Every year it comes around, this season of goodwill,

When visitors we truly loathe, come round and drink their fill.

Relatives we haven't seen, since nineteen fifty four,

Discover where we're living, and come knocking on the door.

We end up going shopping, spending cash we haven't got,

Filling up the credit cards, as if we've lost the plot.

We buy for all and sundry, and then we buy some more,

As if we've quite forgotten, that it all needs paying for!

We fill the house with shrubbery, and sprigs of mistletoe,

Kissing total strangers, in an alcoholic glow.

We hang up decorations, like some poor demented fools,

Ignoring all the hazards, and the Health and Safety rules.

The poor old dining-table simply groans beneath the weight,

Although there's only ten of us, there's food for twenty eight!

The turkey looks as if it's been on steroids all it's life,

A chain-saw might be better than a standard carving knife!

The alcohol flows on and on, just like a waterfall,

There's plenty in the kitchen, with some back-up in the hall.

Wines of all descriptions are consumed without a care,

Co-ordination failing, when we try to leave the chair.

When the lunch is over, we seek unconsciousness,

Leaving anyone awake, to help clear up the mess.

The Queen comes on the television, prompt, at half-past three,

Clashing with discussions, about what to have for tea!

Now's the time for arguments, and rows about the past,

The bonhomie departing, and the good-will fading fast.

It's time to say goodbye to those, we hold so very dear,

And pray we don't set eyes on them, until this time next year!!!!

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Owain Glyn