Drivel From Devizes - Dateline Sunday 31st December 2017

Drivel From Devizes: Dateline – Sunday 31^st December 2017

Here is our weekly round-up of events from D-Town:

                                                  

1.      Civic pride was at its highest this week as the Queen’s New Year’s Honours List was revealed.  There were gongs for a wide range of people, but none more highly deserved than the one for Hugh Jarse (services to goat-nadgering) and Eileen Dover (fifty years a madam at the Klassy Kafe & Punishment Emporium).  A wide range of Old Year celebrations will be taking place in D-Town tonight, capped off by a floodlit display of horse massage in Hillworth Park, accompanied by the exciting sounds of Phil MacCavity and his Civic Syncopaters.

2.      And The Vize has much to look forward to in the New Year of 2018.  There will be progress in discussions for the borough to leave the Wiltshire Union (Drexit), the building of an international airport out on the bypass (planning permission pending), and the launch of the town’s first space mission to the Sun.  This latter project will be carried out on a tight budget.  It will avoid the huge expenses normally required for massive heat shields against terrifying temperatures, and advanced light filters against blinding brilliance, by only flying at night.

3.      For details of these and all other Devizes stories, don’t forget to listen to local radio station D-Town F-Off.

AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR TO ALL OUR READERS!

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2017

Resolution

Resolution

Oh it will be different this time,

And things are going to change around here.

I’ve made up my mind, you see,

As we head out into the New Year.

I’m going to give up on the smoking:

I’ve got no further use for the fags.

No longer will tobacco hold me in thrall:

I’ve taken my very last drags.

I’ll have to cut down on my drinking,

And make no exceptions for beer.

Cause alcohol’s doing me no good,

And chewing up my liver I fear.

And getting much thinner’s a must:

I’m going to lose lots of weight.

I’ll be a quite different person,

When I get down to nine stone eight!

There’s going to be more exercise,

As part of my new daily routine.

I just can’t wait to get on with it -

Yes – I’m really terribly keen!

And I’m going to get my finances in order –

I’ll be saving more, do you hear?

And I’ll be simply rolling in money,

When we get to the end of the year.

It’s just a matter of discipline,

And plotting progress on a chart.

Oh yes, I really mean it this time -

I’m going to make a completely new start.

You’re looking at someone with resolution,

Whatever it costs me in sorrow.

All I have to do is to get started,

But I can worry about that tomorrow!

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2017

Nights Of Terror

Nights Of Terror

It’s several days now since Christmas,

And the danger’s quite close at hand,

For the turkey’s carcase still lives here,

And great fear is stalking the land.

The great beast sits there in the fridge,

And has provided for several meals,

But its body continues to shed flesh -

It goes on and on – that’s how it feels!

The cold sandwiches with stuffing

Were acceptable on Christmas night,

But then the cold cuts on Boxing Day

Weren’t the most welcome sight.

And we just kept on carving and slicing,

Big slices of breast meat, and some of the leg,

But we need relief now from this poultry -

The children, poor mites, have started to beg.

Perhaps we shouldn’t have bought such a big bird,

Been more considered, in less of a hurry,

Then we wouldn’t have spent the next five days,

Eating so many portions of turkey curry.

We’ve had quite enough of it now,

The pleasure has really started to pall,

And even with bowls-full of turkey soup,

We still can’t get rid of it all!

There’s only the bones and skin that are left -

It’s a sight that makes us all queasy.

We’d really like to get rid of the thing,

But it’s a task that’s certainly not easy.

For it’s taken up residence in the fridge,

And at my conscience it worries and nips,

And now I’m starting to have nightmares -

Is this the start of a turkey apocalypse?

