Another family brews up an appalling mixture of port, brandy, Burgundy, almonds and raisins, called glogg, and then, I presume, proceeds to get quietly gloggy. A deeply religious bachelor, whose name is unfortunately not given, ‘once set his Christmas table with all sorts of mechanical toys. As the guests entered the dining room, the wound-up dolls, acrobats, animals, merry-go-rounds began performing their mechanical tricks’ The effect on the guests, already reeling with glogg, must have been a curious one. Somehow, I have the feeling that everybody started turning handsprings, tearing down the smilax, and beating the tar out of him, something he richly deserved.
The Best of S.J. Perelman
No, the picture isn’t Gert, it’s Jean Rhys.
And there’s that dog again. Spooky, don’t you think?