There’s panic in the kitchen

From the cook comes plenty a bitchin’

Fricken bird won’t fit in the cooker

Frantic hands push, ‘get in you bastard fucker’

It’s like a reverse birth

Bloody turkey has too much girth.

Finally it concedes defeat

Minus drumsticks, breast and feet.

Now to relax with a glass of sherry

To Enjoy family and to be merry.

Oh no! Yet to do the sprouts, gravy and sauce

Never mind the first course

Frantic knife work, one pint of blood lost

Can’t believe how much this has cost

Less Band-Aid on radio, more on hand

The kitchen is by far under-manned.

Sprouts now done, cooked to a green pulp

Another glass of sherry, another deep gulp.

Chef is now a little red in the face

Looking like he’s been sprayed with mace

Still, the gravy looks good, one lump or two?

Starting to think Christmas dinner will be stew.

All the vegetables are now well done

Where’s the sherry – give me some?

Family arrive with plenty a colourful smile

Trouping to the tree in single file

A percussion of clattering comes from the food area

Chef is looking funny, has he got malaria?

Presents opened, socks, hats and Susan Boyle are exchanged

Guests unknowing that Christmas dinner has been rearranged

Chef stumbles from the kitchen completely drunk,