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2017

Not Lonely This Christmas

Not Lonely This Christmas

The pine’s propped up in the corner

But not for me the lure of the tree

Festooned in baubles and tinsel

Sheltering its stash of carefully-wrapped presents

And shedding its needles for everyone to see

Nor the cupboard-full of mince-pies and stollen

For I’ve frequently had doubts

About the cranberry sauce and the oversize turkey

The stuffing and pigs in their blankets

And the leftover roasties and sprouts

I’ve turned down the invitations to parties

I’ve not sent Christmas cards either

For this annual budget-busting mentality

Is not something I feel I can cope with

Or want to have to endure neither

Santas, elves and their reindeer

Are of any religious purpose totally devoid

The crackers and paper hats leave me quite cold

And the festive specials on the telly

Are things I try hard to avoid

I’ve finally escaped the annual torture

Of listening to relatives as they moan

About the cost of everything these days

And struck out on my singular path

To spend a quiet day on my own

What’s it all got to do with anything anymore?

When did the Feast of Stephen turn into Boxing Day?

And apart from the shops being closed

And no useful services running

Isn’t it just the same as any other day?

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2017

Weather Warning

Weather Warning

I used to fall asleep to the weather forecast,

Barely noticed what they had to say,

Just slightly interested in one thing -

What would be the conditions for next day?

On the BBC it was just information,

There was really no need to get frantic,

About average temperatures,

The fronts coming in from the Atlantic.

But now things seem to have changed quite a lot,

The language has turned rather urgent,

The Met Office is sexing things up,

And talking about a “weather event”.

Rain has become “precipitation”,

Gales have suddenly become “cyclones”:

It’s all about “threat levels” and “warnings” -

I can feel annoyance through my bones.

The jet-stream’s gone all over the place,

They’ve ramped it up to a third-tier “yellow”.

“It’s all because of global warming”

The presenters are ready to bellow.

It sounds like a national emergency,

Extreme freezing due to climate change,

Bulletins filled with hyperbole,

Exaggeration that’s out of the range.

And now it’s come round to the Winter,

It’s not just ice, and hail, and winds that blow,

But frightening graphics and huge arrows,

And the apocalyptic “thunder-snow”.

Severe conditions are a “weather bomb”,

Fahrenheit has become centigrade,

The “alert” level rises to “amber”,

Dire predictions are being made.

Panic sets in over a very slight frost,

Melodramas over the isobars,

Alarmist language because of the storms,

The jeopardy in store for the cars.

Hysteria if it drops below zero,

Or if there’s “severe cold weather action” -

We’ll soon be at warning-level “red”,

If things change by just a fraction.

  

Well, you’ll never guess what, but it’s Winter!

It’s been happening for millions of years!

It can get a bit parky this time of year,

But for us it doesn’t hold any fears.

The weather-men seem surprised about this -

It’s time we put them all in the dock.

This is the usual pattern, you know,

Not really a surprise – no shit Sherlock!

We might expect a bit of a cold snap:

Blizzards, snow-drifts, maybe some floods.

It’s on a par with the Pope being catholic,

And bears taking a crap in the woods!

We live in the Northern hemisphere!

This chilliness to us is no stranger,

We’re familiar with these conditions,

And we’re not really in any danger.

It’s good advice to wrap up nice and warm -

We might consider an overcoat,

Perhaps a scarf, or maybe some gloves,

Carry an umbrella would get my vote.

We might have to scrape the car’s windscreen,

Inconveniences in a many a guise,

But I’m sure we’ll work our way through it -

After all, it’s hardly a surprise!

We’re British! Resilient and hardy!

We can cope! We know how to do it!

We’ll use our common sense and survive -

Somehow, yet again, surely we’ll get through it!

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2017

Post Natal Depression

Post Natal Depression (or thank goodness Christmas is all over)

They’ve all gone back to work,

And the kids are back at school.

Here I am in the middle of all the mess,

Clearing up like a bloody fool.

And as I look around & survey the site,

In the fireplace there’s a fall of soot,

An empty sherry glass & mince-pie crumbs,

And a mark where Santa placed his foot.

The carrots we left for his reindeer,

Have been quite nibbled away,

But the droppings on the carpet,

I think is a price too high to pay.

There’s paper wrap & discarded boxes,

Where presents were pulled out in their haste,

Played with for half an hour,

Before joining the rest of the waste.

There’s food left over in the kitchen,

And I think I’m starting to droop.

If I have to eat one more leftover sprout,

Or face another bowl of turkey soup.

The Christmas tree is looking all forlorn,

As its needles drop upon the floor,

And get blown around the house,

Every time someone opens a door.

