The Raven

It’s been somewhat of a tradition, well for me anyway, to read or watch a ghost story on Christmas day. I don’t know how or why it started, it just did. For me the best Christmas ghost story is A Christmas Carol but that’s a bit long to put here. Si I’ve decided to put up my second favourite tale, Edgar Allen Poe’s “The Raven”. Enjoy

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.'
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,'
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.'
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore."'
But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!

By the way, Merry Christmas and a happy new year.

Dear Buddha, please bring me a pony and a plastic rocket...

I have come to the conclusion that Christmas shopping is, in fact, just another level of hell! I set off to work this morning for a staff meeting and a cuppa with my colleagues. We were only in for half a day and before we went our separate ways we checked that the building was secure and not likely to burst into flames over the next week and a bit. I was feeling a bit peckish by the time we left so I thought I’d nip into MacDonald’s for a bit of scoff only to discover that it was packed full of people who had exactly the same idea as me, they could have had it a bit later but never mind. I gave up on the thought and set off in search of gifts for the missus. Oh dear, the town was heaving! First stop was W H Smiths, not for Trudes but to pick up my monthly Astro mags. Then the real horror struck as I wandered in and out of various girly type shops looking for the ideal thing for a girl. It’s not that I don’t like shopping; it’s more a case that I’m a bit of a misanthrope. I don’t have much time for the type of people you generally encounter. When I shop I tend to go in, get what I need and get out again. Admittedly this doesn’t always go to plan as I have a tendency to be somewhat forgetful. So I know that when I enter the maze of consumerism that is a supermarket I will become more than a little fretful as I run through the list of things I need to get. My stress levels are not helped by doddering old dears who have just met in the middle of the dairy aisle and are taking the chance to catch up on not having seen each other for the last three months. Not so bad except for the fact that they’re standing between their trolleys and blocking the entire section. Of course they can hear a five pound note hit the floor from five miles away, but when you say “excuse me” they both become as deaf as posts and seem to take up more room than before. Then there are the people who stop you to ask if you know where the cheese is, do I look like a member of staff? Finally the shops conspire against you, they move things, one day you find the bread near the bakery section, naturally, the next day it’s with the breakfast cereal. Leave it be, it’s getting to the stage where I’ll need a blooming sat-nav to find the stuff I want.

I read somewhere that it is the season of goodwill, this being the case, why are people so flipping miserable? I have a perfectly good excuse, I’m a grumpy old man, and I make no effort to hide the fact that a vast majority of the human race annoys me, particularly anyone younger than me and considerably older. When I pay for my stuff there isn’t so much as a smile, the checkout operator just crams your stuff in a bag and sends you on your way. Considering the fact that I am such a cantankerous old git, I still manage to muster up a bit of joviality.

Anyway the shopping is done and I have purchased presents and picked up a couple of bits that were needed for Sunday, so I can now relax and forget work for the next eleven days and focus on making sure that my sweet girl has a jolly time with our friends.

It’s a mad world made even more mad by the festive season!

Christmas Fruitcake recipe

1 C Water
1 C Sugar
4 Large eggs
3 C dried fruit
1 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. salt
1 C Brown sugar
Lemon juice, nuts
1 FULL bottle of your favourite whiskey
Sample the whiskey to check for quality.
Take out a large bowl.
Check the whiskey again to be sure that it is of the highest quality.
Pour 1 level cup and drink. Repeat.
Turn on the electric mixer; beat 1 C of butter in a large fluffy bowl.
Add 1 tsp. sugar and beat again.
Make sure the whiskey is still OK.
Cry another cup. Turn off the mixer.
Break two geggs and add to the bowl and chuck in the cup of dried fruit.
Mix on the burner.
If the fried fruit gets stuck in the beaters,
pry it loose with a screwdriver.
Sample the whiskey to check for toxisisticity.
Next, sift 2 cups of salt.
Or something. Who cares? Check the whiskey.
Now sift the lemon juice and strain your nuts.
Add one tablespoon of sugar or something...whatever you can find.
Grease the oven. Turn on the cake tin to 350 degrees.
Don't forget to beat off the turner. Throw the bowl out of the window.
Check the whiskey again. Go to bed.
Who the hell likes fruit cake anyway???

