Bah Humbug! It's Christmas Day - Again!

Christmas Day - and no chimney in Singapore for Santa ...

And now to cook the lunch that everyone will eat and feel tired after eating. Not because of the turkey, but simple due to plain old greed.

Down the chimney  ©

It’s Christmas Day, without the gifts,
Did Santa get our lists?

Dad said, ‘It’s cold, I’ll get a log,

While mother feeds the dog.’

I looked around the Christmas tree,

In search of gifts for me,

My brother searched with all his might,

There was nothing there in sight.

We eyed the mince pies on the plate,

To check if he had ate

A bite, or drunk a glass of milk,

But all I saw was guilt.

The white moustache upon Dad’s lip,

Betrayed more than a sip,

And hard to hide the mince pie crumbs,

That sat all over mum’s.

Dad lit the logs sat in the grate,

And told us all to wait.

The chimney smoked and then it coughed

An ‘ouch’ came from aloft.

Dad stuck his head up in the chute,

And uttered a loud hoot,

‘I do believe old Santa’s stuck,’

My brother said, ‘What luck.’

‘Oh Dad,’ said Mum, ‘don’t take the mick,

That can’t be old St Nick,

That chimney’s such a boring chore,

He’ll come in by the door.’

I didn’t care where Santa was,

The why’s or where’s, because

All I wanted were my toys,

Instead of chimney noise.

The chimney spat out clouds of smoke,

It made me want to choke,

So off Mum shuffled to the door,

Then cried out, ‘Saints galore!’

The door was bolted shut, quite tight,

It had been like that all night.

Dad said, ‘I hate to disappoint,

But I think I have a point.’

We all looked up the chimney stack,

And spied a large brown sack,

A pair of boots and a red coat,

All covered in black smoke.

I knew my presents were up there,

With Santa in mid-air.

I wondered how we’d get them down,

And Dad began to frown.

My brother found a cricket bat,

Mum said, ‘You can’t use that.

Let’s face it Santa’s squeezed in tight,

He’s been there half the night.’

'But I want to open all my toys,'

I said with too much noise,

'There must be something we can do,

To release him from the flue?'

But Mum just shook her head and sighed,

'He's lodged right up inside,

I think his rather largish tum,

Has far surpassed his bum'

And Dad then had a strange idea,

To bring some Christmas cheer,

We'll pull the sack with a large hook,

To dislodge it from the nook.

My brother went to fetch a stool,

To reach the poor old fool,

While mother clapped her hands with glee

And went to make some tea.

Dad tugged and tugged at Santa’s cape,

To help old Nick escape,

But the cloth just ripped off in his hand,

Not really quite as planned.

We heard a rumble from above,

And Santa gave a shove,

But all that fell was one black boot

And a shopping bag of fruit.

‘Oh, fruit,’ said Mum, ‘how good,

I forgot the Christmas pud.’

‘What?’ groaned Dad, ‘no brandy sauce?

But, you’ve made mince pies, of course?’

Mum shook her head, ‘With Santa stuck,

A huge lunch would surely suck,

‘I thought we’d have a healthy day,

Without the tooth decay.’

‘But, Mum,’ I gave a heartfelt sob,

‘Some fruit will never do the job.

‘Besides I asked for a new robot,

He can’t have just forgot?’

From down the chimney came a call,

‘I think I’m about to fall!’

‘Quick find the trampoline,’ Dad said,

‘In case he hits his head.’

But too late …

                                First a crash,

And then a sort of lightening flash,

With a smell like Brussels sprout,

The Christmas lights cracked out.

Another boot, as black as soot,

Had fallen from his foot,

Followed next by Santa Claus,

And my brother’s loud applause.

‘

Oh, Mum, oh, Dad, he’s really here!’

I said with Christmas cheer.

‘Just, look his sack’s stuffed full of stuff,’

Then Dad said, ‘That’s enough!’

‘Can’t you see, Old Nick’s got hurt?

His face’s one mass of dirt.

Go find a cloth and something clean,

He’s looking rather green.

But Santa coughed and then stood up,

‘Ho, Ho! My gosh, what luck!

I’ve got a rather nagging hunch,

I’ve arrived in time for lunch.’

Mum blushed, and wiped her hands all dry,

‘I wonder, Santa, if I might pry,

Whether in your ample sack,

A Christmas pud there’s packed?

Santa wiped his face all clean,

A sparkle in his eye did gleam,

I’ve got the toys, a new robot,

And the pud that Mum forgot.

So, this year Santa stayed for lunch,

With Christmas pud to munch,

And down the chimney he’d no more,

Next year, he’ll use the door.

(Down the Chimney  © Sarah Froggatt 2015)

Bah Humbug - I am too worn out to write about the day - so you'll have to wait until tomorrow...