We’ve started our own recycling skip,

With empty bottles of every sort.

It’s not just the beer & the mixers,

But the gin, the vodka and port.

We’ve watched all of the Christmas specials

They put on the box this time of the year.

Shame they can’t do it the rest of the season,

Instead of the usual rubbish so drear.

We’ve sent home the old relatives

Those aged wonderful old dears.

Now it’s time to take down the greetings cards,

From people we’ve not seen in years.

We’ll take down the lights that cover the house.

Our neighbours think that we’re soft.

Yes, we’ll pack up the baubles & lights,

And put them all back in the loft.

The sparkle’s all gone from the occasion,

All the drinking & eating & that.

They’ve stopped playing Christmas records on the radio:

At least we can be thankful for that.

  

Now the shops are full of bargains,

The stuff they just couldn’t shift.

Now’s a good time to stock up for next year,

With every possible gift.

I know it’s been quite enjoyable at times,

But now that it’s over for another year,

I’m seeking to get some normality.

So I’ll see you – I’m off down the pub for a beer.

Then I’m off to the dump with the recycling,

But I won’t be coming back in a hurry.

I’m not looking forward to dinner -

It’s turkey & cranberry curry.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2017

Interview For The Job Of Santa Claus

Interview For Job Of Santa Claus

Welcome to our store, dear gentlemen,

If you could please form an orderly queue.

We’ve lots of interviews scheduled,

But we’ll get round to talk to all of you.

Please hand in your Curricu-Claus Vitae,

As you enter the room through the doors,

And we’ll get on with the process

Of picking this Christmas’s Santa Claus.

Of course there’ll be lots of questions,

We have to be careful who we employ,

For we’ve found it’s not just anyone,

That can spread tidings of comfort and joy.

The job description’s a bit wider this year,

As the recession continues to bite:

We’re expecting much more from our Santa -

We’re determined to get our choice right.

So there’ll be lots of questions to answer,

As we try to get right to the root,

Of who’s the very best candidate,

And before we hand over the fat suit.

For example: do you have experience

Of being seated for many long hours?

Are you possessed of rosy-cheekedness?

And is cheerfulness within your powers?

It’s more than just being good with children,

And dealing with all those little cuties,

For you’ll have to muck out the reindeer,

And carry out Elf liaison duties.

You’ll be working with height-challenged workers,

Cos Elf & Safety’s a modern-day fact,

And seasonal work isn’t much of a perk,

For it’s only a limited contract.

You’ll need “Toddler Expectation Management”,

Cos some of their parents can be real rough!

Do you have a current sleigh-driving licence?

Otherwise this role’s gonna be real tough.

For, dealing with demanding children,

You must be brave and not be a-feared.

Do you have enough roly-poly-ness,

And do you think you could grow your own beard?

  

We’ll need your face crinkling, and your eyes twinkling,

A constant yo-ho-ho you’ll have to do.

You can’t have a bad back, if you’re to carry that sack,

And do red-and-white colours suit you?

You’ll be part of the retail experience,

Thus extracting the parental dime,

And there’s through-put targets to be met,

So each child gets limited knee-time.

You’ve got to be endlessly cheerful,

But work-place sobriety  is our motto -

You can’t go out and get yourself beer-full -

Nobody gets blotto in our grotto!

Cos though there’s many temptations,

From all the bottles and beer barrels,

You’ll have to find another way to block out

The endless loop-tape of Christmas carols.

They say “don’t work with animals and children” -

Normally we’d endorse this as a rule,

But if one of you doesn’t take this job,

Nobody’s gonna have much of a Yule.

Copyright  Andy Fawthrop 2017

Drivel From Devizes - Dateline Sunday 24th December 2017

Drivel From Devizes: Dateline – Sunday 24^th December 2017

Here is our weekly round-up of events from D-Town:

                                                  

1.      Huge rejoicing in the borough this week, as the most significant announcement of modern times was made.  In an attempt to cheer up the citizens of D-Town, and to curb the depressing fall in morale regarding Drexit negotiations, the leaderene of the Town Council has promised that there will be a return to war-time identity cards, white fiver-pound notes, the farthing coin, poor sanitation and rickets.  Setting the clock back seventy or eighty years will coincide with the re-introduction of a hard border at the entrance to the town.  Unfortunately the steam-train service will not be restored as someone has filled in all the tunnels, ripped down the bridges and built a housing estate over the land where the station used to be.  A replacement bus service would just not have the right ring to it.

