Our grandson was visiting, so first thing we did Was ensure the safety of the well-travelled kid.
I gladly drove down to Wee Baby Bunting To see to our beautiful boy's baby seat fitting, But the fitting would become a little... confronting, We stood for a lot before he was comfortably sitting.
(Their ads had said 'Baby, hire from the best,' Well, I'd suggest we put that claim to the test.)
We strolled through the door of the big baby store, Baby paraphernalia was packed 'n' stacked everywhere, Baby monitors and mobiles, strollers and nappies galore* But the back cupboard where the car seats sat looked bare.
Perhaps I'd not taken account of the Christmas demand? Nah, surely a car seat hire company had it all in/on hand?
So we stepped up to the desk to test this theory, There young Kloe met us with a professional smile, She waved over younger Zoe to help with our query While her flying fingers flew through the booking file.
My fair wife had reserved this seat back in June... Flipping back from December Kloe must find it soon?
We know some seats have the child foreward looking, Others choose to have the precious one looking behind, But these two couldn't make heads nor tails of any booking, Their whispered back and forths not easing my troubled mind.
My trust and faith in Wee Baby was sinking, Had Kloe and Zoe done no forward thinking?
Finally our dynamic duo admitted defeat... Our pre-booked seat had already been hired... My wife held my arm before I stamped my tiny feet, Cool calm and collected ain't how this guy's hot-wired.
They had one last seat, if we were willing to switch? Asking us to accommodate them seemed a bit rich.
There wasn't a face-the-front seat left in the joint So all plans to face him frontally proved redundant, Our boy not facing the boot now became a moot point:** If not falling down on the job these two were recumbent.
Now, Kloe, Zoe, I've this customer review to fill in, Guess you already know it'll make your heads spin?
*For our American friends 'nappies' are 'diapers.' **Again for any Americans our 'boot,' your 'trunk.'
Zoe and Kloe, two careers that could all end in tears.
'Don't hate me 'cause I'm beautiful, I'm just a little lazy, Don't hate me 'cause I'm beautiful I'm just as God has made me.' The Northern Pikes 'Don't Hate Me.'
I've just spent a full month with my Scottish grandson, Boy, from the moment they landed I've been on the run, Man, it's been day after day of full-on 15 hours a day fun; By the time he'd jetted home I was packing up, if not done.
I've played endless running games of hide and seek; He's a proper Sherlock Holmes for such a pip squeak, Or he learned precociously young when to sneak a peek, Either way this not-so-wily grandad was on a losing streak.
I supervised him at spray play in his wee paddling pool, But this was no quiet blue oasis, peaceful and cool, Here a handful of plastic Jurassic Park dinosaurs rule, Here his T.Rex ensured life could be short-lived and cruel.
(In charge of the jungle was our bonny wee man, More a pale joke of a Caucasian kid than a Tarzan, Or so he appeared when our sunny Safari first began; But by its end he was the possessor of a deep overall tan.)
...Some slow dim-witted Plesiosaur, daft and rash Soon found a hungry T.Rex quickly settling its hash, After that Plesiosaur had done its last thrashing dash Our instigator of raw naked savagery was gone- in a flash.
And suddenly the chase, the game was afoot once more, He played the nimble prey, I the chasing footsore dinosaur, As the sunbeamy holiday drew on my terrifying T.Rexian roar Trailed off to breathless concerns 'bout the next breath I'd draw.
God knows how his parents can keep up with him, My fat chances of catching up to him? Zero to slim, He gave me a better workout than any old Gold's gym, In a month I'd gone from grandpappy fat to all butt trim.
My ropy ol' legs? Still hamstrung, with pangs of regret, Am I still completely shattered, well knackered? You bet! But did the kids boundless energy levels run down? No sweat! I kid you not, your old fart of a grandad's still deep in oxygen debt.
By nightfall, and the kid ready to head to bed with his teddy I was fair gaspin' to return to my old ways, slow and steady; So why, as he flies safe back home, am I left high and heady? Why, you know, I miss being run ragged by that rascal already!
