Last night as I slept
I dreamt I met with Behan
I shook him by the hand and we passed the time of day
When questioned on his views
On the crux of life's philosophies
He had but these few clear and simple words to say

I am going, I am going
Any which way the wind may be blowing
I am going, I am going
Where streams of whiskey are flowing

I have cursed, bled and sworn
Jumped bail and landed up in jail
Life has often tried to stretch me
But the rope always was slack
And now that I've a pile
I'll go down to the Chelsea
I'll walk in on my feet
But I'll leave there on my back

Because I am going, I am going
Any which way the wind may be blowing
I am going, I am going
Where streams of whiskey are flowing

Oh the words that he spoke
Seemed the wisest of philosophies
There's nothing ever gained
By a wet thing called a tear
When the world is too dark
And I need the light inside of me
I'll walk into a bar
And drink fifteen pints of beer

I am going, I am going
Any which way the wind may be blowing
I am going, I am going
Where streams of whiskey are flowing

I am going, I am going
Any which way the wind may be blowing
I am going, I am going
Where streams of whiskey are flowing
Where streams of whiskey are flowing
Where streams of whiskey are flowing

A few Christmases ago I put up a thing, it was quite seasonal and quite funny I thought
It was adapted from a small playlet I'd once written many years before
It was quite long though and I doubted whether many would ever read it
But I remembered it was a lot of fun to write
So I put it up anyway not expecting much
And surprisingly it actually seemed to do very well
A lot of people seemed to read it and like it
One of my fellow poet colleagues she was so impressed she even bought a star for it
I thought to myself "That means it would have appeared on the front page for a time "
Then I thought "Y'know that's a bit like getting a Christmas No 1 in the music charts, appearing on the 'front page' isn't it"
(A Christmas No 1 in the UK music charts was always a big deal)
I thought to myself "Well now you can die happy, when you go upstairs to the pearly gates
You'll be standing there with all the other guys and they'll be all shaking and trembling in fear.  But I won't be shaking, I'll be standing there like I didn't have a care in the world
And when God would come out and start questioning each of the new applicants
He'd finally come to me,  and he'd point his big fearsome finger down at me and ask
"So what did you do when you were down on Earth ?"
And I'll look back at him real unconcerned and cocky like and then I'll point my own finger right back at him and say "Christmas No 1 Big G"
And he'd be gobsmacked, yea he'd be wowed by this
He'd start stuttering and stammering "Wow! You... you.. you mean you had a Christmas No 1.,. just like.. just like the Pogues Fairytale of New York"
Then I'd have to correct him "No! The Pogues never got to No 1 they only got to Number 2, they were held off the No 1 spot by the Pet Shop Boys with their cover of "Always on my mind"
The Pogues should have been No 1 as their song was an original one not a cover ".
God will probably ask me then"Always on my mind, how did that one go again "
And I'd have to start to hum it for him"You were always on my mind (and then the keyboards kick in) do do do do/ do do doo You were always on my mind
And then the bridge or chorus "Showw me, show me that your sweet love hasn't died/ You were always on my mind-d-d/You were always on my mind"
And God will start humming it with me
"Do do do do/do de do
Do de do do/do do do "
Then suddenly he'll stop and shout over at St. Peter
"Hey Peter, roll out the red carpet, we got royalty coming ".

I heard the door open. It was Leeza (Lisa’s 14-year-old sister),
she’d been out on a date. I was the only one in the living room
as she came in and sagged, dejectedly onto the huge, white
sectional couch, right next to me. She looked positively
deflated. Which is unusual because up until now,
she’s been all freckles and smiles

Ok, here’s where we get poetic and rhyme, with innuendo and allusion:

Me: “Did you have a good time?”
Leeza: “No but I was trying.”
Me: “Did he get handsy—the swine?”
Leeza: “Argh! No—but his kisses are a crime.”
I gasped: “You didn’t give him a climb!?”
Leeza “NO!” she said, somewhat horrified.
Me (trying to be neutral): “No judging, it would have been.. fine (I lied).”
Leeza: “That’s never going to happen.”
“Good,” I declared, “he was just a distraction—and, you know Santa.”
“What about Santa?”

Whew, that’s enough of THAT (rhyming business).

She asked, so, yeah, I sang it.. I had to.

