Category Archives: Christmas

Here comes Christmas, so dutifully we gather around the groaning table- and there goes the neighborhood.

Don’s Capital Idea.

Christmas approaches and we look to the sky
For a shining star to follow- but we get a wise guy,
We look for some sign to to celebrate a saviour’s birth
And we see a dolt in Washington arranging hell on earth.

The Prez, with his customary diplomatic grace
Wishes to move his embassy to a happier place;
Today even Solomon would’ve wisely stuck in Tel Aviv,
In Jerusalem Don won’t believe the welcome he’ll receive.

There will be wild celebrations in half of the town
But once the embassy settles in they’ll settle down,
Unless Don has a change of mind or a change of heart
A grand ground-to-air fireworks display is bound to start.

There are a few who look on from the Arab quarter
With long held grievances, whose fuse grows ever shorter,
From the movers and shakers Don gets their eternal thanks,
For those looking out of place, it’s yet more never-ending tanks.


Let’s look at all this tinsel and glad tidings, lords a’leaping and convivial yuletide merriment from a slightly cynical point of view. Hey, It’s all about the giving.

That Flippin’ Old Reindeers Tail.

As Christmas cheer and the shortest day quickly draw near
I sneer at those believers in Santa, presents, and flying reindeer,
In matters of Christmas spirit Scrooge and I are of the same view,
The seasons the reason for cold-hearted merchants to turn the screw.

The notion of presents coming in the night?
You’re either six years old or not quite right.

On Christmas Eve I cast a wintry eye o’er the holiday forecast,
News of zero and below brought on bad memories of Christmas past,
As I espied the first falling snowflale I was filled not with joy but sorrow
And the certain knowledge I’d be up to my a- ankles (or deeper) in it tomorrow.

The sight of the snow a’settling on my window ledge
And my cracked-soled size nines put my teeth on edge.

‘Twas midnight when I woke to something clattering on my roof,
Something was afoot, but I couldn’t believe it was something ahoof,
Right up till I stepped out onto the roof my doubts about Kris persisted,
But one look at my shattered shingles confirmed Dasher and Co. existed.

I stood, cursing the Christ…mas out of the falling snow,
Did I hear, up there,a tinkle, a mischievous Yo ho ho?

He had good reason to fly, without goodbye or by-your-leave,
So though I hadn’t actually SEEN him, you bet your ass I believe,
It takes fresh tangible evidence for this sceptic to change his mind,
Sadly Santa- or at least the reindeer- had left heaps of presents behind.

Now ’tis not the chill of icy snow I dread,
It’s that warm sinking feeling wherever I tread.

Digging up the dregs.

Time off at Christmas, enjoying a little TV, watching some shows I missed first time around, some enjoyable, some dreck. On that note…To those lucky enough to have not seen it ‘Rosemary And Thyme’ is a gentle two ‘lady’ gardeners/sleuths’ TV show. They discover all manner of ghastly goings-on in the garden. All very discreet, no blood and bones in this program.

Turning Over.

I’ve just seen ‘Rosemary And Thyme’ for the first time,
Alas, Felicity is past her first bloom and well past her prime,
Ever since her ‘The Good Life’ days I’ve been a Kendell admirer,
But this pile of manure she’s mired in could not be any direr.

It’s quite the most tedious travesty I’ve seen on my TV set,
But try a little judicious pruning and what might you get?
Imagine that show, tautly trimmed, the plot robust and strong?
But there’s no market for a program slashed to one minute long.

Yes, its all too twee for me, an hour is far to long to devote
To a lot of rot that’s got sod all plot, so I reached for the remote,
Did ITV see fit to turn up another season of ‘Rosemary And Thyme?’
I see no reasonable grounds to ever return to the scene of this crime.

Jingalingalinging… Hand Wringing.

The spirit of Christmas lives on into the New Year, and on. A Christmas cautionary tale.

Jingaling, Hand ringing.

‘Hurry, Christmas is coming, there are gifts to be bought,
Don’t worry, your bank has an answer if money’s short,
Don’t stretch the stitching of your cash filled billfold,
Just take a card- any card- silver, platinum or gold,’

To a simple soul this sounded sage advice,
A few monthly payments seemed a small price,
My smiling solicitous bank manager is one of a kind,
He was happy to accept as my signature the X’s I signed.

In the twinkling of an eye he’d handed me my very own card,
I felt so special, knowing he held me in such high regard,
My frayed wallet now held untold purchasing power,
Impressive for someone paid seven bucks an hour.

My bank manager gave me a word of advice,
‘Having a limit of a thousand bucks sounds very nice
But remember the bank does charge a small handling fee-
A miniscule percentage, to compensate for our generosity.’