‘A direct hit, arrowing straight to the heart of the Grampasaurus.’
(We all had a month of fabulous fun, great to see all the family back in their homeland. Well, no, the land the wee cute curly haired kids parents were born and raised in. Scotland is now their home, and though it is sad for us to see them go back we know it's the right place for them to live and thrive in.)
'But I would walk five hundred miles And I would walk five hundred more Just to be the man who walked a thousand Miles to fall down at your door.' The Proclaimers, 'I'm Gonna Be.'
I really tried to see in New Years day But the thirsty first night got in the way.
I woke up this fine bright new day of 2025 Painfully aware of being awake alive, I'd quite merrily seen out the last of 2024; This morn feeling the full effects of the night before.
Last night I rowdily brought all my good cheer out, But this morn I feel that was nothing to shout about.
I fervently hope when I rise to toast in 2026 I will have learned gin, rum and Champers don't mix, I want to see in one new year, not hear of it anecdotally, Maybe next year I'll simply see in the year teetotally?
'Ummmm, I forget what the day is.'
'Stay in bed, stained sheets, My head hurts, I repeat.' The Motels, 'Total Control.'
(Just another very quick one- Happy new year folks. Any comments- sorry I'll get to them when I get a millisecond of free time!)
Santa is off and away on his sleigh Delivering toys in his fly-by-night way, While all you good children restively sleep Santa has a 'you're kidding' timetable to keep.
Tonight Santa is one fast unravelling chap.
Santa's crazy schedule leaves no time for delay, Kids can extend a welcome but he can't overstay, If some nosey cheeky child chose to cheatingly peep They may just see a flash of a jolly fat chimney sweep.
Let's hope some twisted flue don't do him a mishap.
So, Santa is always glad to see Christmas Day, Then he and the deer team can finally hit the hay, Afore leaving Santa and his haul-ass crew to sleep deep Kids, lets all get behind Santa's team and say 'thanks a heap.'
Unless they left behind a cheap pile of crap.
‘NO returns on any free gifts, wanted or otherwise.’
'Christmas bells those Christmas bells Ring out from the land Asking peace of all the world And goodwill to man.' Royal Guardsman, 'Snoopy's Christmas.'
(Just a quick post- I'm busy and flustered as all hell, jumping maniacally from job to job like an amped up Santa Claus on his big night. All/any comments will be attended to when there's time, sorry!)
A Day In The Range Rover. (In tune with, if not the sentiment of 'Away In A Manger.')
Away in the Range Rover, A long haul to the family homestead, Unless its fine Premier League motor seizes, A thought that weighs o'er my head.
The Sat/Nav's gone slightly awry, It hath led us far astray, We're ascending towards the Rockies? We've gone the long wrong way.
So where are we going Thanks to this piece of Brit's mistakes? The hot 'n' humid Florida Keys? The frigid ice-floed Great Lakes?
Blowing oil, way out in the Willies I look pleadingly up to the sky, Why did I buy England's pride? I'm a dumb-as Anglophile is why.
So much for Salesman's guarantees; We're broke down, on Christmas Day, Seems we'll be stuck 'ere forever, So to ya'll in Solihull I've this to say...*
Bless all ye in Olde England Who hand crafted this mechanical nightmare- Tommy, Dickey, Barry, Bevan, Kevin, Evan- Choke on your figgy pudding for all I care.
*Solihull, a quaint English town where the happy ars- artisans work long and lovingly at fettling the finest of honest-to-goodness automotive designs. Contrarily Range Rogue Rover lurks near the bottom of the reliability charts, year after year. Consistency, of a sort.
'So- the cost of repairs on the Rover comes to three kings ransoms, two turtle doves, a partridge in a pear tree- and all our gold, frankincense and myrrh?'
(And another, because it jolly well is the season to be kicking carols.)
