Cards and Poems and a Christmas Goose

My friend Sarah has, for the last umpty gazzillion years, made her own Christmas cards. Inside each card is an epic poem based on Santa coping with that year's major news story.

I phoned Sarah the other day, on a matter unrelated, and during the conversation we got around to talking about Christmas cards, because once again Andy and I are doing a home-made effort, this time with a bee theme. We have two choices so far - 'Ding Dong Merrily on Hive' and ''Twas the Night, Bee, For Christmas' which, when Andy suggested it I had trouble grasping the concept thereof because I kept trying to put too many 'bees' into the equation and was totally misplacing my commas.

'That's a good idea,' I said. 'Like the Night Beefore Christmas?'
'No,' said Andy. 'Like you are telling the bee a story...'
'About the night before Christmas,' I said.
'No, about the night FOR Christmas, because you have already accounted for the mention of the bee as separate entity and what you are trying to do now is included the bee into the fore, which isn't what I had in mind,' said Andy.
'Ah,' I said. 'So not 'The Night Bee Before Christmas, then?'
'No,' said Andy, and I think we both understood what was going on somehow, someway.

So anyway, Sarah said she was having trouble thinking of a major news item to write her Santa Slanda (as her poems are called) about this year.
'Nothing seems to have happened,' she said. She was immediately discounting the General Election, and I don't blame her because it was a bit of a non-event really.

'What about the Icelandic volcanic eruption?' I suggested.
'Was that this year?' said Sarah.
'Yes it was,' I said. 'And I know this because we were coming back from North Devon in April when it happened and because all the airports were shut down, we whizzed through the M25 because there was hardly any traffic around Gatwick and/or Heathrow which ever one it is, I can never remember. It was GREAT!'
'Are you SURE it was this year?' said Sarah again. She sounded awfully suspicious, although why she thought I might be trying to pull some pseudo-volcano eruption scam on her I don't know.
'Yes,' I said, because I was. 'And a volcanic eruption would definitely affect Santa on his travels, wouldn't it? Or not, as the case may be.'
'Indeed,' said Sarah. 'I was convinced it was last year, though.'
'Nope,' I said. 'This year. Definitely.'

So I think we got that settled. We blamed the forgetfulness on our impending 45th birthdays and the rattle of many a loose marble. Actually, Sarah tried to blame drugs but I wouldn't have it.

So I am now thinking I can write a poem to put in our Christmas card this year, based on 'The Night Before Christmas.' It might not happen of course, because the older I have become, the more Christmas tends to creep up on me. I think it's because the shops start the whole festive malarkey way too soon, so I block it from my mind, then forget to reactivate my interest and before I know it, it's ten days to go and all I've managed to do is order the goose.

'Are we having goose this year?' asked Andy and Heather the other day, when the subject of goose arose.
'Yes,'I said. 'Of course. What else would one have at the Manor at Yuletide?'
'Will you be eating it?' they asked.
'No,' I said. 'For I am vegetarian and as far as my poor meat-deprived brain can remember, a goose has a face.'
'What will you have, then?' they said.
'Something mushroomy/vegetably wrapped in pastry and covered in cheese I expect,' I said, as this seems to be the common festive fare for vegetarians, both in restaurants and December issues of foody magazines.

So that was all sorted, too.