As he ushered me out the door he had one last thing to say;
‘Don’t forget your PIN number, bye, and have a nice day.’
How can I remember that when my memory is so poor?
So I wrote my number on my card, just to make sure.

Money worries over, I went out on the town,
Awash in presents, I slapped that plastic down,
What a joy it is hearing the merry chiming of the till,
Til there came a buzzing, then a ‘Declined,’ then the bill.

I reluctantly withdrew from my wallet most of my holiday pay,
‘Twould mean a jolly Christmas but a lean New Years Day,
‘Joy To The World’ those happy carolers continued to sing,
But I never heard a jolly word over the tills hollow ring.

A final few purchases later, arms filled to overflowing,
My last nickel gone, my Christmas cheer rapidly going,
With parcels, spirits and finances in danger of falling
I was SO over those carolers and their caterwauling.

From the warmth of the Mall, out the sliding doors
The sudden freezing feeling gave me cause to pause,
I can’t help but think of those folk less well off than me
Till I remember -now- I’M more than deserving of charity.

A loitering soliciting Santa caught my reluctant eye
As I tried to slip and slide my way silently by,
He’s a’rattling and a’swinging his bucket,
I’d so hoped I’d be able to duck it.

He looked at me hard, he thought it mighty strange
Someone as flush as I couldn’t spare chump change,
He gazed at my sorry face, then at my bulging pockets-
They held nary a penny, only Target and JC Penney dockets.

Now another Christmas season has left an indelible mark,
Those bright pretty lights are gone and ’tis cold and dark,
The wind chills me to the bone, outside’s blowin’ a gale
As in the guttering candle light I read this day’s mail.

My bank sent me a card AND letter in a gold envelope,
They wish me a happy New Year and the earnest hope
That I receive this communication, and once I’ve read it
Next month they expect to see my account’s back in credit.

It seems there’s a limit to how far Savings and Loans go;
In my credit card statement it’s at least one less zero,
It’s the easy life for the lucky gent with a credit card-
It’s paying back twenty frikken’ percent that’s hard.

I might not be too sharp, I might be downright dumb
But I can count the cost, and the time has surely come,
I’m truly sorry Mom, forgive your less than perfect son-
The card awaits, I’ve scissors in hand, and I HAVE to run.

Jingalingaling, Ka-ching!

As once again Christmas draws near
I’m feeling nausea, not good cheer,
For eleven months I’ve slaved away
To pay for last years happy holiday.

I’ve had no luck with Lotto draws
So I’ll take a long shot on Santa Claus,
My kiddies belief in him is unshaken,
It’s me that the old codgers forsaken.

Santa, please add me to your list,
Lately I’ve been the one you’ve missed,
This good ol’ boy ain’t been bad, so what is it?
Why won’t you favour me with a flying visit?

And I do need you Santa, believe you me,
Help me through the annual spending spree,
Leave some goodwill when you’re at my place,
Something crisp and green, in an attache case.

You well know, Santa, the year we’ve had;
The kids have been good, the economy bad,
I asked the Boss for a bonus, but he resisted,
Hopefully Father Christmas ain’t as tight-fisted.

… On Christmas day my kids eyes shine,
And, as a matter of fact, so do mine,
‘Cause in our house Santa ain’t set foot,
Not one lousy present, no trace of soot.

The only gifts were the ones I’d bought,
And they saw me coming and sold us short,
My lips all a’tremble and my cheeks are wet,
‘Cause a no-show Santas left me deep in… debt.

Seven Rules For Seeing In-Store Santa.

Christmas is not here, but near… Christmas carols, yo ho ho, all that happy stuff. What about the harsh grim reality for the poor old sod who does nothing all year
then double shifts all through December?

Seven Rules For Seeing In-Store Santa.

Number Seven.
Little ones, Santa would like to thank
You for not giving Santa’s beard a yank,
Should some tugger of a kid do it will reveal
That Santa really swears… that his beard is real.

Number Six.
Children, contain yourselves, we know why you’re here,
To present your request into Santa’s shell-like ear,
Children, QUIETLY tell Santa what you wish to get,
Santa hears you very well, he isn’t deaf- yet.

Number Five.
Well mannered little masters or madams
Are welcome- if weighing under 40 kilograms,
A graceless leap into his lap leaves him white-faced,
Santa gets a bit grumpy since that hip’s been replaced.

Number Four.
Fathers, Santa would love to see your tiny tot,
But a tantrum throwing kid- he does not,
Santa gives all spoilt brats short shrift;
A kick in the backside his parting gift.

Number Three.
Mothers, he has a few old fashioned quibbles,
Another is no cuddle if your wee darling dribbles,
So, good parents, keep tissues and wet-wipes about you,
Surely Santa has no need to explain numbers One and Two?