Twas The Night Before Christmas


Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

The stockings were hung up at Colliers with care,

In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there.


The players were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of Magaluf danced in their heads.

And they recalled Glen Little, so dear in their hearts,

And how they’d push him home each night in shopping carts.


And Amy was hoping for needle and thread,

To mend the goal net holes which filled up her head.

While Mangan was sitting and wishing and hoping,

For things to turn round once the window was open.


For some were not happy, Their dreams had fell through.

Through the bars St Nick could see a tearful Retout,

His mind filled with a stand that turns to an arena

And his immediate future, as somebody’s cleaner.


Some children were naughty and parents would frighten

The scamps with talk of a beast that they called “Creighton”

Who wandered the land doing stuff for BT

And would kick you if your tattoo weren’t done by he.


But please spare a thought for those out in the cold,

Whose work was so good but whose fortunes would fold,

And please buy a meal or a drink or give lolly

To those less fortunate: Dean, Obeng and Tolley.


For this is the season of loving and sharing

For offering hope and hugging and caring

Please buy a fake passport for Jos on Ebay

and perhaps he’ll get back for Alfreton away.



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