The Joy Of Christmas

The Joy of Christmas

It’s that festive time of year again

For pouring your cash straight down the drain

When the Western portion of humanity

Seems to engage in a temporary insanity

 

Firstly, what’s all this with the “mulled” wine?

It just spoils a drink that was perfectly fine

And I find myself wondering, as an outsider

Why would you want to bugger up cider?

 

But if you want to know how badly I really feel

Let’s discuss that big 6000 calorie meal

The one where your trousers start off perfectly loose

Before gorging on large portions of turkey or goose

 

The bird’s probably dry and overcooked

But it’s the veggies that cannot be overlooked

Because – and of this there can be no doubt –

The worst aspect is the wind of the sprout

 

Plates overloaded with parsnips and peas

And stuffing and roasties, if you please,

With lashings and lashings of giblet gravy

Enough for floating the whole British navy.

 

Choosing the festive wardrobe is incredibly tough

And, as if wearing Christmas jumpers weren’t stupid enough

By sporting over-sized ill-fitting paper hats

We make ourselves look like a right set of twats

 

And let’s discuss something else that gets on my knackers,

And that’s the nonsense of pulling crackers

They’re a complete waste of anyone’s money

And jokes – ever had one that was funny?

 

Then there’s the usual high-pitched cry

Who let the steaming pan boil itself dry?

And onto the table the cannon-ball’s thudding

Introducing itself as a Christmas pudding.

 

And we’re all treated to the tedious sight

Of dad failing to get the brandy to light

Using matches, his lighter, and whatever he can

So mum warms the stuff up in a pan

 

This raises what’s known as the liquid’s flashpoint

The resulting conflagration will then anoint

All of us with a home-made version of napalm

Taking ages before the restoration of calm 

 

Then, though we’re already well replete

We’ll still tuck in to several more treats

When your belly’s not as big as your eyes

There’s nuts, dates, satsumas and mince pies!

 

Topped off with some beer or some shandy

Or a nice drop of port or some brandy

And when with these foodstuffs you’ve sinned

There follows the gaseous attack of the wind

 

There’s mess everywhere – that’s easy to see

And thousands of needles that fall from the tree

The pile of presents that gently mocks

Meaning you’ve been bought thirteen pairs of socks

 

Everyone’s asleep through the Queen’s speech

And fractious children are starting to screech

And as the booze through the day starts biting

The in-laws and out-laws fall to their fighting.

 

Oh who will get me out of this version of hell?

When will I start again to feel well?

And there’s one thing more that’s worse I can say –

We’ve got to do it all again – on Boxing Day!

 

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2021