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 2017

 

 

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The Bongs of Big Ben

They rang out so loudly

For the stroke of 12 Noon

But we won’t hear them again

Anytime Soon

 

Four Years they’ll be silent

Until they ring out again

The sound of our History

The Bongs of Big Ben

 

No longer the sound

Of striking the hour

With workmen so busy

In Queen Elizabeth Tower

 

160 years rolled by

So much has happened since then

But whatever the year

We always will hear

The Proud Sonorous Bongs of Big Ben.

 

Copyright © IanmAllan 2017

 

 

High Noon in Eastbourne (part 2)

THE GHILLIE FILE

It came as a shock to discover that the monsoon season in Eastbourne fell upon the exact same week that we chose to stay there. There is nothing quite like a bracing gale force wind to send you upon your way. ‘Invigorating’ is perhaps not the first word that jumped into my mind as I descended the Hotel’s winding paved ramp down to a drenched terra firma.

Why would anybody want to trek all the way to sun-soaked Mauritius when it is twice as expensive to stay in pouring rain on a chilly day in flooded Eastbourne.  I was aghast to see that there were quite a few swimmers pitching and tossing in the waves which roared in from the English Channel ; presumably the thinking being that they were going to get wet anyway so why not do it in style.

After trundling along the pier to see if…

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High Noon in Eastbourne (part 2)

It came as a shock to discover that the monsoon season in Eastbourne fell upon the exact same week that we chose to stay there. There is nothing quite like a bracing gale force wind to send you upon your way. ‘Invigorating’ is perhaps not the first word that jumped into my mind as I descended the Hotel’s winding paved ramp down to a drenched terra firma.

Why would anybody want to trek all the way to sun-soaked Mauritius when it is twice as expensive to stay in pouring rain on a chilly day in flooded Eastbourne.  I was aghast to see that there were quite a few swimmers pitching and tossing in the waves which roared in from the English Channel ; presumably the thinking being that they were going to get wet anyway so why not do it in style.

After trundling along the pier to see if we could make it to the far end and back without calling out the Coastguard we made our way along undulating paving towards the town centre.  The dropped kerb situation in the town is very impressive whereas in comparison the other pavements previously encountered could perhaps be described as ‘Extreme Off-Roading’. The roads themselves are safer than the pavements notwithstanding the downside of having 20 ton lorries bearing down on you making the near death experience more interesting.

Another by-product of turbo-charged wheel-chairing is the realisation that not all areas are as accessible as they should be. It is all very well thinking ‘Have Wheelchair- Will Travel’ but the practicalities are often somewhat different. Busy and bustling shops often build displays right in the middle of what you anticipated would be a right of way. I have become adept at manoeuvring around these obstacles with such skill that I often do it at speed and see a quivering sales-assistant visibly unnerved.

While in Eastbourne I like to do some photography which usually is fine but with the inclement weather, this too proved to be challenging.  Why would I even bother studying how to produce a complicated yet stunning misty lens effect using neutral density filters when all I had to do was to forget to clean the damp lens ! It’s a no-brainer.

 

Copyright © IanmAllan 2017

 

High Noon in Eastbourne (part 1)

The minibus screeched to a halt outside our Eastbourne Hotel. I was shaken but as far as I could tell my wheelchair was still in one piece. The hotel occupied a prime seafront site overlooking the promenade gardens, the beach-huts and a flock of screeching seagulls.

Checking in we were shown our room which had been described as disabled friendly. This basically means that the bedroom part is the size of a broom-cupboard while the en-suite shower room is the size of the banqueting hall at Hogwarts. It has to be said that I didn’t know whether to shower, play water polo or quidditch .

During previous visits to the town I had become accustomed to the well positioned dropped kerbs enabling a reasonably safe transition from pavement to crossing the road. Unfortunately, due to financial cutbacks or global warming such provision is no longer guaranteed to be safe or indeed in place at all. As the pavement or road crumbles the resulting trench can produce a health and safety hazard of alarming proportions.

Crumbling pavements and roads are by no means the only problems I encountered. By far the most exciting challenge was avoiding trees which grew out of the pavement with such vigour that the roots had lifted the paving which now had seriously lifted cracks in it.

Having pressed the button and seen the green man I launched myself off the kerb onto the zebra crossing by an impressive shifting of bodyweight I embarked on this near death experience. Instead of hearing continual bleeping while crossing the road it would be far more fun to listen to the theme tune of ‘High Noon’ and a great deal more apt as one becomes a moving target.

While casually trundling along the promenade I turned around to see that speeding along and threatening to overtake me was an elderly lady on a mobility scooter. Her long white hair trailing behind her this demon of disability must have been doing about 80mph.

As she overtook me her scooter contraption was beyond description. It looked as if she had built it from meccano and balsa wood. It wobbled as it wound its weaving way along the promenade and out of sight.

Another great feature of wheel-chairing is the unbelievable joy of having people walking in front of you or stopping dead ahead and looking at you as if wondering why you were occupying their space. You feel like shouting to them “Go round !” which shouldn’t be necessary but apparently it is. My jet-propelled Tesco trolley does have a pathetic sounding hooter but it comes nowhere near the sound of an industrial strength two tone siren which I would like but have been banned from getting.

 

Copyright ©IanmAllan 2017

Beachcomber

THE GHILLIE FILE

Ghillie is leaving his quill and pot of ink for a week to explore the windswept beach of Eastbourne and the old Victorian pier. In the unlikely event that Ghillie survives the trip he is looking forward to sharing with you the edge of the seat excitement of wheeling a jet propelled Tesco trolley along the promenade without causing injury to innocent bystanders.

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Beachcomber

Ghillie is leaving his quill and pot of ink for a week to explore the windswept beach of Eastbourne and the old Victorian pier. In the unlikely event that Ghillie survives the trip he is looking forward to sharing with you the edge of the seat excitement of wheeling a jet propelled Tesco trolley along the promenade without causing injury to innocent bystanders.

GF6