I think you have a problem with your brain being missing.

Having exhausted my supply of festive based ramblings, I now resort to writing my own inane drivel again. With less than a week left of work, 2.5 days to be exact, I can only hope that the wage elves are working extra hard on ensuring that my wages hit my bank account in time to do shopping. We’re having friends in for Boxing Day so Trudes and I shall have a quiet 25^th and make up for it on the 26^th with festive frolics, fun and frivolity. There will be six persons in attendance, including me and Tea, so one thing I would like to do is a never mind the buzzcocks type quiz, assuming the visitors will be up for a bit of music trivia. There’s the chance of a visit to Dover castle on the 27^th, I would like to go as I think that it is the best castle in the world, a view swayed more than a little by the fact that I grew up in Dover and spent a great deal of my younger years exploring the site. There are a few secrets that remain as such, I doubt that I’ll ever get the place to reveal everything about its history, but that’s ok because I like not knowing if some of the secrets are the stuff of myth and legend. There’s enough in my head to entertain a party of visitors for a good few hours and if I do get to go along I will try very hard not to bore the group with useless facts, unless I get asked of course, although there is the high risk of opening the flood gates and not being able to shut me up.

I had one of the worst trips into town after work today, mad people everywhere and each and every one of them buying as much bread and milk as they can stuff into a trolley, purely because they are worrying that the light sprinkling of snow we had yesterday my shut the country down again. So after cutting the shopping trip short, due to chavs hogging every check out, I headed to the bus station, only to discover that the busses were running to some very odd timetable, they were running bad enough this morning, or should that be not running? Forty five minute I waited for a flipping bus, needless to say I was late in this morning. So I waited for any bus heading in the right direction and ended up getting on one that had a small child that screamed constantly from the moment it got on the bus up until it got off, the mother of said screamer did nothing more than tell her darling little offspring to shut up. There were two other words in there but I can only write one of them here, and it was “the”. I think all the little fella wanted was a bit of comforting, instead it got sworn at. Mummy had obviously run out of patience, if she had any in the first place.

Tomorrow, being Saturday, I’m off to the shop for the last, official, club meet up of the year. I’m rather looking forward to it, not because it’s the last one for 2010, but because I get to hear the speculation from the lads about what they’ve got by way of 40k stuff. The beauty of it is that I know most of it and I doubt there will be any disappointment on the 25^th. I expect to see some very happy faces when we start up again next year.

Well that just about wraps up this entry, Hope yawl have a good’un

Christmas Is Coming – A Turkey’s Tale

When I was a young turkey, new to the coop,
My big brother Mike took me out on the stoop,

Then he sat me down, and he spoke real slow,
And he told me there was something that I had to know;

His look and his tone I will always remember,
When he told me of the horrors of..... Black November;

"Come about August, now listen to me,
Each day you'll get six meals instead of just three,

"And soon you'll be thick, where once you were thin,
And you'll grow a big rubbery thing under your chin;

"And then one morning, when you're warm in your bed,
In'll burst the farmer's wife, and hack off your head;

"Then she'll pluck out all your feathers so you're bald 'n pink,
And scoop out all your insides and leave ya lyin' in the sink;

"And then comes the worst part" he said not bluffing,
"She'll spread your cheeks and pack your rear with stuffing".

Well, the rest of his words were too grim to repeat,
I sat on the stoop like a winged piece of meat,

And decided on the spot that to avoid being cooked,
I'd have to lay low and remain overlooked;

I began a new diet of nuts and granola,
High roughage salads, juice and diet cola;

And as they ate pastries, chocolates and crepes,
I stayed in my room doing Jane Fonda tapes;

I maintained my weight of two pounds and a half,
And tried not to notice when the bigger birds laughed;

But 'twas I who was laughing, under my breath,
As they chomped and they chewed, ever closer to death;

And sure enough when Black November rolled around,
I was the last turkey left in the entire compound;

So now I'm a pet in the farmer's wife's lap;
I haven't a worry, so I eat and I nap;

She held me today, while sewing and humming,
And smiled at me and said "Christmas is coming..."