Through the tavern doors I go, To the barkeep merrily I say, ''Tis Christmas, I'll go with the flow,' He shows me his spirits, in vast array, Hark, how my dry mouth sings As on Bell's my thirsty eyes alight, Ah, what joy that golden liquid brings, I'll be a'plying myself tonight.
(Chorus) A single Bell's, some schnapps as well, Christmas spirits, come my way, And oh what fun it is to imbibe, On the sauce till Christmas day; That single Bell's, that schnapps may well Double along the way, Oh what fun it is to get pie-eyed In this one-horse town this day.
A dozen or so drinks ago I swore I'd try to stem the tide, But I can't stand by and sit tight, The barkeep has a service to provide, And as I drank my sober outlook sank, I took my troubles hard, shot after shot Though the next text I'll get from my bank Will say 'this Xmas you've sunk the lot.'
(Chorus) Triple Bell's means no seasonal dry spell- A Christmas hangover heads my way- Pain only a hardened drinker can describe, But there's a way to slow and delay The dire consequences of those Bell's- Sleep the full Christmas Day away- Considering the tots of rum I've put inside I'll be comatose through to Boxing Day.
'Ding dong merrily on high.'
(I've tried to keep some sense of order to the written lyrics but the artistes/musical producers tend to hack, cut and paste away at the number of choruses and placement of verses. Ah well, musically I guess shifts happen.)
Our dark house has a contemplative room where one can sit and bide: Only nearing the Summer solstice doth the sun warm its back side.
Now I am but a simple man, not a blessed religious one, But I can see why Ancients believed in a God of the sun.
I stepped into the sunny room only to be bedazzled by the light, My face soaked in the summer suns golden glow, if not its sight.
Even this cold old rational heart factually soared, Rest assured, were there a Lord I'd heartily applaud.
If one believes in a God above one might take this as His blessing, If not, one can say it's a minor miracle of natural window dressing.
'Lighten up, don't overstrain the brain.'
(Inspired by one of those pure sweet joyous heart-warming moments when it makes us just glad to be alive. Also, I'm in the Southern hemisphere so it's sun burn not frost bite we suffer from at Christmas.)
'I'm walking on sunshine, wooah! I'm walking on Sunshine, wooah! And don't it feel good!' Katrina And The Waves- Yes, that damned song again, 'Walking On Sunshine.'
I drove happily to the mall- I drove 'round a the lot, My sunny mood cooling 'till I spied a faraway slot, Was the car park full due to a late Black Friday sale? And as I approached the Malls doors I began to quail.
'Tis that dread seasonal sound we're all bound to hear- Andy warbling 'It's the most wonderful time of the year.'
It swept all over me as I swept through the door, The tinsel, the clamour, the full-on Christmas decor, From the speakers on high came songs of goodwill- Seems just last month I paid off last Christmas's bill.
And as Andy Williams handed the mic over to Wham! I know my poor wallet was due its annual body slam.
As I traipsed along the Warehouse's hallowed halls, My eyes drawn to the decorations hung 'o'er the walls, Everywhere we look I see streamers and stars on high And flashing lights subliminally saying 'buy! buy! buy!'
I closed my eyes and ears to ward off Whams! blow Only to find it followed by Bieber's woeful 'Mistletoe.'
The drab Warehouse had been transformed overnight; The ceilings spotlights now bathed a soft golden light On a fifty foot Styrofoam Santa with an expensive expansive smile Signifying one month of financial woe for every gentile.
A month of spending up large and running my finances down, Ho ho how the Warehouse love 'Santa Clause Coming To Town.'
Christmas chocolates weighed down the groaning shelves, The night shelf stackers- or elves- had excelled themselves, Rows of Christmas cards, ribbons, bows, baubles, wrappings, By the time you head for the tills you'll have all the trappings.
Approaching the cashier it dawned on me what folly I'd done- I lost my trolley and ran, accompanied by 'Run, Rudolph, Run.'
