Douglas Boatman treats us to his thoughts on the the unmistakable aroma of Christmas.

Our neighbours are quite sociable, they had a Christmas party

The hostess served spiced parsnip soup and soon the guests felt ‘farty’

With a Parp Parp here and a Wheep Wheep there, the room began to reek

So I opened the French windows for some fresh air to seek.

I stepped out on the patio and got a reminiscent whiff.

Four ‘chilled out’ millennials were sharing round a spliff .

Back inside I wandered and through the jostling bodies wove

To find there’d been a blowback from the old wood-burning stove

Fumes billowed across the ceiling and you’ll have rightly figured

That everyone was deafened when the smoke alarm was triggered

Zak the Slurryman then arrived and that guy had some ‘balls’

To turn up at the party in his John Deere overalls

He does Abba karaoke and I actually like his singing

But with all his mad gyrations, My God that man was minging.

I dropped into the kitchen and met the host called Rhuaridh

He tried to cook some Brussels Sprouts but boiled them to a puree

Then he got distracted and the pan began to burn

The odour was horrendous and my guts started to churn

I went and found my darling wife and suggested that we leave.

She nodded in agreement saying “I can hardly breathe”

We walked back home together enjoying the cool night air

Am I a party-pooper? To suggests so is not fair.

Christmas comes but once a year and perhaps it’s just as well

I love the festive spirit but I can’t abide the smell.