Christmas dog

Tonight's my first night as a watchdog,
And here it is Christmas Eve.
The children are sleeping all cozy upstairs,
While I'm guardin' the stockin's and tree.
What's that now---footsteps on the rooftop?
Could it be a cat or a mouse?
Who's this down the chimney?
A thief with a beard---
And a big sack for robbin' the house?
I'm barkin', I'm growlin', I'm bitin' his butt.
He howls and jumps back in his sleigh.
I scare his strange horses, they leap in the air.
I've frightened the whole bunch away.
Now the house is all peaceful and quiet again.
The stockin's are safe as can be.
Won't the kiddies be glad when they wake up tomorrow
And see how I've guarded the tree.

Grandma got run over by a reindeer

Grandma got run over by a reindeer
Walking home from our house Christmas eve.
You can say there's no such thing as Santa,
But as for me and Grandpa, we believe.
She'd been drinkin' too much egg nog,
And we'd begged her not to go.
But she'd left her medication,
So she stumbled out the door into the snow.
When they found her Christmas mornin',
At the scene of the attack.
There were hoof prints on her forehead,
And incriminatin' Claus marks on her back.
Grandma got run over by a reindeer,
Walkin' home from our house Christmas eve.
You can say there's no such thing as Santa,
But as for me and Grandpa, we believe.
Now were all so proud of Grandpa,
He's been takin' this so well.
See him in there watchin' football,
Drinkin' beer and playin' cards with cousin Belle.
It's not Christmas without Grandma.
All the family's dressed in black.
And we just can't help but wonder:Should we open up her gifts or send them back?
Grandma got run over by a reindeer,
Walkin' home from our house Christmas eve.
You can say there's no such thing as Santa,
But as for me and Grandpa, we believe.
Now the goose is on the table
And the pudding made of fig.
And a blue and silver candle,
That would just have matched the hair in Grandma'swig.
I've warned all my friends and neighbours.
Better watch out for yourselves."
They should never give a license,
To a man who drives a sleigh and plays with elves.
Grandma got run over by a reindeer,
Walkin' home from our house, Christmas eve.
You can say there's no such thing as Santa,
But as for me and Grandpa, we believe

Christmas Shopping

It was Christmas Eve closing time, nearly
Where a last minute shopper, frustrated clearly
Was rummaging through the freezer cabinet
At her nearest out of town super market
Desperately searching for a frozen turkey
And couldn't find one big enough for her family
Then she saw a young shop assistant pass by
And decided that she would give him a try
"Do these turkeys get any bigger?" she said
Puzzled he replied "No madam, they're dead."

A Christmas tale

At this time of year it is patently clear
That the males are the ones who are blest.
Thoughts like "goodwill to men" we hear time and again
And we find them quite hard to digest.
As we women all know, men think they run the show,
And sometimes we allow them this pause.
But it gets on our nerves, like too many hors d'oeuvres
When we want to get at the main course.
Many times out of mind the same problem we find,
Leaving plans to the menfolk is risky.
Christmas spirit they think is some kind of a drink,
Such as vodka, Baccardi, or whiskey.
Since we carry the load, men keep out of our road,
We are ready and willing and able.
For it's perfectly clear, that the stuffed turkeys here
Are not always confined to the table.
The traditional way is now rather passe,
Lets give credit, where credit is due.
Then you'll see, man or boy, in return you'll enjoy
The fruits of OUR goodwill to you.

My Christmas

Hark the herald angels sing,
please put an end to my suffering.
I can’t take much more of this,
a slobbering cow I’d rather kiss.

Why can’t grandpa find his dentures?
One of the holiday’s misadventures.
Hard liquor is the only way
to get us through this Christmas day.

At least it comes but once a year.
Otherwise I would live in fear
of Aunt Gertrude’s fruitcake and shrieking spawn.
I think I’ll hide out on the lawn.

Another Tie

"Gee, thanks! Another reindeer tie!"
Dad says with a sigh,
as he tries not to cry,
Christmas joy gone bye-bye.

Disappointment is the gift that’s unwrapped
when Christmas shopping’s not mapped
and you find yourself strapped,
your face soon to be slapped.

Next year make a list
of gifts not to be missed,
to ensure Christmas bliss
and a face that is kissed.

