“Read all about it! Read all about it!” The raucous call of the news vendor echoed round the vast shopping centre, halting folk in their quest for life’s little comforts, things they really, really couldn’t do without. It stopped overweight diners from shoving that last forkful in their open, glistening mouths. Children ceased their energetic play, not fully understanding, but sensing the change in the holiday atmosphere. Christmas time at Shepperton Mall and all was a glittering and a glowing with a multitude of twinkling, fiery lights. Artificial trees bowed down relentlessly with synthetic snow and wide eye angels gazed vacantly, toothy smiles directed at no one. Retail establishments exploded with extra illumination, content in the knowledge that craven consumer business would alleviate the extra electrical expense. Senseless secret purchases for unsuspecting relatives, hideous lace edged handkerchiefs for her, sets of sickening patterned socks for him. Toys for the children with hidden dangers in every dimension, no warnings given by the greedy, malicious manufacturers. Inflated prices, just enough for reductions in the January sales, items costing half the price a few weeks back. Unsuspecting Joe Public duped into thoughts of bargains, while sadistic, sleazy shopkeepers rubbed their hands like Ebenezer Scrooze. Season of good will, time of plenty provided its plastic.

“Breaking news! Breaking news! Under new management!”                                                                                       

 Hordes of last minute present searchers, reluctant to part with their ill-gotten gains but knowing it is expected of them. No generosity of spirit, emotional blackmail for husbands and lovers, fearing the wrath of the she devil if no gift materialises under the drooping tree.Cards to write, decorations resurrected from the dusty place in the attic, no tree yet! Well, hurry it up! The day’s nearly here.Wewant the biggest, the best, the nicest tree in the neighbourhood. Artificial, no way! We want a real, solid forest tree cut down in its prime, hacked to pieces for our enjoyment.A tree that has been torn from its roots, gouged from the earth, silently screaming for mercy, enslaved and on show for all to poke and prod, insult and hurt with rough handling. Stripped and humiliated, shoved into a  rusty coal bucket, legions of gaudy ridiculous baubles planted on protesting bare branches, glistening coils of fire hazard lights slither and snake around the softly pine scented needles of the massacred, once majestic inhabitant of the natural world. They say vegetation does not feel emotion  but sap slides slowly drip, drip to the floor from the wounded creature. Lights,lights and more lights, glowing Santas, prancing reindeer, evil elves lasciviously drooling after virginal fairies, gardens draining the National Grid. Merry Bloody Christmas! 

Santas, numerous in number,the unemployed, the destitute, sometimes even the drunk find jobs at Christmas. “Promise the little brats anything,” they are told, just make sure the money is spent in this store. Bitterly disappointed children on Christmas morning, parents watching as hope and excitement die in little faces. They feel useless, despairing, unable to provide a Happy Holiday for their kids. Dad out of work, mortgage unpaid, no money left for expensive gifts. Bloody store Santas! Why make promises to children they don’t even know? Despair to depression to the ultimate betrayal, abandonment, family left behind to grieve, to wonder why. But Dad knows, he let them down, better off without him, the bells toll his leaving. Black Christmas. 

 

Hear Ye! Hear Ye! New head of the festive season arriving soon!New boss, new rules. Read all about it! 

No one halted their frenzy to discover exactly what the breaking news was. No one seemed to care, too much to do, too little time, if they only knew just how little normal time they really had.  Hurrying, scurrying, poking and prodding at fat, dead, unlucky turkeys, the traditional birds of the season. What an honour for the innocent feathered avian. To be garrotted, plucked, stuffed in intimate places with foul smelling bits of dried grass, trussed, skewered, roasted and eaten by gluttonous hordes. An honour the bird could well forsake. 

“What’s that? You want me to put money in your bucket? You’re hungry, haven’t eaten for some time. Sorry, forgot my wallet. Ha! Ha!” 

Listen to me people, before it’s too late. Read the latest edition. Read all about it! Please! 

