Christmas Innit'? By Katherine Pearce

Christmas innit?

A long train ride home in the mist and rain

Everyone in their twenties looks just the same

Big tired bags, two under their eyes

Macbooks and laptops restin' on thighs

Slumped silhouettes leaking texts and sighs

Eyes like saucers, plucky and wise

Plugged in and shipped out, back home for a while

With shoes that need mendin' and a big washin' pile

Big woolly jumpers and coloured courderoys

Over grown hair and headphones of noise

Lads thinkin' of lasses

And girls dreamin' of boys

No longer toys

Barbie's and Batman

Street fighter and Pac Man

Or a sneak peak at the fat man.

Now it's new clothes, and shiny shoes

Electronics and booze

Arguments and queues 

And maybe a shag or two

Or a fight in the loos of the local

Where your loud vocal tones frequent each year

Warm breath in your ear from alumni you feared

Who's icy demeanor has been speared by the working world

The cocky swagger damaged by that one brown eyed girl

With her hair in a twirl

And her knickers in a twist

And an over make-upped face to hide the shadow of his fist

'But love he's in a BAND!' And you soon get the gist

Slaggy little elves, and the Ho Ho Ho's

Can't get to the bar, for 'em stepping on your toes

Old lovers stir stomachs as gin fills heads

But not much can be done in your old single bed

A stones throw away from Aunt Brenda and Uncle Ted

Who crash every year for the consumerist event

Where you don't hear what’s said, only what’s meant

'The telly is shit'

'Sofas are on sale'

'The road is too icy'

'There's too much of a gale'

'Hope it don't bloody snow!'

Everyone with colds, and the car won't go

Every shows got a special, spoilt rivalry in the bar

Moneys all gone, you came a cropper, got a scar

The bags are much worse on the long train back

The ones under their eyes, and on the rack

A bright cold new year brings another stint in debt

Living off beans, damp walls and night regrets

But when watching Toy Story with your brother, and your dog

Being warm dry and sick from an overdose of Yule log

When the crap joke in your cracker brings a blast from a childlike past

It reminds you that 'Shitmas' goes too fucking fast.