My Name is Father Xmas and I'm an Alcoholic

After work last night I dashed over to Jane's place where she served mince pie and earl grey tea. (Earl Grey, hot, if you will.) My mum has been trying for decades to get me to drink tea and try some of my Nan's homemade mince pie. I would have none of it. But as a guest, I took the leap and good lord - what have I been thinking all these years? With my Irish blood how could I not love a good cuppa tay?
Being that Jane is from Lincoln, Lincolnshire, she schooled me on the British Christmas traditions, one such being that Santa is served sherry and mince pie on Christmas Eve. "He must be terribly disappointed when he arrived in America to find milk! I suppose when he is in England he's an alcoholic."

Don't Hold Back...

Years ago during my tour at the Hellmouth, I was in the café chatting with Fink, when our resident Brit, Jane, came over the loudspeaker with, "Back Up to the registers, please. May I have Back Up to the registers. Thank you." Fink, aka Back Up, rolled his eyes and said, "Just like the British to call in for back up." This of course was said purely in jest, since Jane was one of the sweetest gals at the Hellmouth. I laughed like the dickens, though.

Words From a Disappointed Brit

A while back, the gals and I were at Laine's house sipping on Chardonnay and shootin' the breeze. Randy was talking about the book "Pride and Prejudice and Zombies" when our resident brit, Jane, became outraged at the desecration of one of the finest novels ever written. The only thing she could manage to say in this moment of disgust was "Good Lord, what next, I ask you? 'The Grapes of Wrath With the Faerie Dust Bowl'???" Somewhere, John Steinbeck is laughing. A lot.