Goodwill To Men - Give Us Your Money by Pam Ayres

It was Christmas Eve on a Friday
The shops was full of cheer,
With tinsel in the windows,
And presents twice as dear.
A thousand Father Christmases,
Sat in their little huts,
And folk was buying crackers
And folk was buying nuts.
All up and down the country,
Before the light was snuffed,
Turkeys they get murdered,
And cockerels they got stuffed,
Christmas cakes got marzipanned,
And puddin's they got steamed
Mothers they got desperate
And tired kiddies screamed.
Hundredweight's of Christmas cards,
Went flying through the post,
With first class postage stamps on those,
You had to flatter most.
Within a million kitchens,
Mince pies was being made,
On everyone's radio,
"White Christmas", it was played.
Out in the frozen countryside
Men crept round on their own,
Hacking off the holly,
What other folks had grown,
Mistletoe on willow trees,
Was by a man wrenched clear,
So he could kiss his neighbour's wife,
He'd fancied all the year.
And out upon the hillside,
Where the Christmas trees had stood,
All was completely barren,
But for little stumps of wood,
The little trees that flourished
All the year were there no more,
But in a million houses,
Dropped their needles on the floor.
And out of every cranny, cupboard,
Hiding place and nook,
Little bikes and kiddies' trikes,
Were secretively took,
Yards of wrapping paper,
Was rustled round about,
And bikes were wheeled to bedrooms,
With the pedals sticking out.
Rolled up in Christmas paper
The Action Men were tensed,
All ready for the morning,
When their fighting life commenced,
With tommy guns and daggers,
All clustered round about,
"Peace on Earth - Goodwill to Men"
The figures seemed to shout.
The church was standing empty,
The pub was standing packed,
There came a yell, "Noel, Noel!"
And glasses they got cracked.
From up above the fireplace,
Christmas cards began to fall,
And trodden on the floor, said:
"Merry Christmas, to you all."

A Politically Correct Christmas Poem

T'was the night before Christmas and Santa's a wreck...
How to live in a world that's politically correct?
His workers no longer would answer to "Elves".
"Vertically Challenged" they were calling themselves.
And labour conditions at the North Pole
were alleged by the union to stifle the soul.
Four reindeer had vanished, without much propriety,
Released to the wilds by the Humane Society.
And equal employment had made it quite clear
That Santa had better not use just reindeer.
So Dancer and Donner, Comet and Cupid
Were replaced with 4 pigs, and you know that looked stupid!
The runners had been removed from his sleigh;
The ruts were termed dangerous by the E.P.A.
And people had started to call for the cops
When they heard sled noises on their rooftops.
Second-hand smoke from his pipe had his workers quite frightened.
His fur trimmed red suit was called "Unenlightened."
And to show you the strangeness of life's ebbs and flows,
Rudolf was suing over unauthorised use of his nose
And had gone on Geraldo, in front of the nation,
Demanding millions in over-due compensation.
So, half of the reindeer were gone; and his wife,
Who suddenly said she'd enough of this life,
Joined a self-help group, packed, and left in a whiz,
Demanding from now on her title was Ms.
And as for the gifts, why, he'd never had a notion
That making a choice could cause so much commotion.
Nothing of leather, nothing of fur,
Which meant nothing for him. And nothing for her.
Nothing that might be construed to pollute.
Nothing to aim, Nothing to shoot.
Nothing that clamoured or made lots of noise.
Nothing for just girls, or just for the boys.
Nothing that claimed to be gender specific.
Nothing that's warlike or non-pacifistic.
No candy or sweets...they were bad for the tooth.
Nothing that seemed to embellish a truth.
And fairy tales, while not yet forbidden,
Were like Ken and Barbie, better off hidden.
For they raised the hackles of those psychological
Who claimed the only good gift was one ecological.
No baseball, no football...someone could get hurt;
Besides, playing sports exposed kids to dirt.
Dolls were said to be sexist, and should be passe;
And Nintendo would rot your entire brain away.
So Santa just stood there, dishevelled, perplexed;
He just could not figure out what to do next.
He tried to be merry, tried to be gay,
But you've got to be careful with that word today.
His sack was quite empty, limp to the ground;
Nothing fully acceptable was to be found.
Something special was needed, a gift that he might
Give to all without angering the left or the right.
A gift that would satisfy, with no indecision,
Each group of people, every religion;
Every ethnicity, every hue,
Everyone, everywhere...even you.
So here is that gift, it's price beyond worth...
May you and your loved ones, enjoy peace on Earth.