No listeners. All he asked to put things right were three wise men or women and a virgin. Scrap the last one, that would prove much too difficult. No sexism in his abode, all welcome, warmly welcomed! 

 Ludicrous Christmas jumpers, discarded gaudy wrapping paper clogging bins and littering the streets, caught on telephone lines, disintegrating, rotting, causing communication disruption. Reams of tinsel and silken ribbons strewn around for trips and falls, small people choking on fibrous skeins of unravelling packaging. Children queuing for false promises and a pound shop piece of garbage made precious and priceless because it came from Santa. Long lists, short lists, depending on the child, the greedy goblins suffering cramps in their fingers in their haste to list every toy in creation. 

Breaking news! Breaking news! The caller’s voice weakens as he valiantly attempts to save mankind, to instil in the animalistic hordes some semblance of humanity. To bring them back to humility and kindness, re schooled in the true meaning of the Season.  

On Christmas morning all is peace and love, gifts opened, fun and laughter the order of the day. Until the evening when parental personality changes, when  innocent children cower in the corner fearfully watching as their Mummy and Daddy imbibe copious amounts of alcohol then hurl hurtful abuse and  physically attack each other. More often than not the venom is turned on the child, who holds on to the meagre allowance of Christmas gifts, eyes closed tight to avoid detection.To no avail. The toy is ripped from their tiny hands, cruel words spat in their face, blows rained on the softness of arms and legs. Visiting relations bickering in the background, lifetime squabbles started on this day of days, families split for all time. Merry Bloody Christmas! 

Have you heard me, people? Have you listened? Too late! Too late! He is here! 

Thunder booms in Shepperton Mall and in all Malls across the world. Skies darken, icy winds blow through the buildings, on the buildings, in the buildings. A voice is heard, deep, dark and full of menace: 

“I have waited so long for this day. Biding my time, knowing the hordes of humanity as I so well do, after all I am a warm host to a considerable number of you creatures. I watched as Christmas disintegrated in front of my eyes. True to form, the human spirit sank into depths of greed and depravity, uncaring of others, self- importance gaining the upper hand. I told Him, you know, warned Him, but like all brothers he goes his own way.That surprises you, yeah! The Master of the Universe is my brother. Nice bro eh! Throwing his own sibling out of Heaven. Hah! Now it’s my time, no charitable mercy from me, no second chances to put things right. You are all to blame, your weak minds and sinful souls have been your undoing. Christmas! Bah! Humbug! Bah! The Season is mine! So fire ahead, continue with your twisted frivolities. I am Legion! I am enjoying the show!” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The snow is falling thick and fast

Covering the ground

The decorations springing up

All around the town

 

Children wander here and there

Their faces lit with joy

Looking forward to the gifts

For every girl and boy

 

Mother busy in the kitchen

Making Christmas fare

There’s lots of cakes and pies and stuff

They have to prepare

 

A little boy is dying

Under the blinding sun

His tummy craves for food now

His life is nearly done

 

He’s never seen a snowflake

Or heard any Christmas sound

His home is in  the desert

His bed is on the ground

 

He doesn’t know it’s Christmas

He has never had the pleasure

Of waking up on Christmas  Morn

Examining his treasure

 

Please spare a thought at Christmas

In the midst of all the fun

For a little boy so far away

Whose life is nearly done

 

Dig deep into your pockets

Spare a coin or two

To keep alive a human soul

A selfless gift and true

 

Enjoy your Christmas dinner

Have a jolly Christmas Day

But think a while of those without

And others far away.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I was told to walk on as if I owned the place. (throw away)  I was also given a good tip to calm nerves – picture the audience naked – Hmmmm! I think I’ll maybe keep clothes on some of you – . I’ve just had my lunch. You in the back there I’ve covered you up completely.  They’re all looking at each other now, turn round and see. “who’.s she talking about. Not me. Nothing wrong with me” Good afternoon, everyone. This is my first time doing stand up and by the time I finish you’ll hope it’s my  last. Could I ask a wee favour? Please laugh, even if you don’t find it funny. I’d be so grateful. You wouldn’t want to see me cry. Honest.  I’m bad enough looking now but wait until I cry. The face wrinkles like a 90 year old wizard – what? Did I hear somebody say sure I am that age. Now listen Son, you’re not a kick in the arse behind me so haul yer whist.

