The Twelve Days of Christmas –
by ‘Her Indoors’, Rosie Amber & Terry Tyler
On the Fifth Day of Christmas my true love gave to me….
Five Gold Rings…
FIVE? What are you feeling guilty about, eh? One would have been quite sufficient! About time too, how many years have we been married? I tell you what, it still makes me go hot and cold after all these years; I’ve never felt so ashamed, having to borrow our Ivy’s wedding ring just to get wed—I notice you didn’t forget to go on your stag night, so how come you forgot to buy my wedding ring? And now you turn up with FIVE… what, is it one for each ear, one to go round me neck and one to stick through me nose, or what? Tell you what, sunshine, you can take four of ’em back, and get me summat useful with the money. A new set of saucepans would be nice.
Four Calling Birds….
“Now listen here, this neighbourhood has a good reputation. Have you heard the stuff they’re coming out with? Only yesterday her at number twenty-seven told me that they’d been squawking—well, no, I can’t repeat it. Why couldn’t you have got me a pasta maker like a normal husband? Or one of those ice cream makers, I fancy one of them. Instead, what do I get? Four more feathered friends with mouths like a bleedin’ sewer. Pardon me French; well, it’s rubbing off on me, ain’t it?”
Three French Hens….
“FRENCH? Don’t tell Uncle Bill, you know what he has to say about the French! And what’s wrong with a nice Rhode Island Red, might I ask? They have a good laying reputation and we could enjoy a nice fresh egg for breakfast once they’ve settled down. I don’t know, you don’t know the meaning of the word ‘practical’, do you? Dare I ask if you thought to get a fox proof hen house? And I don’t want them scratching up all me plants. I tell you what, if they ain’t paying their way by Twelfth Night, you can ring their necks and stick ’em in the freezer. Yeah, and pluck and draw ’em, too. No, no, don’t look at me like that, it was your idea, weren’t it?”
Two turtle doves…
“Well, thanks a bunch for that one, would you pass the Nurofen? Headache? Yes, I have got a headache, thank you very much. I haven’t had a minute’s peace from their cooing. Coo, coo, coo, all day long, I can’t hear meself think! Cute? Well, yeah. For about five minutes. But ‘cute’ don’t cut the mustard when you’re clearing up bird sh*t, and you could have asked the geezer in the pet shop if he’d got any with a volume control!
I tell you, me nerves are frazzled! I’ve got the window open—you did know I’m allergic to feathers, didn’t you? I’m freezing me bits off—sorry, what’s that? Where are they, you ask? Oh, dearie me, I must have left the cage door open. Whoops-a-daisy! I’m sorry, honest I am. It was an accident; ooh look, there they are, up there….”
And A Partridge in a Pear tree….
“Are you having a laugh? Have you looked out of the window and seen the size of our garden lately? I wouldn’t insult postage stamps! We already have two apple trees, a lilac, and several rose bushes jostling for position with the buddleia— where exactly were you thinking of planting this pear tree? And what do partridges eat? Have you even looked that up? Eh? Eh? Have you? No, I thought not! I don’t like the way it’s staring at me, neither, it’s got a right sneaky look in its eye—oh, great, and now it’s decided to hoover up all the bird food I put out for the sparrows, like an industrial suction machine, no less! And I’m sure the number of cats sitting on the garden fence has doubled, they’ll be doing their business in the garden and all sorts. You just don’t think, do you?”