Bits 'n' Bobs


Dec 24th, 2011



It’s coming to get you. That impending time of problem and pleasure,
That you must pretend to dread, to delay at your leisure.
But now it’s hot on your heels, we’ve reached the Eve of it no less.
Christmas day of course!
And just like that of yesteryear, such a ruddy mess.


You look around and oh in every aspect, it is bliss.
Aunt and Uncle interlocked in a barf-inducing kiss.
Mother’s plastered on one meagre glass of eggnog,
And her roast turkey looks more like a giant, charred frog.


By the fire, nana’s seated yelling abuse at the flames.
Jack from Tennessee makes her think they’re calling her sordid names.
Your dad is trying to get off with his colleague in her slutty Santa garb,
Whilst she picks most dejectedly at her mince pies and pud, cursing every carb.


The cat is pointedly peeing on the presents beneath the tree,
Perhaps dreaming of better days beyond the haze like you and me.
Cousins John and Mary are bickering over the next song to play.
The Pogues says he, Johnny Cash says she – they’ll be at it until May.


Aunt and uncle still interlocked but now stealing away upstairs.
You glance around to find there’s nobody but you who really cares.
Somebody took the liberty of dissecting the giant frog.
Wishful thinking. You climb out of into the snow, headed to the stall for a mean hot dog.


You return to find Her Majesty putting paid to her woes on television..
Would that you could sneak a fifth glass of bourbon without parental permission
Granddad’s gone off carolling on his lonesome, all about the house.
Poor Miss Santa, her stockings and all, creep out quiet as a mouse.


Everyone’s boozed out, merry as the day would demand.
The flames die out upon the grate, nana ceases to reprimand.
Christmas time is nothing if not given to perfect upheaval.
You go off to join granddad, to sing of peace in the valley and ward off any sign of evil.

London Art Fair