Passed Over Again

Passed Over Again

I’ve waited in all day, pacing up and down,

Hoping that the telephone would ring,

That some flunkey from Buckingham palace

Some long-expected news would bring.

 

I’d counted on a proper letter at first,

Coming through Her Majesty’s Royal Mail:

Cream envelope, thick embossed writing -

But that route appears to have failed.

 

Morning after morning, nothing on the mat,

Time getting short as we come up to the date,

Perhaps lost in the post or delivered elsewhere,

I’m on tenterhooks to discover my fate.

 

After all - I am a firm monarchist,

A believer in our great constitution,

And I’ve been a good chap now for long enough,

So it’s time to recognise my contribution.

 

For outstanding services to my country,

I’m wondering what my honour will be:

So many types and levels to choose from -

Might it be an OBE or MBE?

 

I can just see my name up on the list,

You see, I’ve always fancied a knight-hood:

Some sort of title would distinguish me -

“Sir Andy Fawthrop” will look pretty good.

 

But there is no point printing new stationery,

Nor ordering any new business cards,

Until we’ve settled on the right handle,

Then I’ll be a knight amongst bards!

 

I can see me going to the palace,

For my investiture with the Queen,

Then photos outside with the medal,

My face all over the press will be seen.

 

I’ll be gently famous and renowned,

I’ll sign autographs whenever I‘m able,

And merely mentioning my name,

Will secure any restaurant table.

 

And people will whisper reverently,

When my personage is passing them by,

Speaking of my modest achievements,

And asking themselves the main question: Why? 

 

I mean, obviously, why not them?

Well – honours are reserved for the cream!

If they just gave them to everyone,

How do you think that that would seem?

 

…..But hang on a second – what’s just happened?

The full list’s been announced on the BBC!

There’s nothing in there for services to poetry -

There’s to be no Honour for me!

 

Surely there’s been some mistake?

It seems, yet again, I’ve been overlooked,

I’ve been looking forward all over Christmas,

But now it seems my goose has been cooked.

 

Of course I’m not bitter – how could I be?

It’s an anachronistic system of State,

Discredited rewards for old cronies!

I wouldn’t want one of those, mate!

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

 

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 2022

 

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 2022

Two Alternative Christmas Cards

Thanks (to the vicar) for midnight mass

 

Thanks Your Reverence for the service last night

It’s almost impossible for me to believe

That so many people could pack out the church

And throw up in the pews on Christmas Eve

 

I suppose an excess of booze is to blame

So much vomit to be mopped down the drain

I don’t envy you as I languish at home

As today you get to do it all over again.

 

I’ll bet you’re glad Christmas comes but once a year

It’s tough being a vicar, but what can I say?

You signed up for this lark of working on Sundays

At least you can kick your shoes off till it’s Good Friday!

 

Season’s Greetings To The Supermarkets

 

Thanks for stocking all the things I needed for Christmas

Those goodies didn’t appear one moment too soon

I’m grateful that you got them all in so early

I really needed my Christmas cake way back in June!

 

It’s great that you’re open extra early and late

On your supply-chain you’ve exerted your powers

So we can stock up for a two week siege

Even though you’re only closed for twelve hours!

 

And I’ll be back in again on Boxing Day morning

Taking advantage of sale prices that are almost a gift

To help you get rid of the seasonal stock

That otherwise you’d have a problem to shift!