I sprinted through the entrapping doors, slid to a halt outside, I must hold fast to my yuletide budget- the Lord won't provide, It's all jolly well to talk of gifts piled 'neath the Christmas tree But in this secular mean-spirited world nothing comes for free.
I must restrain my spending in these times of user pays Or else my checks won't balance for a month of Sundays.
Oh, but these Christmas offerings are so hard to resist! No, with funds too tight for trivialities I'll stick to my list, I shudder to think of the heavy debt that must be borne, Then, on hearing Johnny Mathis's 'When A child is born.'
I enter the supermarket knowing hard choices must be made, I can't count on my Christmas Club account to come to my aid.
Musing and mulling over the Christmas Shortbread range At the Fresh Choice Market made a nice- and quiet- change. 'Tis nice to shop without accompaniment of carol and song, But if I thought silence was golden- and long- I was wrong.
There came a slight click as an upstairs button was depressed And the sound of blessed silence was publicly blasted addressed.
So again the endless loop of merry muzak was back on track Without store Management hearing this customers feedback, My critical response gauge rocketed from 'Anger' to 'Danger!' When my tender ears were assaulted by 'Away In A Manger.'
Call it sacrilege on my part but that is a Godawful tune, And if sung by Pat Boone- may the Rapture come soon?
As Pat's voice faded what momentary pleasure silence brings Until my ear gets bent by George Strait's 'We Three Kings,' Lord spare me from rehearing 'Once In Royal David's City.' Once was enough, twice two much, thrice- more's the pity.
And if I hear 'Snoopy's Christmas' on the air one more time Snoopy will find his baubles up where the bells don't chime.
From Fresh Choice I made my way to the butchers shop, Rang the bell, called 'Service please, now! Chop chop!' Butch emerged, red faced, full of visceral Christmas cheer Humming a chorus of 'Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer.'
I was humming along too as I stepped out in the street, Sage and Venison sausages make a fine Christmas treat.
On to the bakery to put our Christmas request in Only to find Pa and Ma Baker already dressed in Red green and white aprons and holly sprigged caps- If not reeking of bad taste this seemed a terrible lapse.
But how jolly and merry the sweet ol' couple looked- Would a month of 18 hour shifts leave 'em well cooked?
Then on to Big Barrel to get some festive hooch in, Stepped inside to be greeted, much to my chagrin By a white whiskered liquorman who waved me inside To the sound of Dean Martin's 'Baby, It's Cold Outside.'
But their range of good cheer's been well picked through, I can't give 'em my customary green, nor gold star review.
All too soon we'll be ass deep in fake snow and December, Then Gawd help this long lost and lapsed church member, I know that from now until the festive carol season plays out My life will be plagued by live church carolers, without doubt.
Is there no safe haven where a poor heathen can spend Christmas without listening to jangling bells without end?
'God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen' 'It Came Upon A Midnight Clear,' I'd rather wassail than have those Heavenly songs assail my ear, Sadly I find 'A Christmas Song' by Houston highly problematical And Bublé's entire Christmas album deserves a long sabbatical.
God spare me Carey's perfectly pitched but clearly phoney tone, All I ask is one Saint Nick-less Christless Christmas carol free zone.
(This is obviously way over the top! I do really enjoy Christmas! We'll have our Christmas with our grandson this year and it will be a real joy, fun times for all. My issue- obviously- is the excessive amounts of money the stores extort extract, and the intrusive religious aspect. I'm just not on the same hymn sheet as some believers, and a lot of those old time Christmas carols hit a bum note with me. But hey, let us simply enjoy the holidays. Merry early Christmas.)
'Tiny tots with their eyes all aglow Will find it hard to sleep tonight. They know that Santa's on his way He's loaded lots of toys and goodies on his sleigh And every mothers child is gonna spy To see if reindeer really know how to fly.' 'The Christmas Song,' by absolutely anyone other than Mariah Carey.
