Max Scratchmann's Blog, page 11

The Poet's New Year Resolutions

Next year I will be ever so good,

And do the things I know I should,

I won't pick fights, sit in a heap,

Or lie upon the couch and sleep.

I'll get up every day at eight

And go to bed before it's late,

I'll give up eating fatty food,

And live on oatmeal that is good.

I'll polish my shoes and comb my hair,

Even though there isn't any there,

Tidy my desk and Hoover my rug,

Drink my tea and wash my mug.

I'll be polite and mind my manners,

Sort my tools and number my spanners,

I'll give up cake and big choux buns,

I won't call German tourists Huns.

I'll willingly get my swine flu jag,

And swear allegiance to the flag,

I'll drink weak tea and wash my cup,

And then, with luck, I will wake up.

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Christmas Day Is Over

Christmas day is over, Dad, take down the Xmas tree,

And put the cards upon the fire and pass the decs to me,

We'll put the lights in the attic, Dad, and make sarnies with the roast,

And make up mincemeat butties, Dad, and take them to the coast.

Let's pack up all the baubles, Dad, the glow stars and the fairy,

The snowman figure on the lawn and the Santa above the dairy,

'Cause Christmas day is over, Dad, the crackers have all gone pop,

There's Christmas specials on telly, Dad, but eventually they'll have to stop.

The lights are down in the valleys, Dad, there's darkness all over Wales,

Yes, Christmas day is over, Dad, and we're all off to the sales.

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Christmas Party Nibbles

Hello, it's me, I'm here for tea, I'll have a slice of cake,

That mincemeat pie is good for I, 'twas nice of you to bake.

That chocolate liqueur, I'll have for sure, and a Meltis Newbury Fruit,

And a turkey leg, I'll surely beg, I'm sure it's on my route.

This Toblerone is quite my own, and I'll have some Turkish Delight,

Some marzipan? Yes, I'm your man, I could eat that stuff all night.

A chocolate coin, a glass of wine, and German ginger bread,

An Advocaat, straight from the jar, it will go to my head.

Ooo, sausage roll, and toad in the hole, as made by Mrs Beeton,

But just a part of that rich jam tart, it's not long since I've just eaten.

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Christmas Eve Spam

Upon a frosty Christmas Eve, I opened my email,

But it was bare as Hubbard's press, and deader than a nail,

Where is my batch of daily spam, I did most loudly cry,

You have been here eleven months, now you decide to die?

How will I cope on Christmas day without my on-line betting,

My medicines from Canada, my properties for letting?

I'm lost without my lottery wins, my creams for parts turned spotty,

And without my blue Viagra jolt, I'm left all limp and floppy!

So come ye back, Nigeria men, and fill my email cache,

With mailing lists and fake degrees, for me to have a bash,

I love your offerings, one and all, they make me what I am,

And tomorrow won't be Christmas day without some email spam.

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The Twelve Crocodiles of Christmas

On the First Day of Christmas my true love sent to me,

A crocodile with a brass key.

On the Second Day of Christmas the catalogue sent to me,

Two special offers and a crocodile with a weak knee.

On the Third Day of Christmas the taxman sent to me,

Three final notices, two VAT returns and a crocodile with a mug of tea.

On the Fourth Day of Christmas my agent sent to me,

Four leading ladies, three crappy walk-ons, two arty nude scenes and a crocodile with a honey bee.

On the Fifth Day of Christmas the Co-op sent to me,

Five turkey burgers, four Soya rissoles, three orange cupcakes, two egg-free wafers, and a crocodile from the Foot o' Dee.

On the Sixth Day of Christmas the garage sent to me,

Six stabilisers, five shock absorbers, four dangle-dicers, three windscreen wipers, two navigators and a crocodile from the BBC.

On the Seventh Day of Christmas the paper sent to me,

Seven screaming headlines, six news exclusives, five kiss-and-tells, four nude exposés, three investigations, two sports reporters and a crocodile on the telly.

On the Eight Day of Christmas the butcher sent to me,

Eight pigeon pies, seven sausage rolls, six gigot chops, five potted meats, four frying steaks, three bacon rashers, two chicken portions and a crocodile filleted for tea.

On the Ninth Day of Christmas the jeweller sent to me,

Nine jewelled tiaras, eight golden watches, seven silvers lockets, six Baby Gees, five crappy chains, four Noddy watches, three silver bears, two carriage clocks and a crocodile desperate to pee.

