This week, the Critter's school put on their annual Christmas pageant. (That's one of the things I prefer about living in England. No one gets their panties in a wad about wishing you a Merry Christmas, even if you choose to celebrate [insert-your-favorite-holiday-here] instead. The Brits scratch their head over our insistence at trying to include the one Rastifarian-Jewish-Zoastrian who might possibly hear about the fact that we uttered the word "Christmas" where others can hear, and I can't blame them.) If you've been to a pageant put on by under-12's, you know that it's a) sickeningly cute, and b) the funniest thing you can see that doesn't involve Jay and Silent Bob or monkeys. There's usually at least a couple of nose-pickers, a double handful of kids poking or being poked by their neighbors, a group in the back looking around trying to figure out what's going on, and a couple of kids someplace between sniffling and bawling in terror at being on display in front of so many expectant adults with cameras. And the Critter? She was the kid onstage who pulled her fairy costume up high enough to expose her knickers to the world and give herself a good ass-scratch while the others sang "Gloria hallelujah". Which just goes to show that you can take the genes out of Georgia, but not even Queen's School for Girls can overcome generations of cousin-love. My pride, it knows no bounds.