My sweet thought she'd like a water feature, Not one to tinkle outside but to hear here indoors, But not I, being a habitually loath to change creature- My sweet says it's one of my charmingly few flaws.
And 'you do do the best you can.' Faint praise, but that's the kinda guy I am.
So I she we went and bought a mini fountain Which I plumbed up with aplomb and modest skill, If I had been a Tradesman I'd have put a proper account in, But charging an hours labor would cover only half my bill.
After all, I barely qualify as a handyman, Plus who can understand a Chinese diagram?*
My oaths brought a blush to a passing Preacher, My construct seemed to defy all f**king physical laws, This slow learn-as-you-go student had a piss poor teacher, But- finally!- I'd done the job, and with dramatic pause...
Raised up the tiny watering can... With tears of victory my eyes swam...
I held my water... then dripped the precise amount in, The fountain bubbled and burbled like a Highland rill!** My sweetie said shortly 'see, you can make a mountain Out of a simple piddling fifteen minute molehill.'
As the laughing waters melodiously ran I said coldly, furiously, 'well, hot Damn.' ***
* Surely I'm not the only one who's more confused than enlightened by the 'instructions' that are included in the box of tricks, all those trip wires and sliding fingernail shredding battery covers? ** If you thought I was going to give myself an electric shock and wet myself you're only half right. *** I'm overly exaggerating purely for comic effect. Only a few lighthearted words were passed. I'm not one who lets their resentment sit and dumbly fester more than, oh a day. Or two. (Well, sometimes all we want is a quiet weekend!?!?) Seriously, I am just jesting.
‘Tranquil and soothing? Water torture more like.’
'Tick Tock tick, do, do, Time keeps on slippin' slippin' slippin' Into the future.' The Steve Miller Band 'Fly Like An Eagle.'
The vote is in, so let's see, who'd the people pick?
From way down in San Francisco to unhappy Hoboken My fellow good and deeply true Blue folk have awoken To feeling gut-churningly heart-burningly sick.
When I heard the words 'the Right people have spoken' My first cursed words were 'you must be flippin' jokin'!' Is this some cruel late Halloween trick?
I feel for the mothers of the sorry sons who voted the bloke in, And to think of the fracking toxic world we're left to soak in? Hell, that cuts me deep, down to the quick.
This sad to see swing to the Right Left me sorely heartbroken, My eyes tear, having to see a sight more painful than a poke in The eye with a sharp stick.
(This will be my last word- hopefully- on what has come to farce pass. We must all humbly accept our losses, as all fine fair minded folk surely do... Anyway, there's enough ill-will on the two sides of the Great Divide, and I don't wish to see friends and enemies alike become more hardened and less civil. It is sh what it is.)
'More fuc- fun than a barrel of monkeys.'
'Novocaine for the soul You'd better give me something to fill the hole Before I sputter out Before I sputter out.' Eels, 'Novocaine For The Soul.'
I roused myself from my sweet dreaming sleep, Up from my warm cosseting comfy bed I joyfully leapt, For though my listless Palace team sh sits in trouble deep, Though the rocky road up from relegation is looking steep, Our players do give of their best, willing if not adept.
But Fulham's sparkling play left me to fearfully peep Through fingers splayed to see Palace play, poor, inept, After ninety minutes back to my cold bed numbly I creep, To lie unsleeping; I'd counted on lions, see toothless sheep: Another Sunday of lamentations, a litany of 'Jesus wept.'
(For this Palace fan, another chapter another verse; Just when I thought it can't get any teeth-grindingly brain-breakingly mind bendingly inconceivably uncomprehendingly despondently desperately worse badder.)
‘Crystal Palace, a big fat frikkin’ zero, Fulham won, and well deserved two.’
'Emptiness is the place you're in, There's nothing to lose but no more to win, The sun ain't gonna shine anymore, The moon ain't gonna rise in the sky, The tears are always clouding my eyes.' The Walker Brothers, 'The Sun Ain't Gonna Shine Any More.'
Obbverse 