[Jerome Betts]

What have you started, John?

[John Whitworth]

Noel

At Christmas, preserving my figure,
I consumed just one stuffed budge-a-rigger
On a slice of French Toast,
But the Heavenly Host
Made it bigger and bigger and bigger.

[Brian Allgar]

I dunno what a French Christmas is like, John. I always spend it with my family in England, and Francoise with hers in France, then she joins us in England on Boxing Day.

One Santa has now been defrocked,
As it were, for an act that has shocked
Both country and city.
What he did, more's the pity,
Can't be told, or the thread might be locked.

Jerome, in the interests of truth, civic duty, and pure filth, I fear I must reveal all:

The News of the World is no more,
But stories continue; I saw
That Santa votes Labour -
He wielded his sabre,
And Cameron feels a bit sore.

(Aaaarghhh! Still haven't packed the car.)

[Jerome Betts]

Brian A. flees to good old perfide
When we thought he was safely Paris'd? (Think about it)
Dare we ask him to tell
If it's fear of Noel
Or results from some scandalous deed?

[Melanie Branton]

To be honest, I wouldn't advise
Eating cranberry sauce with mince pies
And it may seem quite quirky
Serving custard with turkey,
Though it would give your guests a surprise.

[Jerome Betts]

Bah! Humbug! saId Scrooge, and was right.
Christmas mixes the sickly and trite
With marketing mush
And media gush
So my spirits refuse to ignite.

[basil ransome-davies]

I was hanging my stocking when Criminy!
Father Christmas emerged from the chiminey,
With the works of Descartes
And a hot little tart
Whom he'd met on a weekend in Rimini.

[Brian Allgar]

Originally Posted by basil ransome-davies

I was hanging my stocking when Criminy!
Father Christmas emerged from the chiminey,
With the works of Descartes
And a hot little tart
Whom he'd met on a weekend in Rimini.

Father Christmas said "Go get a life!
That wasn't a tart, but my wife,
And the book was just bumpf,
Not Descartes but "Mein Kampf" -
I'm surrounded by trouble and strife.

[Sylvia Fairley]

Round robins are now in full flight,
Bearing news that’s abysmally trite.
Let’s serve up the writers
For dinner, the blighters,
And invite all our friends for a bite.

[Curtis Gale Weeks]

Since he crafts all his gifts, they are free.
Every year, he's quite jolly, you'll see:
     when you open your gift,
     try not to be miffed
when he says, "It's all me!" with great glee.