Twas The Night Before Christmas (Updated): A Visit From St Nicholas
A friendly spoof on the classic poem A Visit From St Nicholas (Twas the Night Before Christmas). Affectionate apologies to Clement Clark Moore and Henry Livingston Jr.
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Twas the night before Christmas and all through the flat,
not a creature was stirring, not even the cat.
The bills were all piled by the chimney with care,
In hope that the dosh for them soon would be there.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of Angry Birds ™ danced in their heads.
And Mum with her vodka, I with my nightcap,
Had addled our poor brains for a long winter’s nap.
A choice nightcap
When out in the street there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the curtains and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to dust bins below.
When, what to my bloodshot eyes should appear,
But a tiny black cab, with eight flashing reindeer.
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St Nick.
More rapid than DLR his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them weird names!
London cabbie..or is it St Nick?
Now Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! On, Cupid! on Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the steps! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the roof-top the reindeer they flew,
With the cab full of Toys, and St Nicholas too.
A traditional St Nicholas
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Through the front door St Nicholas came with a bound.
A famous front door
He was dressed all in black, from his head to his foot,
Cos his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of goods he had flung on his back,
He looked like a day trader, and opened his pack.
A modern St Nick?
His eyes they were bloodshot! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were all veined, his nose like a cherry!
His mouth with stained teeth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.
The stump of a cig he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little beer belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!
He was chubby and fat, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!
A wink of his eye and a nod of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And paid all of the bills, then turned with a jerk.
And he laid some new games on all the sprogs beds,
And giving a nod, out the front door he sped!
He sprang to his cab, to his team gave a shout,
And away they all went like a light going out
But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,
‘Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!’
A posh wreath from Fortnum and Mason
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