Forgive me, for it has been one month since my last confession. Time seems to have escaped me during this holiday season, and I have not had one minute to lie down and collect my thoughts until now.
My court was particularly manic during the festivities. The majordomo was busy preparing the mansion for the Christmastide, and at times I felt that I was literally trampled under foot in all the hysteria. Bourgeoning was her usual jolly old self, perhaps a bit giddier than normal (if you can imagine). I fancied that if she had dressed herself from head to toe in red and black (no political reference intended here), she could have passed for Old Saint Nick himself (especially with that ghastly oversized sack she carries around to go to the market). Of course, the jester was inebriated half the time off some vile tropical eggnog concoction that he tried to pawn off to every guest who arrived at the estate. However, I did notice that the maiden was unusually absent this year which was quite a shame because I rather missed her Christmas pudding and mince pies. I suspect she was off fattening up some other unsuspecting monarch only to plot another coup of his kingdom.
Unlike Miamishire, I noticed the villagers in my new land do not celebrate the season somberly. Instead of the soft caroling and peaceful gatherings that usually accompany Christmas Eve, here it was no silent night indeed. The occasion was marked with deafening fireworks, gunfire and smoke that I have not witnessed since the Battle of Waterloo. Ashamedly, all my canine brethren barked crudely at such volume that was unbefitting of proper townsfolk (my re-education program has been slow in its execution). I must admit it has been quite an interesting time of the year. Oddly enough, I am still waiting to be showered with my gifts. If I fail to see presents appear under the tree by the new year, I will be forced to implement the practice of waterboarding. I hear it has been quite effective on the Abbess.
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