My Christmas List

[ray miller]

I'm a Mental Nurse and I know about neurosis,
maybe mine's got worse but nobody seems to notice.
I'm at peace, it's believed, with each sister and brother,
they don't see my heart bleed and the pain that I suffer!
Like today, I'm in the office and I'm multi-tasking,
I've got biscuits, coffees and a message here asking,
"What is it that you want for the Christmas vittels?
Perhaps a chic restaurant or some beer and skittles?
Posh and expensive or cheap and cheerful?"
I grew apprehensive, anxious and fearful.
It was "posh", I expect was the word that did it,
I thought I saw Becks in company with it!
Should've read with my specs from a closer distance,
can it be Posh and Becks are coming for Christmas?
What more could hurt me, could be more gruesome
than talking turkey with the tawdry twosome?
An ageing right-winger and an anorexic!
I'd be seeking the finger that points to the exit,
and I'd soon be sinking into an early bath,
then I got to thinking-and I suppose you'll laugh-
but what if Elton John turned up with his piana'
and was singing that song about Princess Diana?
Or the Poet Laureate starts reciting a sonnet
and I race to the toilet 'cause I'm needing to vomit
and inside the Gents I meet Sir Jimmy Saville!
Now then!Now then!I'm beginning to unravel!
So many could be coming whose presence would dismay
and I'd have to do something to keep them all away!
I'd have words in their ears, I'd e-mail and text them,
I'd make it very clear that I didn't expect them!
A kind of non-military pre-emptive strike
aimed at everybody that I don't like!
I began to review whom I wouldn't invite
to the Christmas do and I started to write
down the names of the famous and the lesser celebs,
the charlatans, the shameless and the ordinary plebs.
I perceived it might be endless, my Christmas list,
and I could become friendless, for even when I'm pissed
there are so many people who wouldn't be missed...

Queen Elizabeth, of course, Charles and Camilla,
anybody who has scored against Aston Villa!
All the Dicks and Doms and Ants and Decs,
flag wavers at The Proms, Posh and Becks,
I makes no apologies for counting them twice,
Scary, Sporty, Baby and Ginger Spice!
It wouldn't be nice to see Brucie and Tarby,
Condoleeza Rice and Robert Mugabe,
Tony Parsons and Julie Burchill,
Jeremy Clarkson, that dog called Churchill,
Princess Anne and The Duchess of York,
performers with one name like Madonna and Bjork,
Suggs and Sting and Prince and Bono,
Paul McCartney and Yoko Ono,
all well past and beyond their sell-by stage,
can I help but respond with Celebrity Rage?
Gordon, Delia, Jamie and every TV cook,
the girl who never gave me back my favourite book,
George Bush and his cronies, the false and the phoneys,
don't bother to phone me Cherie and Tony!
Silvio Berlusconi and Conrad Black,
Nicholas Sarkozy and Jacques Chirac,
Dick Cheney, the Religious Right,
anyone claiming to be Jesus Christ!
The rich and their clients in alliance with the devil,
Alex Ferguson and Gary Neville.
Bob Monkhouse,I've just been told that he's dead,
that ginger haired dude in Simply Red.
The Osbournes, for sure,and Simon Cowell,
him who came last year in only a towel.
John Prescott and the rest of New Labour,
Rupert Murdoch and my next door neighbour.
There's no means of entry for Jerry Springer,
Oprah Winfrey or any opera singer,
for there's nothing more certain to arouse my anguish
than a fat person singing in a foreign language!
Elizabeth Taylor and Germaine Greer,
Norman Mailer and Kilroy won't be here!
Andrew Lloyd-Webber and Elton John,
Arnold Schwarzenegger, Simon Le Bon,
Omar Sharif, anyone named Keith,
that geezer in The Bill that they all call Chief!
Patsy Palmer and The Dalai Lama,
I won't be looking for the elusive Osama.
My school headmaster, the weather forecaster,
her over the road with the ghetto blaster!
Paris Hilton and Andrew Morton,
Dale Winton and Graham Norton,
Janet Street-Porter, Mussolini's grand-daughter,
the designer of the village in Bourton-upon-Water,
the roads are so small it's impossible to cycle,
Michael Jackson and George Michael,
Bill Gates and Richard Branson,
I don't have mates who are rich or handsome.
I guess between DJ's and chat-show hosts
it's hard to say which I hate the most,
but Tricia, Vanessa and Jeremy Kyle
send my blood pressure soaring off the dial.
Middle class slummers, Heavy Metal drummers,
people who go on about English summers,
Messrs. B.P., Shell and Exxon,
screwed up this world, searching for the next one.
Gangsta rappers and happy slappers,
computer hackers, celebrity snappers,
airplane pilots who fly into towers,
women who use toilets for several hours.
There are so many enemies, the planet's full of evil,
but please God deliver me from Jeremy Beadle!

