“I see he’s still going round with that *******!”
"Who’s that?"... "Santa Claus!"…
We laughed - My dad was such a wag!
In my thoughts every Christmas Eve …
after creeping unseen he’d wake us at 6am
shouting “He’s been, he’s been!” And he had!

Even when we were older and
the ‘cat was out of the bag’
Christmas never lost its lustre for my dad,
even at eighty five.
He’d start his shopping in Summer
by mail order… and make sure
each year was just the same…
Keeping the spirit alive.

Terminally ill…he even wrote to Micki,
my wife, and asked her in a note…
“As I won’t be here next year
here’s a box of stuff”… he wrote…
“Dish this lot out to the family with all my love
… and tell them to look up,
I’ll be smiling down from up above!
Lots of love!”

When you’ve swept
the last frozen pea from your freezer…
and you’ve made the last batch of tallow candles
from the beef dripping of your last big meal…
and the already flickering light dims
and finally goes out…
You’ll just be scavenging from dawn
till dusk for sustenance...
And there's not much more about!

You’ll hear stories - word of mouth
‘cos the telly doesn’t work anymore,
of someone seeing the last truck
rolling North out of Dover…
All the diesel’s run out that used to power
the ferries and the trucks.
That last lorry was waylaid by looters…
But it was only carrying toilet rolls anyway!

Boris Johnson’s twitching figure still hangs
from the newly erected gibbet at Tyburn.
There will be a queue…
The next to step up and face their maker
Gove, Patel, Hancock or Raab…
“No, no… after you” being herded…
by refreshed & re-enrolled Hell’s Angels…
like Ravens and Vultures after a plague…

Amazon will be down to just one staffer.
He’s waiting for today’s single order -
from a techie in the Hebrides.
One who has built himself a generator from fuse wire
and washed up plastic waste.
He’ll be after a PS5 that runs on his private solar energy…
He can use it for 10 minutes each day after sundown
order before sunset - be ready - in haste.

I won’t go on… but you get the picture.
And, yet…In spite of life being a
well choreographed ****-show,
living & breathing...
(slowly…because you’ll use up all the Oxygen)
well, it still remains popular!

Happy New Year folks!

Arrested development,
life on hold.
Investment deterioration...
High Street trade goes cold.
Can we have our ball back mister?

Progress halted;
ambitions run dry.
Ineptitude personified
So up goes the cry…
Can we turn the clock back?
Lorry parks overrun,
trucking overspills,
paperwork’s not valid mate,
shortage at the tills.
Unemployment running rife... go on...
Can’t we just have another run at life?

Too many negatives
converging all at once.
Should’ve delayed departure
Covid, Brexit… Extend the talks!
Ineptitude • Handbrake turn before the exit?
No! This is like a yellow box so no!
Do not enter unless your exit’s clear!
Can we have our ball back mister?
Can we turn the clock back?
Can we have another run at life?

Too late goes up the cry… you’re disaffected.
Should’ve been better informed
by the people at the sharp end;
the people at the top…
Ever felt dejected... 1- 2 - 3 - 4...
take it from the top! No!
Can we have our ball back mister?
Can we turn the clock back?
Can we have another run at life?

Sorry say the throng…
we didn’t really mean them
to get it THIS bleeding wrong!

We ain’t sending Christmas cards any more!
We’ve done the list and that’s it!
Oh no!…There’s another one just dropped through the door.
You approach it gingerly like an unexploded bomb
Cautiously wondering “who the eff is it from?”

“Oh no! It’s someone who’s not on the list… the *******!”
Or, an older relative who doesn’t ‘do’ computers....
“We don’t do computers!”...
And so it bounces off them this ‘losers’ two pronged attack.
like getting one in the post and not sending one back!
But we definitely ain’t sending cards any more!

