T’was the night before Christmas and all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
After sharing a pie and a bottle of red,
Myself and my wife got ourselves off to bed.
Tossing and turning, I lay there wide eyed,
For I may be past 40, but a child still inside.
I try counting sheep but then think of the spuds,
The stuffing, the gravy and a hot Christmas pud.
Sooner or later I’m drifting away,
When I hear a commotion just down the hallway.
I pick up the closest thing, there on the floor,
Now armed with a slipper, I make for the door
I hear three “Ho’s” that are tainted with gloom,
And sound like they came from the upstairs bathroom.
I knock on the door and take a step through,
To find old Saint Nick, bent over our loo.
“Santa” I cry, half whisper, half shout,
“What’s going on, what’s all this about?”
“Sorry my friend, I did not think you’d hear,
But I get rather ill after mince pies and beer.”
“Santa”, I ask, as I’m rubbing his back,
“Do you think there’s a chance you could be Coeliac?”
“I’ve started to wonder about it of late,
But the doctor in Lapland just isn’t that great!”
So I took him through the all of the things he can’t eat,
And with a look of distress he cries “WHAT ABOUT QUICHE!?”
“Don’t worry Saint Nick, I have just what you need”
And I dash to the kitchen, and get there with speed.
I open the fridge door to fetch him my stock,
The pork pies, the cheesecakes, the quiches – the lot!
“Try these Nicholas, and see how you feel,
And give your intestine a few days to heal.”
He bites on a pork pie and mumbles with glee,
“These pork pies are too good to be gluten free!”
And quick as a flash he swallows the snack,
Then throws all the rest of them into his sack.
“Thank you my friend for you’ve taught me a lot,
And your kids will receive the best presents I’ve got.
But now I must dash before it gets light,
Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!