“He knows who you’ve been kissing,
what you’re thinking when you’re awake,
he knows if you’ve been bad or good—
he’s kind of like a cop that way.”

After a moment's silence Leeza asked,
“Is there something creepy about that?”
“Only if you think about it.” I admitted,
as she put her head on my shoulder.
.
.
A song for this:
Fairytale of New York (feat. Kirsty MacColl) by The Pogues
.
.
A Christmas Playlist! There’s 6 days til Christmas (and Hanukkah)
http://daweb.us/xmas/Christmas_25.mp3

Talk to me, talk to me of Old St. Nick
Talk to me of Sinterclaus
Of Mikulas, Pere Noel, or Babbo Natale

Talk to me of candles, christingle and a silent night
Talk to me of crackers, carols and calamities
Talk to me of snow, sleighs, and stars
Talk to me of Christmas cards, wrapping paper
Talk to me of gold, old spice and mice
Talk to me of icing, icicles
igloos, ivy
Holly
Oh sweet Hollie
Tots of Drambuie
Marmalade and toast

Talk to me of Philip Scholfield
Carols From Kings
Mary Poppins
Scrooge
Festive films
Radio Times
And things that are too pretty
Lights, nights
Hark, Dark
barking dogs
tinsel
Tinsel Town
Wolves at the door
Salvation Army playing once more

Talk to me
Talk to me
Cream Crackers, cheese
Frosty mornings, old knees

Talk to me of snow covered alpine forests
Gateaux
Cherries
walnuts and berries
Festive fun,
A seasonal run
Of All Gold telly
With a full belly
Farts, sprouts
Turkey that tastes just like chicken
Oh talk to me of
Terry Wogan
Rosh Jogan
Grogan Josh
Last minute deals
Black Friday
White Friday
And all the Cyber Mondays

Talk to me of
Happy Mondays
Dancing Bez
In a Festive Fez

Talk to me
Talk to me
Of Festive time
Late nights
Early mornings
Beer
Cheer
All in entertainment

Oh talk, TALK to me
Of hangovers,
sleep overs
gloves
mittens
and cute kittens

Oh talk to me of
fake Chanel
Faux Fur and underwear
Celvin Klein

Talk to me , Talk to me of
Jonah Lewie
Bony M
The Pogues
and all those rogues
Fairy tale of New York
Stop the Cavalry
Mary's Boy Child
And the
Spaceman who came riding by

Oh talk, Talk , Talk to me
of places, and spaces We all know
Christmas markets
Tesco, Aldi and John Lewis Adverts showing
Christmas is coming
Christmas is coming
Christmas is coming
Chris
Oh talk to me
Oh talk to me of old St. Nick

Talk to me
Talk to me
Eggnog
Talk to me
Talk to me
Bah humbug
Talk to me
Talk to me
Happy Christmas

The smell of sun-warmed skin mixing with salt air gives us sleepy eyes and soft smiles.

The dew gathering on cider bottles
Rolls,
Drips,
Settles on the porous slats of the table.

Waves crash lightly, distant and invisible
Claws scratch along the deck
After tennis ***** and plum stones
Stopping at the rails.

There is a quiet murmur of life in the neighbourhood.
The hum of barbeques.
Parties.
Bike-riding families laughing up the streets
And people like us,
Sitting outside, food and company
Soaking up the last of the afternoon sun.

Crumbs fall onto my skirt,
Black and stiff with dried salt,
Unwashed and unironed.
I brush off morsels of Galaxy Blue Cheese
Wellaby's Crackers -
Sun-dried tomato flavour.
Gluten-free.

Claws scramble towards my feet
Where three dogs vacuum my castoffs
As if they haven't been eating all day.

The Pogues declare that "the bells were ringing out for Christmas Day"
As my aunt laughs
Warm, harsh, and unashamed.

And it feels like Summer.

In the midst
of a fiery debate
on Christmas music.

John says Mariah, hands down,
‘what a voice,
always have a shimmy to that
at the work do.’

Mike thinks Band Aid,
‘number one
for six years
but the original’s the best.’

Sharon believes Wham!
because if you can’t
have a bit of cheese
this time of year when can you.

I put forward the Pogues,
fist on table, ‘it must be the winner’,
and before I know it
we’re calling each other scumbags.