 Anyway I’m going to talk about glasses not the ones you put alcohol in and get paraletic, No, these ones on my face. I ‘ve worn glasses since I was wee. Remember, folks nobody wanted them then  We were like nerdy versions of Children of the Corn or Cornea. Two types of National Health glasses,  bokey blue and puky pink. Because when you put the glasses on for the the ground seemed awful uneven. So there we all were walking like drunks , mini Woody Allens wouldn’t be in it.Specky four eyes – I took mine off. Bumped into things on a regular basis, was in casualty so often my  name’s on a plaque above cubicle three. My parents were interviewed by the police. I told the truth after two days and they let them out.

Chatted up a young man in Burton’s window once. Thought my luck was in. He kept waving and smilng at me. Then, Jesus, his trousers started to come down. I was kicking at the window  trying to get in, just to pull them up for him, you understand, make him decent again, well- behaved lady that I am. Then he bent sideways, contortionist, says I!  Heyy! Hey! The kicking and banging increased. Well, God love him, he needed somebody to look after him. And even blind as I was I could see there was a part of him missing, know what I mean. Then the mangy window dresser appeared behind  him doubled in two  cackling.

“Put your specs on, ye dozy mare!” Bastard

Mortified I was. Like I said I was only going to help him but manikin or not a wee bit of rain after a long drought is not to be sniffed at .Anyway eventually I found someone to take me in Holy matrimony. What a day! Ulster Fry and a singsong in the Hibs. No expense spared. Four kids and five grand kids later and I still don’t know what my husband looks like.

“Put your glasses on, Luv.”

I’m afraid to in case I discover it’s the man from Burton’s window.

But what about now eh! Glasses all the rage – from tiny specs to big glass windows. No face just glasses, some of them so big and heavy the person walks bent over like a monkey. Ends up in casualty more times than me with bad back or  headache from trying to hold them on. Fashion! Jesus!

That’s another thing, talking about aches and pains, it’s always puzzled me. How do all the tablets and medicine know where to go inside you. I mean do they have wee sat navs in them or what. Take a couple of headache tablets and they go the wrong way. You end up with the rash on your bum cured, you know.

Two Phensic (or modern paracetamol) talking

“Hey, Mate, what are you in here for?”

“Same as you, I guess.”

“How long have you got?”About five minutes.”

“Well, I’m released over sixty seconds. What about you?”

“ I got a bit longer due to my strength”

“C’mon then, my time’s nearly up.Which way?”

“Fucked if I know.You  go up, it’s shorter and I’ll go down for this.”And you end up with no headache and the rash on your bum cured.

 Don’t get me started about Viagra. I mean, if they go the wrong way, well. Stick in your throat  end up with a stiff neck for weeks and a head that won’t move unless you stick it in the washing machine on pump and rinse cycle. Pick the wrong target you could have hardening of the arteries, heart attack time and you haven’t got to the good part yet.

I am going to end with a poem for all senior citizens like me who may recognise themselves in these wee verses.

TIME FOR LOVE

Love is ageless, it doesn’t care
About missing teeth and greying hair
It may take longer to undress and lie back
Bones may creak and joints may crack
Teeth in a jar and wigs  on the table
Searching for tablets, reading the label
Hearing aids disconnected, glass eyes taken out
Words of love will be a shout
Joint cream applied to knees and hands
Hair net secured with elastic bands
Trusses stored for another day
Back brace folded and put away
Glasses are left near at hand by the light
In case nature calls in the dead of night
Before Hanky Panky prayers must be said
You just never know when you might wake up dead
Now the time is finally here
“Let’s make love, my doddering Dear!”
“It has taken two hours to get ready for bed
Let’s just go to sleep instead!”

 

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