My prayers were answered by the Lord above us,
there's no Blair or Branson or any of the others.
There's just mental nurses at the Christmas feast,
I've forgotten these verses, my fears have decreased!
I'm opening my third or fourth bottle of wine
when in walks this bird-I'm glad she ain't mine!
She's been spending too much time in the gym
or she's on a never ending sponsored slim!
I've seen more meat on a starving whippet,
and she takes a seat and puts her skinny ass in it!
She's with this feller who limps in behind her,
I was about to tell her, give a gentle reminder
that this Christmas bash is for nurses only,
not a starting class for the lost and lonely!
I had second thoughts after further reflection,
I decided that I ought not raise an objection.
It's the season of goodwill to all and sundry,
she could do with a meal but,"I'm not really hungry".
She says her name is Vicky and his name is David,
in a contest for thickest he'd be red hot favourite!
I must explain the game of Pass the Parcel,
all he does is complain of his metatarsal.
Metatarsal! It started to click into shape,
Posh and Becks at the party and there's no escape!
Here comes Sting doing the Tantric walk
hand in hand with The Duchess of York.
Jimmy Saville struts in, chomping a cigar,
Bono is auctioning his fifth best car.
Here's Tony and Cherie, all charm and teeth,
here comes Jerry and Omar Sharif.
"Oh no", I moaned as they gathered around.
"Oh yeeesss", intoned the Churchillian hound!
All the stars are out from A to Z,
even Bob Monkhouse has risen from the dead.
From far and wide they are drawn to each other
and I'm stuck inside Celebrity Big Brother.
I begin to shout and I start to sweat,
but I can't get out it isn't over yet.
Vanessa and Jeremy are proffering advice,
Believe in Me says an Imitation Christ!
Suddenly I find myself up on the stage
charged with the crime of Celebrity Rage!
Here come the jury with buttons to press,
is he guilty? Oh surely, they answer yes!
The judges adjourn and cheek by jowl
it's Sharon Osbourne and Simon Cowell.
Here comes Suggs and here comes Madness,
but where are the drugs to cure my badness?
Here comes a nurse carrying a needle,
Oh God it gets worse, it's Jeremy Beadle!

[Richard WH]

bloody hell.
Just finished and its time to go to work already
This is obviously very clever and I find myself agreeing with your list of undesirables almost without exception. The only people I'd be interested in would be those who believe they're Jesus Christ. They'd be good material for a poem or book. I'd have em move in for three months but the wife wouldnt let me.

As for the poem(?) well it would work great as an on-stage rant; would come across as clever and funny if delivered with pace.
Written down it desperately needs some spaces.
Either way I would scythe out the last stanza and just keep the first two. It starts to become repetitive to me after the second one.

[wabbit]

Brilliant, very clever. Had me smiling all the way to the 1st break after that, although still funny I started to loose concentration. Although Im not going to try to suggest how, I would trim it down somehow.

As Richard said the whole thing would work great on stage delivered at pace.

In fact reminds me of the one done by (I think) Buce Forcyth? to the tune of the Cann Cann which listed all the old comedians (I think)


Nice one
W

[Elphin]

Fantastic fun, ray.

Tend to agree with richard that the last stanza might be a step too far. Until then I loved the celebs interspersed with the girl next door and more local hates.

With the right delivery it certainly would work on stage.

elphin

[TDF]

Hey Ray,

I don't generally have the patience for long poems, but this was certainly fun and easy to read. Some very clever lines in there and good healthy dose of humour.

It is certainly quite a mammoth undertaking, well done.

Tom

[ladyteazle]

It's so nice to read poetry that doesn't take itself too seriously. Afterall, angst written poetry is a modern phenomenon we can blame the Romantics for (God, love 'em). A good piece of advice someone gave me was that a rhyme should seem natural and the only choice. I think you managed this most of the time, although there was the odd contrivance - ony natural in a poem so long, I suppose. I think you might need to to use the semicolon at the end of some of the lines when you have a ran a subject over three lines.

Loved it. Made me smile. Well done. (You did miss Amy Winehouse off though, I think.)

[David]

I thought this was really good - raised more than a few smiles, which is pretty good going.

And I quite like the final section - just when you thought you were safe!

I agree with Richard - it would go down a treat if performed with gusto.

Cheers

David

[ray miller]

Thanks for your comments and I agree that it is something that needs to be spoken, listened to rather than read. I have plans to perform it at The Big Chill this summer if I'm allowed. I am shocked at the suggestion that Amy Winehouse should be lined up against the wall alongside the likes of Sting and Elton John. After Back to Black a huge well of forgiveness should be waiting for Amy. Ladyteazle, I'm an exiled Brummie myself, what part are you from? I grew up in Northfield. ray

[ladyteazle]

Holy crap - I grew up in Northfield too, Ray!

[westonalan]

Good job I found this poem early in the morning when i was wide awake, brilliantly thought out! I related to the context of the poem straight away.
Well done Ray!
My sentiments exactly!!!!!!!!

[ray miller]

Dear God, Alan, I almost choked on my Digoxin when I saw you'd resurrected this. It's only just over a year ago but it seems a lifetime ago that I was woken to the harsh realities of the world of Entertainment.It's safe to talk on the net so let me tell you about this poem and myself.

Great performance piece, they all said. So I thought, why not? I'll give it a go, and I "performed"it at a pub in Birmingham. Went down a treat. Some punters even stayed awake until the end. I almost did myself.Second time not so good. I'd got no further than Elton John when these heavies haul me off the stage and into the dressing room. I say "heavies", there were four Ronnie Corbetts but strong, wiry and witheringly sarcastic. I say "dressing room", I mean toilet.That's when I learned where the real power lies in this country. Bruce Forsyth. They call him The Force.You probably think of him as a slightly irritating but harmless entertainer of the old school. Think again. He will not countenance criticism, implied or direct, of members of his circle.They tell me if I don't leave off...and at this point they give me this list of Names which if I divulged to you I'd be putting your very life in danger... then they'd issue a fatwa. Only they don't call it a fatwa, they refer to it as a Les Dennis. "You behave yourself or you'll be Les Dennised!" At times like this you have to think of your family. I did. I said, "Take the kids, Les Dennis them, just leave me alone!" They sneered and they taunted me whilst a Des O' Connor tape played in the background. It makes me nauseous just to recall it.
I've not performed My Christmas List since that day and I have no intention of ever doing so again. Please forget you ever read it Alan and watch out for that Corbett, he's stronger than you think.

[Lovely]

Cor! to think (they blamed me) for the long ones how tunes change so quick.

Thanks for lighting me up in this.

Lx