Can’t they just send an e-card, maybe one of those Jacqui whats-her-name jobbies...
with floating fairies, sleigh bell sound effects and ****** labradors too.
Or bang off a picture of Santa on FaceBook, Twitter, SnapChat, Instagram…surely that will do.
Oh no they’ve got to go the whole nine yards.
Even if they buy ****** Poundland Cards
there’s still the cost of a ****** stamp! That’s extortionate too!
No… Sorry… actually not sorry...
We ain’t buying OR sending cards any more!

We’ll donate to charity instead - that’ll be us…
It’ll be cheaper and a lot less fuss.
Sponsor a neglected reindeer, maybe a redundant elf
Or yeh…better still - rescue a pup.
One that WAS just for Christmas then just got chucked.
For me this Christmas mail-out is over - the game's definitely up!
Or really… if all else fails…we’ll just buy next year’s supply
in bulk from the January sales!

...but NOT of the Pantomime kind!

Alan & Gus - unruly cousins of mine…
Bold, naughty boys: brothers in arms!
They would fight, squabble
cause widespread mayhem.
Anything but sublime, rarely calm.

My Auntie Nellie, their mum, she couldn’t cope
their behaviour would often drive her nuts...quite mad.
And Uncle Charlie?  Well, you’d never want to witness
the legendary temper he had...Not nice.
He’d even boxed my ears once or twice.

Anyway, it was December 10th when the boys went out,
He wasn’t in - so they took Charlie’s prized car for a spin…
No licence, no test, no insurance…Nowt!
Well, for 12 & 14 year olds, this was so very, very far out,
…on a limb I mean.

Quiet roads only, of course!…only lanes beyond Preston.
A bit icy like. And Alan overcooked the corner at Lelley
and finished up rolling into the ****…
Proper upside down it were - all four wheels pointing up in the air.
…You can see it was not going quite how they’d like!

So…It was getting dark when the car limped back home,
dents and scratches, all oil, mud and slime - hard to hide…
Charlie saw them drive past t’front room window…
and he met ‘em out in’t yard… Only one word was spoken,
like a maniac he screamed… “INSIDE!”

Punishment back in those days was stern
a leather strap… across bare buttocks
That’s what you’d earn…6 times…
and another if you dared flinch.
Ironically that was the bit they found easiest to bear - a cinch!…

But the bag o’Cinders instead of presents on’t best day o’t year?
That’s what really hurt… Not even chocolate money or an orange!
AND… being made to wash the car every week for 12 months…
Pocket money cancelled… so, not a scrap of good cheer…
And neither one of ‘em drove a car again till their 17th year!

We’ve been married 50 years.
But in fact we are both still around 25!
It’s that good.

We giggle and laugh
and yet neither of us has said anything…
it’s that good.

I read your mind and you read mine…
It’s that good…
It's understood!

At this time of my life
I find myself wearing hats…
I’m not happy with my head you see,
In short, being able to see it
it just doesn’t thrill me.
Not through those depressing, disappearing strands.
So it’s that time - It’s hat time!

Hats are warm, comforting things;
take it off and, for a while at least,
it feels still there - a phantom hat.
Not quite as spooky or worrying
as a phantom arm or leg - after that
severed limb thing, but right there!
It really is that time - It’s hat time!

My Grandma Lamplough,
that’s on my mother’s side,
was an avid knitter of things to order,
She was even a freelancer for Jaeger…
matinée jackets, mittens, cardies, pullovers
But in later days mostly just tea cosies.
If there was no immediate customer in mind…
“Everybody needs a cosy and one size fits all”
she would say… and anyway,
commissions were rare for cosies back in the day

She’d wear it boldly herself
with handle and spout slots front & back, proud
She’d start the next one and announce
to every visitor right out loud…
”Hey…Do you want a cosy for your ***?
Mr Watling, the milkman, he had quite a lot!
But then he showed up every day!
A quart is it Mrs L?… and yes, I WILL have a cosy today!

Me? I’ve never fancied a toupee, wig
or go in for a Bobby Charlton tribute gig ….
I’ll be happy just to settle for a beret,
news boy or Fedora… to hide the offending pate
and avoid the comb over till a later date.
Meanwhile I’ll maybe settle for Grandma’s cosy special?