It's Boxing Day and the secret government research station is still shut. Phooey. Last night, incidentally, I was visited by three goats. The first was the goat of Christmas past, and it showed me a vision from many years ago of a little girl opening her presents on Christmas morning, then going into a strop and being sick into a toaster. I tried to tell the goat that that wasn't me, but the stupid animal just kept bleating nonsensically.
After that I was visited by the goat of Christmas present. Golly gosh, would I never get any sleep? It showed me a vision of Mr and Mrs Pontefract of Goole sitting round the kitchen table, tucking into a turkey. Or was it Mr and Mrs Goole of Pontefract sitting round the kitchen turkey, tucking into a table? Anyway, I had no idea who these people were, or why I was being shown this scene of apparent domestic harmony.
Finally, I was visited by the goat of Christmas yet to come. This was a particularly mangy creature. All it did was trot round the bedroom a few times, widdle in the corner of the room and then fall out of the window with a kind of strangled yelp. Well, if that was the future, you can keep it. The whole episode was rather disappointing, actually.