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

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 2022

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 2022

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 2022

The Fairy On The Christmas Tree

The Fairy On The Christmas Tree

I’m the Fairy on The Christmas Tree

I stare down from way up high

And my dress is so very pretty

It almost makes the children cry

 

I’m the brightest of all the baubles

I’m quite the darling sight

I’m the crowning decoration

And I twinkle in the light

 

I’m the Fairy on the Christmas tree

Without me, Christmas wouldn’t be the same

But though they put me up each year

They still haven’t given me a name

 

Sometimes the tinsel gets up my nose

And the needles fall like rain

The smell of pine gets bloody irritating

And it brings upon my migraine

 

I’m the Fairy on the Christmas tree

But it’s not all glamour – please take pity

There’s a downside to this job

Indeed one aspect is quite shitty

 

The twinkling lights can get on your nerves

With each bulb that flashes and flickers

And I can tell you it’s not much fun

Having a six-foot Christmas tree shoved inside your knickers

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

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 2022

Drivel From Devizes - Dateline Sunday 18th December 2022

Drivel From Devizes: Dateline – Sunday 18^th December 2022 

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

1.      A massive scientific breakthrough occurred this week in The Vize, when scientists at the DBC (D-Town Boffins Club) announced that they had successfully created Retail Fusion, by smashing together the marketing strategies of Waitrose and Lidl to create a new form of mid-range retailer.  Fusion is defined as that process by which more energy is produced coming out than going in to create it.  This was achieved when a random shopper, a Chinese national named Ho Lee Fuk, was forced into a branch of Sainsburys and emerged from the checkout with more money than he’d gone in with. 

2.      And the culmination of four weeks of gruelling competition in the shopping arcades has almost come to an end with the final of WCC (Whatsitallabout Christmas Cup), where the winners of the quest to buy Aunty Pauline’s Christmas jumper will play the defending champions of Uncle Derek’s usual socks and handkerchief combo presentation pack. 

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

Devizes Winter Wonderland

Devizes Winter Wonderland 

Sleigh bells ring, are you listening?

In the Brittox snow is glistening

A shopper’s delight,

We're happy tonight

Walking in a Devizes wonderland

 

Gone away, in the Market Place

Here to stay, there’s no parking space

A drunk slowly ambles,

Through The Shambles

Walking in a Devizes wonderland

 

In the Corny Bin we can have a disco

And pretend that we know how to dance

Police will ask if we’re sober?

We'll say “no man”

And we can get arrested if there’s a chance

 

Later on we'll clamour

As we walk by the Crammer

Terrified to face

The swans that we've chased

Walking in a Devizes wonderland

 

Sleigh bells ring are you listening

In the Brittox snow is glistening

A shopper’s delight

We're happy tonight

Walking in a winter wonderland

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

Office Christmas Party

Office Christmas Party

It’s that happy time of year again

Just a few more days to go and then

Someone organises the office Christmas party when

All your tedious colleagues have a yen

To rave it up, both the women and the men

 

Suddenly it’s reindeer antlers and paper hats

Santa outfits and snowy kitty-cats

Christmas jumpers sported by the twats

A chance to get as pissed as rats

 

How bad could it possibly be?

Inappropriate behaviour for all to see

Inhibitions loose and newly free

Debbie from HR’s showing a bit of knee

Gordon from Accounts always rushing off to pee

And Secret Santas beneath the Christmas tree

 

The secret for getting through these do’s

Is to create some gossip and some news

About who’s using the Stationery Cupboard as a ruse

Who’s crying their eyes out in the loos

And who’s the hottest person you would choose

Whilst knocking back the copious booze

 

There’s a cheesy disco, and dad-dancing under way

Enforced enjoyment is the order of the day

Definitely not the time to discuss your pay

The simmering resentment that makes you grey

Or the rumours that the Sales Director’s turning gay

According to the lads working in the Loading Bay

 

And as the sausage rolls & vol-au-vents begin to shrink

And you imagine that someone’s giving you the wink

You’re ready to declare undying love - you think

All’s looking well and you’re in the pink

Before your spirits can have chance to sink

It’s time to have yet another drink

 

The soundtrack’s from Wizzard and from Slade

Company loyalty & commitment start to fade

It’s time the photocopies of genitals were made

Time repressed sexual desires were displayed

Flirting’s now of the highest grade

And is anyone here going to get laid?

