Yorkshire Writers' Lunch

The sound of sleigh bells fills the air, Santa's arriving without a care. He certainly seems extremely merry - by the looks of it, he's been hitting the sherry. The reindeers are struggling to keep the sleigh steady. How on earth did the elves get everything ready? They shouldn't have partied, but what a good night, although poor Santa looks quite a sight. Presents perched at a precarious angle. Tinsel and ribbons in such a tangle. "Get a move on," shouts Santa, as he breaks into song. "If we go a bit faster, it shouldn't take long." The presents survive the hazardous trip, but Santa is feeling a little bit sick. Mince pies and chocolates have soaked up the booze, now he wants to go home with no time to lose. Rudolph and friends take a well-earned break, to munch on carrots and Christmas cake. Relieved it's all over until next December, but it's certainly been a night to remember.

The first blue stain of light has not yet spilled itself across the blackness of the night, and I am elsewhere, sailing through the half‑world, drifting on a tide of sleep down rivulets of dreams. Achingly… imperceptibly, the world turns by degrees to face the scant warmth of dawn, lapping still lazily at the shore of the day— the shortest of days— on which the year turns, and all life must die to be reborn. The small and quarrelsome creature that I have become through the dark days of winter stretches back into the shape of lengthening days, brought to life by soft kisses of light, until all darkness is burned away and I am alive again.

‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, Nothing was stirring not even Santa Claus. He’d drunk all the brandy and eaten the crisps, Then fallen downstairs, entirely pissed. The reindeer were restless as time hurtled by More parcels to carry on their sleigh in the sky. ‘What shall we do?’ said Donner and Blitzen. ‘He’s out for the count,’ replied Dasher and Vixen. 'It’s all down to us, chaps,' said Rudolph the Wise, 'We must not leave children with tears in their eyes.' So they loaded the presents with help from the elves, Mission accomplished: hurray! They were proud of themselves. They flew down the chimneys and circled the earth, Returning to the Pole on the day of His birth. Santa was shamed, the deer gave him hell, He held his sore head and felt rather unwell. Disaster averted, the secret was kept, Children’s presents delivered while they safely slept. But what of the drunkard who’d caused all that shame? He went into rehab but was never the same.

‘Twas the night before Christmas, When all through the house, Not a creature was stirring, Not even a cluck from Chicken, Warming by the hearth, Until wooden, good-luck Rabbit, Stirred on the top shelf of the bookcase And parachuted, by silk-handkerchief, To the ground. ‘Ready,' Rabbit said to Chicken. ‘You bet. Let’s go!’ With that, Chicken was off to the garden, Her chum wheezing heavily to keep up. The other creatures had already gathered. The party was on, sprinkled with freshly falling snow Lit by New Moon, winking between the trees, Fed by Squirrel’s Stores and watered by Stream, (Who was still managing to avoid Ice.) With music provided by the Dove chorus, They danced into Christmas.

  'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house           All the creatures were stirring, including the mouse.           The moths in the stocking that hung by the fire           Were the biggest e’re seen in the whole of the Shire           But down from the bookshelf, there came such a clatter           They dashed here and there; it had made them all scatter,           For the books had collapsed and the booklice were bitter.           The bats up the chimney, they set up a twitter           The beetles came wriggling out of the wool           Wher...

  Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house Nothing was stirring, except a woodlouse Crawling out of its hole in the trunk of the tree That we’d put in the lounge – it was Christmas, you see. It was already rotten and structurally weak It began to lean over, an ominous creak Could be heard, then soon after, an almighty crash. As the tree hit the floor and the baubles were smashed. At the sound of the racket we came down the stairs And surveyed the grim tableau in utter despair Could we rescue our tree, now reduced to a shrub? Concluding we couldn’t, we went to the pub.