I fell asleep going home in the taxi, and he took me the longest way round.

I stepped out of the cab, stood in a dog turd, And slipped, on my a***, to the ground.

I " Torvill and Deaned" my way to the door With my shoes all covered in poo, I found my key - took about an hour, But where's the keyhole ? - I hadn't a clue !

The bathroom window was open, Ah ! - I had a way to get in !

But how to get up ? - and then an idea - I'll climb on the wheelie bin !

I know, in my drunken stupor, I should have had more sense, But the black bin skated down the drive, And shot me over next door's fence.

My flying through the air was graceful and serene, Like an Olympic gymnast, upon a trampoline.

The sudden stop upon the concrete, caused me quite a lot of pain, But despite two broken ribs, I knew I had to try again.

I eventually got to the window sill and tottered on the brink, Then I fell backwards in, with a Fosbury Flop, And knocked myself out on the sink.

I came to, an half an hour later, with my foot stuck fast down the loo, With a slurping sound, my foot came free, But I left behind my right shoe.

The bedroom door was bolted shut, the Missus really not pleased.

I went downstairs, missed the last three steps, And I took the skin off my knees.

I stood up with my head in a spin, grabbed the Christmas tree in the hall.

The fairy on the top fell off, and broke her glass leg in the fall !

And then it ALL went wrong, I found myself beneath the tree, Broken baubles and lights all over the place, I had a struggle to set myself free !

So - I thought - I'll sleep in the lounge tonight And staggered towards the door, Forgetting, I'd only one shoe on, And decorations smashed over the floor.

Took an hour to get the glass shards out With glazed eyes and shaking hand, The blood and pain made me groan and shout, And I thought - Well - ain't Christmas grand !

I lay down with a Procul Harum face (a whiter shade of pale), Then the room started moving up, down and around.

Like a yacht in a storm - under sail.

I felt my stomach churning - in a calling for "Hughie" mode.

If I don't get to the downstairs loo, I'm about to spontaneously explode !

So I crawled along the skirting board, Knocking pictures off the wall.

Back across the broken decorations lying in the hall.

I got to the toilet just in time; remembered to lift the lid too And started hugging my only friend in the world, The cold, white porcelain loo.

With tears on my face, with sweat on my brow, and a terrible abdomen ache, I was sick on my shoe, that was stuck down the loo, With a sound mating walruses make.

Now I've made a solemn vow - I won't drink booze again.

It may even last for an hour or two, Til I can get rid of the pain.

So take a tip from me my friends, Stay drinking coffee or tea.

Steer clear of taxis, wheelie bins and that bloody Christmas Tree !

Dave Thompson December 06