Fucking Christmas

I went down to the candy store, I was seeking something sweet,
But I couldn't see any choccy bars for the jars of Quality Street,
There were cheesy balls, and biscuit tins, and oranges made of jelly,
But not an ordinary choc'lit bar to fill my hungry belly.
Then I looked out at the darkling sky, the wet autumnal mistmas,
And thought, it is October, and it'll soon be fucking Christmas…

And I shivered and I shuddered as I walked down Princes Street,
I thought a cosy jacket, should be my winter treat,
But all I saw was jumpers, with light-up reindeer patterns,
And slippers, socks and onsies for lazy Yuletide slatterns.
And I asked the man in Primark, why are you winter-coat-less,
He said, it is  October, mate, it'll soon be fucking Christmas…

And my uncle Frank is on the phone, he wants to come and stay,
And Aunty Jo and Cousin Flo, are, likewise, down my way,
And there's Uncle Fred I thought was dead, and all my various nieces,
And children doing a jigsaw, that's missing half its pieces,
And I asked them, quite politely, why all the hugs and kissmas,
They said, it is October, dear, it'll soon be fucking Christmas…

And so I packed a hasty bag and headed to the station,
I asked them for a ticket, to some sunny destination,
They said, we've got Barbados, I answered, that'll do,
And I'm just about to board that train, I'm standing in the queue,
And now you're sitting wondering, why I'm restless, sad and listless,
Good Christ, it is October, folks, and it'll soon be fucking Christmas…

Copyright © Max Scratchmann. All Rights Reserved