Santa Claus is tapping Your phone!

You'd better watch out,
You'd better not cry,
You'd better not pout;
I'm telling you why.
Santa Claus is tapping
Your phone.

He's bugging your room,
He's reading your mail,
He's keeping a file
And running a tail.
Santa Claus is tapping
Your phone.

He hears you in the bedroom,
Surveys you out of doors,
And if that doesn't get the goods,
Then he'll use provocateurs.

So, you mustn't assume
That you are secure.
On Christmas Eve
He'll kick in your door.
Santa Claus is tapping
Your phone!

Ho! Ho! Ho! And Jingle Bells

Ho! Ho! Ho! and Jingle Bells,
What's all the fuss about?
The rich food and the drinkies,
Only inflame my bloody gout.

My credit card has almost melted,
From persistent overuse,
And my liver is near failure,
From pre-Christmas Party abuse.

My blood sugars are elevated,
And my blood pressure is sky high,
I was feeling really well before lunch,
But now I think I'm going to die!

Nobody liked the presents that I bought,
And the family is at war,
So much for Christmas Spirit,
And that's all I asked Santa for,

Now no-one is talking to me,
While I lie here exiled in the Sun,
With my belt unbuckled and my gut exposed,
Thanking God that this Christmas is done.

Christmas!

I've been getting ready for Christmas
I'm revving up for the great day
my credit card's cracked and my freezer is packed
'cause I started my shopping in May

The mistletoe's hanging in bunches
'cause the odd Christmas kiss isn't wrong
and the Vicar I've found - quite likes calling round
and exploring my crowns with his tongue

The bin men have gotten quite friendly
they're after a present I fear
they won't feel so chuffed when I tell them - get stuffed
'cause they don't speak the rest of the year

The family is coming for dinner
last year it was quite a good laugh
we ate fairly late - dished the veg on the plate
found the turkey was still in the bath

the Kids are all pink with excitement
'cause Santa will come so they say
their lists are extensive - extremely expensive
and they'll break it all by Boxing day

But it's worth all that fuss Christmas morning
when their little eyes are all aglow
when we're all feeling merry full of goodwill and sherry
and suffering from wind Ho Ho Ho

But please don't forget why we do it
why each year we must go to this fuss
for that guy up above who brought peace and brought love
and who probably owns Toys R Us

A Letter to Rudolph

Dear Husband, It is time that I must have my say,
I've taken your shit day after day.
I've kept the home peaceful year after year
Now there is going to be changes, so listen my dear.

So you're famous, everyone knows your name,
And you're a specialist by gum, in the transport game,
You think you're so grand with your important job.
But I'm telling you my dear you're a worn out old yob

363 days a year,
You sit on your arse drinking scotch, rum and beer,
You claim it is to keep up the shine on your nose
So Santa can see where he blooming well goes.

One night a year is all that you work,
You and your eight reisty mates - they're all jerks.
Dasher and Dancer - Speed freaks I say,
The sleigh wouldn't go that quick any other way.
Prancer and Vixen - Just cheap little tarts,
But they look like angels once Comet starts.

Cupids on some freaked out damned power trip,
And Donner...well, she should just get a damned grip
And Blitzen, I almost don't need to say,
Is here getting blitzed with you every day.

All of these years at the front of the sled,
Has gone, I'm afraid, to your crusty old head.
You're a layabout and a drunkard, with a big shiny nose,
And a weakness for elves in black pantyhose.

I'm telling you husband that one Christmas song,
Has made you think that you can do no wrong.
So this year while your out with old Santa's sled,
I am eloping, my dear, with your friend - Mr. Ed

THE TWELVE DAYS AFTER CHRISTMAS

 

The first day after Christmas

My true love and I had a fight

And so I chopped the pear tree down

And burnt it, just for spite

Then with a single cartridge

I shot that blasted partridge

My love gave to me.

The second day after Christmas

I pulled on the old rubber gloves

And very gently wrung the necks

Of both the turtle doves

My love gave to me.

