Petronella Wyatt

Not amused

The ongoing escapades of London's answer to Ally McBeal

issue 14 December 2002

‘Tis the season to be self-deprecating. Or even more self-deprecating than during the rest of the year. The traditional British custom of laughing while others tell insulting stories about you, running yourself down, making yourself look a perfect ass, and being the butt of practical jokes, while keeping a fixed grin on your face, really comes into its own in late December and early January.

My father was very good at using this peculiar device against others during Christmas. Family members were teased about their supposedly inadequate sex lives or careers and then expected to be the first to giggle – which, of course, they always did. If we had people to stay my father would put itching powder in their beds. After a sleepless night and the immense difficulty of getting the stuff off their nightdresses and pyjamas, how they would roar and call him a wag.

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