A Seasonal Verse for my Chums Back in the Auld Sod.

KITCHMAS

The Yuletide's in and by the fire,
Our toasty toes are toasting,
I'm sending this to wish you well,
And save the cost of posting.

I've got a little news to tell,
You'll all be glad to hear,
That just to spite the airlines,
I'm staying put this year.

So of all the Christmas visitors,
You'll be happy not to see,
Upon the list feel free to stick,
Bin Laden, Twink and me.

And open presents, gorge and quaff,
With extra fun and cheer,
Knowing you wont have to see,
My ugly face this year.

When down the pub, on Krimbo Eve,
United shoulder to shoulder,
All drunk and sentimental,
And feeling one year older.

Spare a thought for me while staring,
Into the celtic night,
And thank Christ I'm not around to talk,
The usual ex-pat shite.

And on the stands on Boxing Day,
All freezing mud and dirt,
Think of me and whimper,
While losing all your shirts.

And ponder me when crossing arms,
The last day of December,
I hope for you it is a night,
Worth trying to remember.

I'll celebtate here, all on my todd,
For in foreign soil I'm stuck,
With cava, turron and chorizo,
And all that dago muck.

But it's not the same without your mates,
Despite the latin sun,
So I'll raise my glass to my dearest friend,
Whashisface, him, yer one.

As it's the time of year when one is free,
To peddle shameless tack,
I'm sending you the kitchest card,
Please don't send it back.

A HAPPY BLOODY CHRISTMAS TO YIS ALL.