2.      And finally, police in The Vize have advised citizens of the town to be on the look-out tonight for a shady character, often dressed in red & white, who may attempt a series of daring house-burglaries during the evening.  His vehicle, a reindeer-powered sleigh, is often parked on the roofs of houses as he enters the premises via the chimney stack.  He is known to target mince pies and glasses of sherry carelessly left out by house-holders.  He carries out careful research and is known to be well-informed as to which children living at each address have been bad or good.  Police added, in a further warning, that they were aware of his plans, that you’d better watch out, you better not cry, better not pout, and they are telling you why.  He is apparently making a list and checking it twice, that he’ll find out who's naughty and nice.  He also sees you when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake, he knows if you've been bad or good, so be good for goodness sake.

3.      For details of these and all other Devizes stories, don’t forget to listen to local radio station D-Town F-Off.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2017

The Theft Of Baby Jesus

The Theft Of Baby Jesus

There’s always some-one who goes too far,

Whose judgement seems somewhat defective,

Getting Christmas all out of proportion,

And losing their sense of perspective.

The bloke in our village was one of these:

Went over the top for Noel-time tradition,

Thought the number of lights on his house,

Was some sort of yearly competition.

He had everything on display,

Such a mess, it was really a sin:

A complete mish-mash of every sort,

Every blessed thing that you might imagine.

There was Santa with all twelve of his reindeer,

Delivering presents piled up on his sleigh.

It took so many bulbs to light up this scene,

You’d have thought night had turned into day.

There were snow-men and snow-women,

Cartoon characters, the holly and ivy,

Illustrations of every blessed carol,

And tunes in a tape-loop to keep it all lively.

This guy was more than a fanatic -

Of under-statement there was no danger:

And his central tableau showed a great star,

Hovering over the scene in the manger.

There were Mary & Joseph in the stable,

With the Holy Infant, shepherds and then,

A hovering Angel of The Lord,

And a gathering of the three wise men.

And there were great piles of presents,

As if no detail could be allowed to pass,

Every type of farm-yard animal,

Not merely the ox and the ass.

A twenty-foot Christmas tree capped off the scene,

Which became a local attraction,

And the passing traffic became so bad,

That we decided we had to take action.

A group of us hatched our plot in the pub,

Which is not the best place to think straight,

But it seemed a good idea at the time,

When we’d had a few, and the hour got late.

  

The plan was to hit him where it hurt,

Something to make that daft bugger feel.

We were going to remove Baby Jesus,

Yes! – the Son of Man we plotted to steal.

We decided we’d hold Him to ransom,

And that, as the fruit of our labours,

He’d then scale down the size of his display,

And we’d be the toast of his neighbours.

We thought it’d be the simplest of raids,

To sneak in among that barrage of light,

To just steal the youthful Son of Man,

And disappear back into the night.

But we counted without so many wires,

That would cause us so many glitches -

The complex inter-connectedness,

The circuits and timers and switches.

Electricity don’t mix with stupidity –

We were pissed (to use the vernacular),

And as we made our grab for the infant,

The meltdown was truly spectacular.

Our theft was far from deft,
Taking the hostage created a ruction.

The air became blue, as the fuses all blew,

And that was the end of abduction.

The lights went out all over the house,

As the circuits became overloaded,

And there was a short-term glow in the sky,

As the whole of the creation exploded.

Then in the street and the village,

There was an end to illumination.

It carried on all down the valley,

And finally blew up the sub-station.

It was a case of a simple crime gone wrong,

And in later years, folks were heard to say,

It made a great change from the usual -

The most spectacular one-off display!

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2017

How We Know It's Nearly Christmas

How We Know It’s Nearly Christmas

How we know it’s nearly Christmas?

Advent calendars and all of that -

The turkeys are getting very nervous,

And the ducks and geese are getting fat.

