The Death of a Doorbell.

Any of you remember the post about the Comedy Doorbell the FH ordered?

Well it's died. No longer will Chopsticks trickle through house, no more will Yankee Doodle Dandy announce a caller and no more will a cuckoo's crow scare delivery men. We are left again, with the old fashioned, abrupt and monotonous, hard-fisted knock.

After eight months of cringing when "Oh Me Darling" echoed up the stairs and eight months of apologising to salesmen, and postmen, as they had wait for Tchaikovsky's Ssymphony no. 6 to finish before they could begin their spiel, I'm slightly disappointed.

At first I was all I felt was relief as The FH fiddled with the batteries, unplugged and replugged the blasted contraption, pressed the bell for the umpteenth time then declared it was "knackered" and pointed at his two sons innocently playing in the playroom and mouthed "SWINES!". But then, disappointment set in; it was the last week of November and I had been secretly looking forward to ensuring the setting stayed on Jingle Bells and Silent Night through all of Decemeber. I was going to embrace the novelty, and the Christmas Spirit, answer the door with a beaming smile and blurting greetings of merriment, joke about mistletoe and  wear nothing but red and green, Alas, the doorbell had other ideas, or my children did... and sabotaged it.

So I reluctantly turn back to Mrs Scrooge, complaining about people putting their trees up in November, cursing hearing the same CD in the supermarket for eight weeks, turning down offers of mince pies EVERYWHERE I go and begrudgingly recording the Christmas Specials on CBeebies in the first week of December.

Doorbell, it seems you have missed your Christmas moment, and  so may have I.