I was out today in town doing a spot of handbag shopping (abortive, as it happened, as they didn’t have the one I wanted. This is a tragedy as it means I will have to continue ‘getting by’ with only the 37 handbags I currently own). Whilst pootling around I took a phone call from the lovely Amanda, and we chatted, ranted and burbled away in our usual fashion until suddenly I interrupted whatever gem she was muttering about with a quiet, almost a whispered “Oh. My. God.”
“What?” demanded my erstwhile conversational partner, “What what what?”
“You’ll never believe this but there is a stand here in the shopping centre promoting a children’s book. Called ‘The Loneliest Ho in the World’.”
It was a book about Santa, who was missing the third ‘Ho’ from his classic ‘Ho Ho Ho’ catchphrase. Only I, a ho, could be talking to her, another ho, and come across such a book. But, dear reader, t’aint over yet. There I am, sniggering down the phone to Manda about the total inappropriateness (inappropriation? Answers on a postcard please) of a children’s book called ‘The Loneliest Ho in the World’, when a quiet but insistent throat clearing sound is heard and a gentleman in a three-piece-suit appears at my elbow – and introduces himself as the bloody author!
So, Mr Travis Heaton – if you wondered why the fat bird in the specs was sniggering about your lovely (and rather nicely illustrated too) Christmas book for children – it’s because she and her mate on the blower are both Ho’s (although not noticeably lonely).
Ho, Ho, Ho!