How we know it’s nearly Christmas?

Sudden sightings of Santa and his pals,

In every shop and department store,

And sightings of elves walking round the malls.

How we know it’s nearly Christmas?

Markets flooded with celebrity tomes,

Men disappearing into their lofts,

And putting light-bulbs on the outside of homes.

How we know it’s nearly Christmas?

A frantic, nervous spirit intervenes,

And though the weather’s overcast and grey,

The store displays show only snowy scenes.

How we know it’s nearly Christmas?

There’s a wealth of special treats and sights,

A sudden burst of German markets,

And D-List celebs switching on a few lights.

How we know it’s nearly Christmas?

For the non-religious it’s slim pickings,

A bizarre interest in ghost stories,

And everything dressed up to look like Dickens!

How we know it’s nearly Christmas?

Transport timetables fall into a mess:

They’re offering special bargains,

And there’s a discount sale at DFS!

How we know it’s nearly Christmas?

We’re told that children are all a-glow,

There’s a nasty outbreak of tinsel,

And everything’s covered up in fake snow.

How we know it’s nearly Christmas?

Of comfort and joy there must be tiding,

We’re on constant loop tapes of Slade,

And men called Noel are going in to hiding.

How we know it’s nearly Christmas?

There’s lots false jollity and ho-ho-ho,

There’s satsumas and brazil nuts everywhere,

A man dressed as Santa sits in his grotto.

   

How we know it’s nearly Christmas?

TV channels devoted to hard-sell,

Closing and posting times are all different,

Every ad is accompanied by sleigh-bells.

How we know it’s nearly Christmas?

We’re all exhorted to be of good cheer,

Everyone’s searching for good presents,

And check-out girls wear reindeer headgear.

How we know it’s nearly Christmas?

Trees on the pavement, discounted games,

Book early for your Summer holiday,

And men wearing make-up, dressed up as dames.

How we know it’s nearly Christmas?

The Marketing machine’s telling its tale.

Anyway – I’m off round to Tesco’s:

Their Easter eggs have just gone on sale.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2017

A New Christmas Carol

A New Christmas Carol

Christmas comes but once a year,

So let’s thank the Lord for that.

The turkeys are becoming nervous,

And the geese are getting fat.

There’s fake snow everywhere,

And decorations that look tired.

Whilst down at the Job Centre

Some Santas are getting hired.

For it’s that season of good cheer,

With yuletide adverts day & night,

But with early carol-singers

It’s hard to get a Silent Night.

The season starts sooner every year:

In the shops they’re already selling holly.

But with all these xmas jingles about,

I’m finding it hard to keep things jolly.

In the gloomy shopping precinct,

They’ve put up the civic lights.

But it’s hard to start getting all yo-ho-ho,

When there’s still some weeks till holy night.

And in the shops they’ve got yuletide offers,

With Santa sitting in his grotto,

Selling booze at half the price,

With the promise that we’ll all get blotto.

With new ideas for Christmas gifts,

Re-packaging of every blessed thing,

And people buying presents -

Hark! - the herald cash-tills sing.

But Yule can be a lonely time,

Especially for those still single,

Serving to remind them of their state,

With every irritating jingle.

TV adverts showing happy families,

Like some cosy scene in Dickens,

Gathered round a roaring fire,

Whilst we shop online like headless chickens.

Once in Bristol’s Royal City,

You could hear a festive carol.

The prices have gone up till January:

They’ve got us over a barrel.

So deck the halls with boughs of holly,

And ding-dong merrily on high.

When you’ve spent more than you can afford,

It’s getting time to question why.

Good King Wenceslas didn’t have to go shopping,

Even on the Feast of Stephen.

So why do we have to try so hard,

When we’re fighting to break even?

  

It’s all got very mixed up these days:

I think there’s quite a danger

Of having three TV pundits

Voting to put reindeer in the manger.

You can’t make a snowman out of rain or sleet,

Nor find three wise men to employ.

There’s no good reason to be cheerful,

Nothing to bring tidings of comfort & joy.

God rest ye merry gentlemen,

But you know it’s not very funny.

