The Day that we don’t want to arrive and glad when it’s gone.


Nearly Christmas time and we’re full of cheer,
Yeah right, we’re just looking forward to the beer,
The time of year where everything goes to pot,
All our savings and future earnings, the whole damn lot,
We’ve spent all year saving on the electric,
December comes and we light up the whole town,
Million of Chinese light bulbs of every colour,
Tacky, irritating waste of taxpayers money,
male shoppers appear like a once a year ghost,
filling up trolleys to boast who’s got the most,
buying litres of sherry for an old aunt who likes a tipple,
buying ice-cream in winter, discount raspberry ripple,
clueless shoppers in the aisles in a trance,
little boys in a strop wants to pee so dance,
little girls see Barbie wants that tinted tart,
screaming babies sat precariously in a shopping cart,
the tree lets not forgot that plant,
lets conserve the forests but, lets buy a real tree,
the only time of the year that we don’t get arrested,
for constantly playing with our  balls,
the 40 year old fairy has seen better days,
inserted “somehow” smiling on top of the tree,
Santa Claus now dresses in bright bloody red,
It was a marketing scheme gimmick thanks to CC,
Bring back Santa in his monk like suit,
Bring back Xmas from the dregs of commerce,
The big day comes it’s all out war,
The presents are crap that you bought the day before,
You have black eyes and some broken ribs,
From fighting the plebs to get to the till,
Then another riot in the gloomy local pub,
Where you drank so much that you became ill,
So the hangover is on, hello Xmas morning,
Repeats again on TV, everything is spinning.
A dinosaur of a turkey to stuff and to cook,
Whilst the TV blurs out a song of Donald Duck,
10 types of veg, 5 ways to cook the spuds,
Litres of gravy, a container ship for a plate,
A pallet of beer, we’re missing a fork,
Christmas pudding a volcano ready to explode,
Belly close to bursting, we’ll eat turkey for a week,
Sprouts and cabbage a dangerous mix,
Father does a Christmas concert from his armchair,
Oh the queen’s speech, don’t tell me you watch that,
Half the nation is snoring, the other half in the sink,
Mince pies anyone? How about some fruit?
I’ve just ate half of Tesco’s do you think I have room?
This is not a romantic Christmas,
There is no carol singers or snow,
We hide in our debt laden houses,
To scared to venture out,
For there are thieves moving around like vultures,
So many male and female lager louts,
Every family who ventures outside,
Have a high chance of being a victim,
Of a drunk and drugged up boy racer,
So we sit and on TV we see the two Ronnie’s,
Nobody here believes it’s a repeat of a repeat,
Family argues over watching Oz or Star Wars,
The highlight of the day will be Doctor Who,
And the dark rolls in and Christmas is nearly over,
Father is not impressed that his mother knitted him a pullover,
With colours like vomit and the size a bit tight,
Can’t wait to take it off after this Xmas night,
So a sigh of relief , thank fuck that’s over,
We nibble on the leftovers from the feast,
Lancashire cheese crackers and branston pickle,
Tangerines nuts and crisps and figs,
It’s over, can we take the decorations down now?

©D.Hobson December 2013

(also found in the ebook “Just For Christmas”)

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