The Christmas Lights

Two lights that shouldn’t have been there. Twin white beacons pointing skywards like some anachronistic illumination from an anti-aircraft battery; only this was not wartime. This was winter-time on an isolated B road in the middle of nowhere. To be more precise, this was slightly off the B road, forty yards down a gulley where the car had come to rest against a tree. The windows had all shattered on its violent drunken roll, and the battering had resulted in an angry distortion of the car’s original shape. The doors had buckled and hot belching steam burst from the engine compartment.  The nearby road was deserted in the blackness of night. No possibility that anybody would know what had happened, unless somebody had noticed the mysterious lights and were to investigate. The problem was that nobody was around, nor was anybody likely to be now that the snow had started to fall. There were no houses in the area, with only a few distant farms possibly too far away for their owners to register that anything was untoward.  The car now silent lay upon its side, the twisted metal hanging in the balance, was supported only by the tree, the trunk of which began to creak and bend under duress. A deafening crack of wood and the car jolted as it lost its hold and slowly began to roll downwards once again. The twin lights extinguished in a tinkling smashing of glass, and the now invisible hulk of metal juddering down the hill.  In the absence of the twin lights, the car disappeared in the night as if it had never been there at all. Only the broken stone wall at the side of that lonely road gave any indication as to the whereabouts of the mangled wreckage. Even the screeching skid marks were by now covered by a thin layer of freshly fallen snow. As the howling winter wind tore through the trees, the snow endeavoured to cling to the bare branches and the temperature dropped to below freezing point.

Just a few miles away in the next village, people were already celebrating Christmas; trudging homeward after the Carol Service in the local Church. The Festive scene illuminated by a plethora of neon Santas and sleighs, reindeer and elves.

One car load of Christmas presents lying at the bottom of a gulley in the desolate countryside. Christmas presents forever damaged and broken.

One young life damaged, broken and hanging in the balance.

Copyright © Ian m Allan 2015

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My Christmas Wheelchair

I’ve got Christmas lights and holly

Decorating my wheelchair,

A Christmas woolly hat

On what used to be my hair.

I’ve got polyphonic stereo

Playing Christmas carols, jigs and reels,

Merry Christmas on my bumper

And snow-chains on my wheels.

I’ve got mince pies in my pannier,

A hipflask with whisky too.

A pair of heated gloves

To stop my fingers turning blue.

I’ve got a length of rope behind me,

In case I need a tow,

And a pair of skis upon my feet

In case we have some snow.

What the weather will be like,

We really do not know.

Whether it will be raining

Or whether there will be snow.

But if there’s snow upon the ground

As deep as it can be.

I’ve got an ingenious plan,

With six huskies pulling me.

So wishing you all a Merry Christmas

And a prosperous New Year.

I hope your hearts will be filled

With joy and festive cheer.

So if you see me approaching

Or hear my polyphonic sound,

Let’s hope we don’t have a frost

Or ice upon the ground.

Otherwise you’ll hear me screaming,

And as you wonder why.

You’ll realise that I cannot stop

As I go skidding by.

The huskies have all deserted

All of them broken free.

Blue lights are now flashing,

And the police are chasing me.

My feet are numb and frozen.

You don’t know how bad that feels.

I’ve been issued with a fine

And clamps around my wheels.

They’ve confiscated my stereo

And eaten my last mince pie,

RSPCA have got my dogs

And I think I’m going to cry.

Copyright © Ian m Allan 2015

THE MARGATE SANTA

It was Christmas Eve in Margate

Through the crowds of shoppers he fought

The Christmas lights

Were all twinkling bright

And Santa had lost the plot.

The shelves were all bulging with gifts

So many Santa’s stockings and sacks

But with a stocking instead

He put over his head

And he robbed the Halifax.

The Christmas lights were all twinkling blue

And police sirens filled the air

They searched so late

All over Margate

But they couldn’t find Santa – anywhere.

It was then that they hit on the problem

There were too many Santas around

A police helicopter above

“We’ll get him Guv’ !”

And squad cars upon the ground.

For they were searching for the real Santa

The one who had robbed the bank

In a red Santa suit

And pickled to boot

Who dribbled his beer when he drank

They arrested all the Santas in Margate

In every shop and store

But every time they got close

The real Santa arose

And quickly buggered off – next door.

They tried everything they could

In order to track him down

The bookies and pubs

The shops and the clubs

In every part of the town.

All of a sudden there was a breakthrough

Followed by a rousing cheer

But Santa they missed

For although he was pissed

“He’s buggered off. He’s not here!!”

They never found the real Santa

Even when they searched every part

Santa, reindeer and sleigh

They staggered away

For Santa was pissed as a fart.

The sleigh flew off into the night sky

Not a sound, not ever a breath

The chimney pots it missed

Even although Santa was pissed

And hanging on for grim death.

So if you ever saw Santa Claus

With his sleigh full of sacks

It wasn’t presents on board

As through the Heavens it soared

But dosh he’d nicked from the Halifax!!

Copyright © Ian m Allan 2013