On the Tenth Day of Christmas the toy shop sent to me,

Ten teddy bears, nine X-box games, eight Triang Trains, seven Barbie Dolls, six tommy guns, five Tele-Tubbies, four Fimble dolls, three Purves puppets, two bouncing balls and crocodile drinking herbal tea.

On the Eleventh Day of Christmas my banker sent to me,

Ten overdrafts, nine service charges, eight credit cards, seven car insurers, six cash machines, five Tessa terms, four savings bonds, three bankers cards, two guarantees and a crocodile with a TV.

On the Twelfth Day of Christmas the bailiffs took from me,

Twelve TV sets, eleven bonus bonds, ten teddy bears, nine Barbie dolls, eight pigeon pies, seven silver bears, six crappy chains, five toilet rolls, four Tele-Tubbies, three tax demands, two gigot chops and the crocodile on the Christmas tree.

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Rehearsal for Christmas

I look into the mirror, and set my happy face,

For soon it will be Christmastide, I must keep up the pace,

And so I smile a great big smile, as I mime taking a box,

Oh, Auntie, they are lovely, I've always wanted socks.

And, Bobby, my, that's wonderful, it will all dirt expunge,

However did you realise that I would want a sponge?

But, Mother, this is best of all, you've turned a new year leaf,

I can't express my gratitude for this Poundland handkerchief!

Yes, Christmastime is coming, you may think it is bunk,

But pleas rehearse your happy face for when they give you junk,

For though you be the grumpy Grinch, who all tradition flouts,

Remember, when they give you crap, it is the thought that counts.

Christmas in the Shopping Mall

'Twas Christmas in the shopping mall, the lights were burning bright,

As throngs of grim-faced shoppers, went trudging through the night,

With bags of Christmas chocolate bars and trees of cerise pink,

And Christmas bags of wrapping foil, and the bloody kitchen sink.

There were biscuit tins for grandma, and a pipe for Aunty Doris,

A bubble bath for Little Flo and a bra for Cousin Morris,

There was a mega bag of Chrimbo cards and pile of Christmas stamps,

A Play Station drum and guitar, and a stack of fender amps.

And underneath the mistletoe, some groping was going on,

'Twas Dad and Mrs Amersham, who lives beyond the Don,

And all the shoppers roll their eyes and look towards God's heaven,

Then rush off to the next gift shop, the bloody market shuts at seven.

I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day

This is the story of Jennifer Titmuss,

A girl who wanted it to always be Christmas,

She hung mistletoe in February and put holly up in June,

And Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen was her all-time favourite tune.

Her husband was frustrated, though he didn't let it show,

But he only ever got some, when under mistletoe,

He said to her, Jenny, why do you love the Yule?

She answered him, Cedric, it's the season that is cool.

I love hot mince pies in August and crackers in March,

And gaudy Christmas packages that crackle like starch,

Why plod through dull January and wan sunny May,

When we can have chestnuts, every Christmas day.

But surely there's merit in the joys of the Spring?

I'm sure it is possible to burry this thing,

But she shook her head slowly, said enough of this banter,

Our marriage is over, I'm going off with Santa.

Marley's Ghost

I was walking past the shopping mall when a shopman barred my way,

He said, son, are you ready? It'll soon be Christmas Day,

I'll sell to you a Christmas tree, some baubles, Christmas crackers,

A turkey and some Toblerone, and a box of chocolate Trackers.

I said, I need no Christmas stuff, I have my simple ways,

But he looked at me quite strickenly, 'twas not the words that pays,

He said, I have four Mormon wives and four score Mormon kids,

Who'll pay for all their Christmas stuff, not the Asians or the Yids?

Please come into my humble shop and spend-up all your money,

It's Christmas Eve and I must make my shopman's milk and honey,

My till is overflowing, but sadly, that is bunk,

For I must make three million, by selling you all this junk.

Christmas Time in Primark

It was Christmas time in Primark, and gifts were in the store,

And Xmas wrap and festive socks and mistletoe by the door,

The staff were all in Santa hats, the bouncers wearing holly,

And tacky sequin party frocks lined up the racks quite jolly.

So I asked a shop assistant, if I could buy a jumper,

But he said that they had been replaced by stickers for a bumper,

Well, how about some winter boots? So sorry, only slippers,

Or a party box of Simpsons socks or festive frogman flippers.

But, I need to buy an overcoat, so I can watch the swifts,

Sorry, mate, there's none in stock, we're loaded down with gifts,

So I left that merry Christmas shop, my brow set in a frown,

But I went again at dead of night, and burned the bugger down.