Picture the scene,
Tis November and all the fields and moors are darkened, the mist is rolling in and the wolves can be heard on yonder. None but the mad or the diseased wander the lanes at such an hour.
My good lady and I glug cheap white wine and write 42,348 Christmas cards.
I have addressed the envelopes and signed the insides with my first name.
The good Frau Random Doubt then goes through the cards and envelopes and writes delightful, thoughtful messages of good cheer which are directly expressed towards the intended recipient and their family/partner/live in sibling/civil partner/pet etc.
Occasionally she passes a card to me with the words "Your friend" or "My dad" or "Your aunt's ex girlfriend's new husband".
I inevitably get the intended message of good cheer mixed up.
To the horribly ill friend "here's to a brilliant 2009!"
To the sports hating elderly relative "You're scum and you know you are! yeah! you! you wanker!"
To the small child "we really must get shit faced really soon!"
To the old college chum "best wishes to all in the convent".