It’s no longer a celebration,

It’s just about the money.

And “do they know it’s Christmas?”

Is a song you’ll probably sing.

But it’s not just about Africa

Do we really know what we’re doing?

But I suppose I should have greater cheer,

And stop with all this huffing,

So now I’ll just say “Bah humbug!”

And “could you pass the stuffing?”

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2017

The Icing On The Cake

The Icing On The Cake

It was Christmas Eve in the kitchen,

Everything prepared, everything nice.

The turkey was stuffed and the veggies peeled,

So there was only the cake left to ice.

But I’d left it to the last minute,

And there wasn’t time to nip to the shop.

It was easy enough to make icing,

But nothing to decorate the top.

So my husband went out to his shed,

To see what he might be able to find,

And came back with a jar of ball-bearings,

Saying: “who’s to know? Nobody will mind.”

So I washed them and polished them bright,

Though it was all a bit of a fiddle,

And I placed them right round the edges,

With a sprig of holly in the middle.

Well, it looked proper champion,

With the large silver balls catching the light.

When my mother-in-law came the next day,

She’d be bound to admire the sight.

Well, Christmas Day came, and lovely it was,

We had our dinner, and a good drink,

Then mother-in-law eyed up the cake,

And said: “I’ll have a piece of that I think”.

So we both looked, and smothered a smile,

And with a knife I cut her a large slice.

She ate it up quickly and smacked her lips,

Saying: “that was really quite nice!”

“I’ll have another piece if you please!”

And that disappeared as fast as the first,

And then we all had a few more drinks,

As we’d all developed a thirst.

At this stage we were all stuffed to the gills.

The fire in the grate had burned down quite low,

So mother-in-law picked up the poker,

To stir it around and build up a glow.

Now we’d been eating and drinking all day:

Stuffing, and sprouts, and peas that were tinned,

And what with the turkey and the beer,

Well, it were bound to give the girl wind.

  

As she leaned and bent herself forward,

And, bearing in mind that she were quite fat,

She farted out bearings with incredible force,

And loudly assassinated the cat.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2017

Nativity

Nativity

Nostalgia ain’t what it used to be,

But I can’t help thinking of that day,

Right at the back end of the Fifties,

When I did my first Nativity Play.

We were in the first class of the Infants,

Young and innocent, no more than five or six,

When our teacher announced the production,

And we’d all be thrown into the mix.

There were to be parts for everyone,

Of that fact there should be no doubt,

For the school couldn’t cope with the aggro,

If any of the class were to be left out.

For parents would want to see their darlings,

Deep in the Christmas story engage,

Showing off to their friends and relatives,

Of their first public performance on stage.

None of us knew what to expect,

Because none of us had ever done it before,

But if we couldn’t have a major role,

We decided we didn’t want to play any more.

I didn’t get to play Joseph,

And the role of inn-keeper to me was denied,

I finally ended up as fifth shepherd,

I was so upset that I cried.

My mum thought my skill had been ignored,

And my talent not allowed to shine through,

Which just added to the misery,

But I was only five – what could I do?

Rehearsals were more than chaotic,

The teachers didn’t know how to lead,

And scripts were a complete waste of time,

Since not one of us could read.

So we did it by practising quite hard,

Repeating scenes over and over again,

Learning lines was a complete nightmare,

We were children trying to play men.

There was no proper stage to speak of,

You could see it was heading for a great fall,

So they just draped a large pair of curtains,

Right across one end of the hall.

Costumes were left up to the parents,

For each to interpret as they chose,

With no attempt to co-ordinate,

We ended with an array of odd clothes.

   

The shepherds used sheets and tea-towels,

There were cardboard gold crowns for the kings,

The Angel Gabriel was a fantastic sight,

Dwarfed by a pair of white paper wings.

Moustaches were drawn with burnt cork,

And false beards stuck on that were itchy,

Nobody could really see what they were doing,

And the inn-keeper’s wife turned a touch bitchy.

Joseph wore specs and a belted tunic,

Mary appeared in virginal white,

As they stumbled into Bethlehem,

And inaudibly asked for a room for the night.

The innkeeper, over-awed by the audience,

Forgot his lines and burst into tears.

