I shall go deeply red and wish for the comforting underside of the nearest large stone.

Father asked that I invite Michael. I question the wisdom in this as the boy's very presence as my guest will start a whirlwind of gossip and supposition, both of which I would most like to avoid. Nonetheless I have asked him along and he has consented with glee.

It was nice of father to think of Michael. As he knows how Michael grew up without paternal leadership, I think Father would like to take the boy under his wing. I do question if Father might still retain these sentiments if he knew about the boy's strong tendancy to compare him to a zombie butler, aka this character, Lurch.

This year as well as volunteering at the shelter I have scheduled a little concert tour of sorts to a few of the nursing/care homes. A few evenings will feature a woodwind quartet composed of my friends, these being the nights they had available in their diaries. Others will feature myself on piano, playing Christmas selections arranged to accompany voice so the residents may sing along, if they are so inclined.

I have included Michael, writing in parts for triangle, wood blocks, sleigh bells, and perhaps a light bit of snare and brushes on the Guaraldi piece. I have also suggested he lead the singing on carolling evenings, but he feels that British people will not accept his American renditions. I told him this is foolishness and, I believe, an excuse on his part. The very idea!

At any rate, He smirked at me when I made the proposal of the instruments, almost as if I were purposely putting him in a backseat position. I explained that next year it is my hope that he will play a more prominant part, perhaps piano accompaniment to my flute or oboe. His response? 'Fat chance, Ryan.'

He was a bit more enthusiastic once I presented him with the instruments. In fact Ms felt that after an hour or so the enthusiasm was running a bit too high for Her tastes and thus confiscated the lot. She states that he will be allowed possession of his kit for specific practice times to save wear and tear on both Her ears and Her nerves.

I would so love to natter on, but I've chores to attend to and a bit of practice with our budding percussionist this evening.

Be well all, and may your holiday planning go smoothly.

Faithfully,
Ryan