 

But, alas, the flowing drink is free no more

A situation that is frankly just a bore

That stingy boss pretends he’s poor 

Tomorrow lots of heads will be very sore

Meantime, to the crowd’s sarcastic roar

It’s time to slide disgracefully to the floor

 

The consequences won’t be hard to tell

Instagram will show the world how you fell

Not the best way to come out of your shell

Your professional reputation’s death-knell

A career-limiting night of drunken hell

Capped off by copious vomiting in the stair-well

 

And in the New Year what changes will await?

What will be your humiliation? Your fate?

You’ll get lumbered with a task you’ll hate –

To organise next year’s Christmas party date

You’ve been stitched up, and that’s not great

But, what did you expect from a work-mate?

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022 

Paranoid @ Christmas

Paranoid @ Christmas

Finished with my turkey

'cause I couldn’t stuff it any more

People think I'm insane

Because I find Christmas such a chore

 

All day long I think of sprouts

But they don’t seem to satisfy

Think I'll lose my appetite

If I don't find something to get me by

Can you help me? Rich giblet gravy? Oh yeah!

 

I need someone to show me

The gifts in shops that I can't find

I can't see the baubles that make true happiness,

I must be blind

 

Pull a cracker and I will sigh

And you will laugh and I will cry

Paper hats I do not like

And jokes to me are so unreal

 

And so as you hear these words

Telling you now of my state

I tell you to enjoy Christmas –

I wish I could but it's too late!

 

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022 (with apologies to Black Sabbath) 

I'm Dreaming Of A Shite Christmas

I’m Dreaming Of A Shite Christmas

I'm dreaming of a shite Christmas

Not like the ones I used to know

Where Santa’s in prison

And no-one listens

To hear Wizzard singing on the radio

 

I'm dreaming of a shite Christmas

With every turkey that I stuff

May all your cranberries be enough

And may your pudding be plum duff

 

I'm dreaming of a shite Christmas

Not like the ones I used to know

Where poor kids’ noses glisten

And the drunkards pissin’,

To write their names in yellow snow

 

Yes, I'm dreaming of a shite Christmas

With every satsuma that I bite

May your nights be drunken and tight

And may all your Christmases be shite

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

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 2022

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 2022

Drivel From Devizes - Dateline Sunday 11th December 2022

Drivel From Devizes: Dateline – Sunday 11^th December 2022 

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

1.      In a week that saw the sad news that the last Boeing 747 has rolled off the production line in Seattle, equally bad local news came when it was announced that the D-Town factory which produces the ferrules that fit on the end of walking sticks is to go on short-time working.  A spokesman for owners blamed not enough people going lame or requiring knee and hip replacements these days.  “People are far too healthy.  Besides they can just get in a car, or order goods online.  It’s not like the old times when folks used to risk life and limb to struggle down to the shops for a copy of The Racing Post and a packet of Woodbines.  Happy days.” 

2.      Meanwhile, in a controversial move against its own zero-sugar policy, the Clowncil has announced the green light for the sinking of a new treacle mine on the outskirts of the town.  This is the first new treacle mine for 30 years, and will create upwards of 500 refining jobs.  It is suspected that some-one may have sugared the deal, or else paid some form of sweetener.  And in other industrial moves, Planning Permission is being sought to build a dam across Pewsey Vale in order to create Britain’s largest Gravy Reservoir. 

3.      And citizens were transfixed by puzzlement and sheer boredom by the release of the first three episodes (of a seemingly endless series) of a new D-Town-based streaming service called Netfucks.  It features the needy younger brother of the chap at The Big House on The High Street, and his vapid incomprehensible wife.  Together they launch a range of attacks against local people who may have wronged them, such as the Post Office clerk who served another lady in a different queue, the cashier in Lidl who wouldn’t accept their promise to pay later, and the chap who got served first at the bar.  Other gripping series are promised by Netfucks – a seven-part adaptation of a novel about watching paint dry, and a 24-part expose of the activities of ursines when entering forested areas. 

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022