Lots of shuffling at the edge of the stage,

Then the fulfilment of our worst fears.

The baby donkey, hired for the occasion,

Peed on stage, as we’d all hoped that he would:

A large pool spread between his feet,

And surrounded the cast where they stood.

You couldn’t get away from the squelching,

Though the actors were never in danger,

But most of the dialogue was lost,

As ox and ass waded into the manger.

The gold, the frankincense and myrrh,

Were dropped on to the swaddled-up child,

But the rising smell of fresh urine,

Was driving the audience wild.

At this point, the star fell from its perch,

And knocked the Angel Gabriel out cold.

The girls and boys started wailing,

And mayhem ensued, it has to be told.

The head teacher appeared with bucket and mop,

Halting proceedings with a bilious wince.

That brought an end to my acting career,

And I've hated Christmas ever since!

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2017

A Crash In The Woods

A Crash In The Woods

Sometime late, deep in the middle of the night,

Something woke me from slumber’s deep delight:

A whoosh, a wallop, a screech and a big loud bang,

Thunder and lightning, and an almighty clang,

Then a pause, silence, almost nothing at all,

Followed by an explosion, a boom, a fireball -

It sounded like the crash of an airplane,

Crack, then all quiet, then crack all over again.

I ran to the window, and looked into the dark -

It was cold, and starlit, and all of that lark.

It was hard to make out, I couldn’t see all that good,

But it seemed as if something had come down in the wood,

Something was burning, a great tower of flame -

I needed to get out there, this wasn’t no game,

So I pulled on my clothes, and made for the scene -

It was an emergency, you know what I mean?

The site of the accident was pretty easy to find,

A scene of destruction of every possible kind.

It was hard to know where I should start,

But in the midst was what remained of a cart,

Blown to bits, scattered every which way,

What could only be described as the remains of a sleigh,

With smoking and burning bits of debris -

A helluva smash had occurred, it was easy to see.

The bloke that had been driving was stuck up a tree,

And from his red & white outfit he struggled to get free,

So I helped to get him down, along with his sack.

His face and beard were all burnt nearly black,

He smouldered and sizzled, he was in a right state

Berating his rotten luck and cursing his fate,

His looks and his temper were really not sweet,

And his language was far too foul to repeat.

There was fear and panic written all over his face,

And barbecued reindeer running all over the place,

There were parcels and packages spread all about,

And small green elves, crying, and starting to shout -

A small-scale disaster so deep in the woods,

Meant that Santa would fail to deliver his goods,

So I asked if there was anything I could possibly do,

To which Santa replied “I think I’m buggered, don’t you?”

I thought he was worried about the waiting girls and boys,

If he didn’t turn up at their houses to deliver their toys,

But he said that was the least of his worries,

It was bound to happen to a chap that always hurries.
He’d be in big trouble with the delivery firm -

They’d be sure to bring his contract to term:

To his sacking this situation was obviously leading,

And the police’d figure out he’d been speeding.

  

“It’s this zero-hours contract that’s to blame:

Too many deliveries to make – it’s a loser’s game!

I’ve got to do every blessed thing, all in one day,

And all they give me is eight-reindeer-power sleigh!

It’s relentless, and there’s no breaks for meals!

It’s simply awful – you’ve no idea how it feels!

Now they’re gonna catch me all bang to rights,

I just knew it would happen one of these Christmas nights!”

I felt sorry for him – he was pitiful and very forlorn,

And I couldn’t do much to help him, but I was torn -

He was a victim of our modern capitalist culture,

Working for a firm that was an asset-stripping vulture,

So I helped him round up the reindeer and the elves,

Told them to grab what they wanted, just help themselves,

Then I took him back to my place that was close by,

And gave him a sherry and a mince pie.

Now I’m not relating all this just for some fun,

But don’t worry – my tale’s almost over and done,

There’s a happy ending to this miserable verse!

You know – things could have been much worse –

They cleared up the crash, and Santa’s out on probation.

He took it easy for a while, then had a vacation,

Got himself sorted out and jumped back on the horse,

And now he’s a delivery driver for ParcelForce!

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2017