A holiday to remember, coming north, going forth and getting out of the comfort zone, literally.

Celtic Christmas.

Scotland on the winter solstice-
Does a holiday get better than this?
Far from the furthest flicker of the sun,
The promise of it rising to two degrees by half past one.

Usually, at home, I’d be attired in T-shirt and shorts,
Scarves, gloves and boots far from my thoughts,
These negative mornings ain’t what I’m used to,
Here, the gloom is setting in come half past two.

Aye, but bonny Scotland’s a grand place to see,
Still, best look twixt the hours of nine and three,
For if you’ve not seen your share of sightseeing by four-
Unless you’re wearing night vision goggles you won’t see any more.

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A touch of heather and vapo-rub in the air?

Bleeding Bloody Cold.

I’m a bit under the weather up here in Montrose,
It started with a splash of rain, then every ruddy thing froze,
These Arctic conditions are really getting up my snotty nose,
I’m running round with a proboscis that both sucks and blows.

Sup?

On Christmas Eve we stepped out in anticipation of fine fare
Hot foot to Scallies on a chill still Stockbridge night,
We hied along at a fair old clip, anticipation in the air
With red noses and white faces the inn was a warm and welcome sight.

There we raised our glasses, said our cheers,
It was grand to have our far flung family together,
Who’s to know what’s held in the coming years?
Let’s now enjoy the fruits of the fair weather.

We toasted one, we toasted all,
We were very toasty, I recall,
When good cheer becomes hard to constrain
How easy it becomes to say ‘same again’.

We left latish, wife clinging to my arm, tightly,
Some blurry photos show these magic moments preserved;
Pity the shaky images don’t show Comely Bank Road, weaving slightly-
Proof positive that warm Scotch hospitality has been well served.

Star Lore.

Star lore

A long time ago
In a gathering place
Far far way a young
ragged couple sought…

A babe, a boy, was born in a stable, so they say,
A gift, Heaven sent, by God, delivered down to save the day,
Or was the real miracle the concoction Mary happened to conceive?
If I were Joe I’d find this ‘God’s son’ Virgin mom malarky too much to believe.

Flying on empty.

Sleeping On The Job.

To my myriad (?) of patient readers, I profusely apologise
I’ve been busy flying the nowadays not too friendly skies,
The travel has been overlong and free time has been short,
And amongst the baggage is a case of insomnia I never thought I’d brought.

I’d long hoped those long dark nights were in the past.

So my scattered thoughts are all up in the air,
Countries, Customs, I declare I don’t know if I’m here or there,
Mid the flurry of of passport stamping I prayed to the One above;
‘God speed me through the quickest queue, spare me the rubber glove.’

Once they spared my blushes my relief was unsurpassed.

This last week should prove the most wearying of our travails,
Settled in to our home away from home I aim to share some tales,
But it’s to a timeless sleep-is-fleeting twilight zone I remain consigned,
Arising at dawn, dead tired, in a zombie state of mind.

At breakfast my better half saw me moody and downcast.

Oh, how long I scoffed and how loud I laughed,
When my sweet spouse suggested a sleeping draught,
She suggested half a bottle of Drambuie,Bonny Scotland’s best
That night I slipped a slug of Christmas spirit in my egg-nog- and then, the rest.

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.