On the third day after Christmas

My mother caught the croup

I had to use the three French hens

To make some chicken soup

The four calling birds were a big mistake

For their language was obscene

The five golden rings were completely fake

and turned my fingers green.

The sixth day after Christmas

The six laying geese wouldn't lay

So I sent the whole darn gaggle to the

R.S.P.C.A.

On the seventh day, what a mess I found

The seven swans-a-swimming all had drowned

My love gave to me.

The eighth day after Christmas

Before they could suspect

I bundled up the

Eight maids-a-milking

Nine ladies dancing

Ten lords-a-leaping

Eleven pipers piping

Twelve drummers drumming - well, actually I kept one of the drummers -

And sent them back collect

I wrote my true love

"We are through, love!"

And I said in so many words

"Furthermore your Christmas gifts were for the Birds!"

Four calling birds,

Three french hens,

Two turtle doves

And a partridge in a pear tree!"

Joyce Grenfell, The Nativity

Hello, Mrs Binton. I'm so glad you could get along to see a rehearsal of our Nativity Play! Can you squeeze in there? I'm afraid our chairs are a wee bitty wee, as they say north of the border!
Now then, children. We are going to start our rehearsal. Where are my Mary and Joseph?
That's right, Shirleen, take Denis by the hand and come and sit nice and quietly on this bench in the middle.
Don't drag him. He'll come if you leave him alone!
Don't hit each other, Mary and Joseph were friends
Now, who are my Wise Men?
You're a Wise Man, aren't you, Geoffrey?
Oh, aren't you? What are you then?
Oh, you're a cattle, are you? And you are going to low. Splendid! Go over to Miss Boulting, will you, please?
Miss Boulting... You are organising the animals and the angets? He is one of yours.
Now, my Wise Men here, please!
Billy, Peter and George.
And George, Wise Men never do that...
Now my Kings, please.
Of course, Mrs Binton, we know that by tradition the Wise Men and the Kings are one and the same, but we did want everyone in our Nursery School Nativity Play to have a chance, so we have taken a few liberties, and I don't think any one will mind,
Now Kings: Sidney, Neville, Cliff and Nikolas Anoniodes.
Four Kings, I'm afraid. We happen to have four lovely crowns, so it seemed a pity not to use them.
Sidney, put your crown on straight please, not over one eye. What have you got under your jersey?
That's not the place for a hamster, is it. Put him straight back in his little pen, please.
Sidney, which one have you got, Paddington or Harold Wilson?
Well, who's got Paddington?
Neville, put him back at once.
Poor Paddington and Harold Wilson, it isn't very Christmassy for them under your jersey.
Sidney, I think it serves you right if Harold Wilson bit you, and don't bite him back.
Because he's smaller than you are. Are you bleeding?
Then don't make such a fuss.
Cliff, put your crown on, please.
It's too big? Let's see. Ah, yes it is
Where are you! Oh, there you are! Nice to see you again! Change with Nikolas.
Nikolas, you can manage a big crown, can't you? You've got just the ears for it.
I think if you pull your ears down a bit that will hold it up. And lean back a bit. That's it.
Stay like that, dear. Don't move.
Wise Men and Kings, don't muddle yourselves with each other.
Now then, Shepherds.
Jimmy, you are my First Shepherd and not a racing car.
Yes, Caroline, you're a shepherd.
No, dear you can't wear your Little Bo-Peep costume because there aren't any little girl shepherdesses in our play. They're all boy shepherds, and you are a girl being a boy shepherd.
Yes, it is rotten. But we just have to settle for it. I think if you are very good perhaps you can wear a lovely grey beard; wouldn't that be fun?
George, what do Wise Men never do?
Yes...
Jimmy, do you remember what you see up in the sky? Something lovely, isn't it?
No, not a baby. Try again.
It's a lovely silver star, and you are going to put your hand up and point to it. And what are you going to say when you do that?
No, Sidney, he isn't going to say, 'Please may I go to the bathroom?'
Children, that isn't funny; it's a perfectly natural function, and we might as well get used to it.
Come on, Jimmy. You are going to say, 'Behold!' aren't you?
Yes, you are, dear. You said it yesterday.
You'd rather say it tomorrow?
Perhaps you are right.
We have broken the back of the play, so you may as well get ready to go home. Hand in your crowns gently, please. No Sidney, you can't wear your crown home on the bus.
I think - I HOPE it will be all right on the night. But you know, Mrs Binton, I think perhaps next year we might make do with a Christmas carol.

