from the mystery, The Icing Man

        And so Christmas Day arrived. Christmas dinner was laid on at the Clocks, with Mr Stammers and Ms Bates as honoured guests, and in keeping with the normal flow of family life, we had happiness, reflection and pain seated around the festive table. Happiness for Sandy and me, reflection for Norma, as she wondered what heroic feat Twister had been involved in, and finally, Julian, the bearer of pain. Everyone tried to make the occasion as joyful as possible and, after dinner, presents were handed out. Of particular note was a set of temporary tattoos my new wife had persuaded Kathy's make-up people to manufacture. For BJ of course, they were all different styles and designs of a Blue Jay in flight. The most extraordinary present, however, Norma gave to me. It was a poem: a poem she'd composed especially for Sandy and I, entitled, The Icing Man and the Historian.

The icing man's a man I like
He's kind of fun and rarely glum.
When trouble comes he'll stand and fight
He doesn't care by day or night. 
And if implored by ladies fair
He'll battle demons in their lair.

There have been times I've heard it said
When icing man was head of heads
That happiness blew far away
And skulking in its hide each day
Refused to listen to his pain
But when he changed flew back again

He has few friends but since I'm one
I doubt he'll mind if I go on
To tell you of his special love
 The graceful don, historian. 
She too is bright and mighty fair, 
And fearsome are they as a pair.

The icing man oft speaks of care,
Yet sometimes growls at those who dare
Approach him with a hostile air. 
A secret, if you find him pleading, 
Historian and I are teasing
But only since we know, he finds it rather pleasing

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