A little festive poem i wrote for a Christmas show in Portsmouth last year. Run by Alfie Ordinary and Cherry Liquor (Who gets a little shout out at the end, to give that context!)
'A VERY POMPEY CHRISTMAS'
Twas the night before christmas and all pompey louts, were out mugging grannies drinking strongbow and stout.
Then to what to there wondering eyes do appear, sergeant Mitchell and his police van did appear.
They look to each other and oh they do shout
"Lets fuckin' leg it, for that dinlos about!"
So they ran and they ran and they caused such a clatter and stacey in flat 3 wondered what was the matter.
She shouted "Oi Johnny! oi Jimmy! oi Amy! oi Ron! The fuck is all this, the fucks going on!?"
They looked towards Stacey eyes starry and wide "Mind your own fuckin' business now get back inside!"
Stacey closed the windows and of her warm council flat and picked up the phone for a Christmas eve chat.
So she thought she'd call Christine, she'd give her a ring and tell her, her hopes for what santa would bring.
A Pauls boutique bag, in tasteful neon. Or a pregnancy test for her to piss on.
For she Has 8 little children, all snuggled in bed. They outnumbered the teeth that she had in her head.
So the phone it was ringing and she lit up a fag, Christine she answered and explained “whats up you old slag?”
“Christine i’m worried, i fear i am late. It’s Jimmys, not Ronnies! I’m in a right state!”
Christine she sighed and told her a tale, that maybe Santa would fund her and send her the bail.
“To get out old Ronnie, to give Jimmy a shank. So no one would know you’re a dirty old skank.”
Stacey was happy, she loved this idea. She looked to the sky, the night was so clear.
so she tucked up in bed with her warm primark sheets. She shut up her eyes and she drifted to sleep.
In the morning she woke and her spirits were high. She’d left out some brandy and a lidl mince pie.
The brandy was drunk, the mince pie was missing. She called for her kids with joy she was hissing.
“”oi danny! oi deano! oi chelsea! oi john! oi darren! oi vicky! oi terry! oi tom!”
So they rushed to the lounge looked under the tree, but saw nought but a letter addressed to Stacey.
They opened the seal and read it with glee. But their faces they fell for what they did see.
It was not a cheque, some cash of the bail. But a better from Santa had come in the mail.
And it read…
‘Dear Stacey my darling, your christmas looks bleak. For i got out my list and i gave it a peek.
It seems you’ve been naughty, you’ve been stealing and dealing. So with that in the open i think i’ll be leaving
I’m going to emsworth, instead of to you. So i’ve packed up my sleigh and i’ve said toodle oo’
Staceys mind wondered, to her friends in Emsworth, she ripped up the note and cackled with mirth.
Oh Stacey she laughed and she looked at the floor…
“If he think’s i’m bad, wait for Cherry Liquor.”