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.
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