My mate was still critical when I visited him in hospital last night.
All he did was moan about the food, complain about the doctors and slag off all the nurses.
"Well, I presume it's going to be the same this Christmas isn't it?" said the wife. "Sexy undies and perfume."
"I suppose you're right," the husband replied. "So, that's your dad sorted. Now, what about your mum?"
"How're you getting on with the turkey?" shouted the wife
"Great!" came the reply "I'm almost finished plucking it,I just need to work out how I'm going to kill it."
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