THE TWELVE THANK YOU NOTES OF CHRISTMAS

Dec 25

My dearest darling Edward,

What a wonderful surprise has just greeted me! That

sweet partridge, in that lovely little pear-tree; what

an enchanting, romantic, poetic present! Bless you, and

thank you.

Your deeply loving

Emily.

Dec 26

Beloved Edward,

The two turtle-doves arrived this morning, and are cooing

away in the pear-tree as I write. I'm so touched and grateful!

With undying love, as always,

Emily.

Dec 27

My darling Edward,

You do think of the most original presents! Who ever

thought of sending anybody three French hens? Do they

really come all the way from France? It's a pity we have

no chicken coops, but I expect we'll find some. Anyway,

thank you so much; they're lovely.

Your devoted Emily.

Dec 28

Dearest Edward,

What a surprise! Four calling birds arrived this morning.

They are very sweet, even if they do call rather loudly -

they make telephoning almost impossible - but I expect they'll

calm down when they get used to their new home. Anyway, I'm

very grateful, of course I am.

Love from Emily.

Dec 29

Dearest Edward,

The mailman has just delivered five most beautiful gold

rings, one for each finger, and all fitting perfectly!

A really lovely present! Lovelier, in a way, than birds,

which do take rather a lot of looking after. The four that

arrived yesterday are still making a terrible row, and I'm

afraid none of us got much sleep last night. Mother says

she wants to use the rings to "wring" their necks. Mother

has such a sense of humour. This time she's only joking,

I think, but I do know what she means. Still, I love the rings.

Bless you,

Emily.

Dec 30

Dear Edward,

Whatever I expected to find when I opened the front door

this morning, it certainly wasn't six socking great geese

laying eggs all over the porch. Frankly, I rather hoped

that you had stopped sending me birds. We have no room

for them, and they've already ruined the croquet lawn.

I know you meant well, but let's call a halt, shall we?

Love,

Emily.

Dec 31

Edward,

I thought I said NO MORE BIRDS. This morning I woke

up to find no more than seven swans, all trying to get

into our tiny goldfish pond. I'd rather not think what's

happened to the goldfish. The whole house seems to be

full of birds, to say nothing of what they leave behind

them, so please, please, stop!

Your Emily.

Jan 1

Frankly, I prefer the birds. What am I to do with eight?

milkmaids? And their cows! Is this some kind of a joke?

If so, I'm afraid I don't find it very amusing.

Emily.

Jan 2

Look here, Edward,

This has gone far enough. You say you're sending me

nine ladies dancing. All I can say is, judging from the

way they dance, they're certainly not ladies. The village

just isn't accustomed to seeing a regiment of shameless

viragos, with nothing on but their lipstick, cavorting

round the green, and it's Mother and I who get the blame.

If you value our friendship, which I do (less and less),

kindly stop this ridiculous behaviour at once!

Emily.

Jan 3

As I write this letter, ten disgusting old men are

prancing up and down all over what used to be the garden,

before the geese and the swans and the cows got at it.

And several of them, I have just noticed, are taking

inexcusable liberties with the milkmaids. Meanwhile the

neighbours are trying to have us evicted. I shall never

speak to you again.

Emily.

Jan 4

This is the last straw! You know I detest bagpipes!

The place has now become something between a menagerie

and a madhouse, and a man from the council has just

declared it unfit for habitation. At least Mother has

been spared this last outrage; they took her away yesterday

afternoon in an ambulance.

00 I hope you're satisfied.

Jan 5

Sir,

Our client, Miss Emily Wilbraham, instructs me to

inform you that with the arrival on her premises at 7:30

this morning of the entire percussion section of the

Boston Symphony Orchestra, and several of their friends,

she has no course left open to her but to seek an injunction

to prevent you importuning her further. I am making

arrangements for the return of much assorted livestock.

I am, Sir, yours faithfully,

G. Creep

Attorney at law.