A Visit From Saint Nicholas: After Clement C Moore (a long way after...)

T'was the night before Christmas,
down Welshpool they say,
and Nick was asleep
(he's far safer that way)

From out in the yard
came a clamour so great
that Griffin leapt up
and looked out to the gate

“It must be Green Arrow”
thought the Leader, quite cross,
“he's been at the lager
and come to see Boss”

But it wasn't the Arrow
out there in the black,
t'was a jolly old fellow
with a beard and a sack

“It's Santa!” cried Nick
with glee and delight,
“And he's brought me some pressies
'pon Christmas Eve night!”

Santa stood in the yard
just scratching his head
studying maps
in an old A to Zed

“Are you looking for me?”
Asked Griffin, excited,
“Have you brought me a gift?
If you have, I'm delighted!”

“It's not you I'm after,
you're not on my list,
I'm after directions
if you could assist.”

“Not on your list!”
Cried Griffin, dismayed,
“Pray tell me why not!
What's this sick masquerade?!”

“You're not on my list,
to be quite precise,
'cos Griffin, old chum,
you just haven't been nice.”

“Not nice?” spluttered Nick
“Not nice – that's a blow!
Tell me, in what way not nice?
I must know!”

Santa consulted
a book from his sleigh.
“Says here you're a wrong'un.
Right here. Okay?”

“You're a mealy-mouthed racist,
and a conman to boot.
A jumped up dictator
in a 3 XL suit.”

“You lie to the country
and lie to your Members,
you've lied all your life,
thinking no-one remembers!”

“You sit here in Welshpool,
and appeal to the Nation,
hoping little old ladies will
send a donation.”

“You say it's for court fees,
or for a Truth Truck,
but it never shows up
in Accounts, does it, Chuck?”

“As long as Nick Griffin
treats others like poo,
there'll be no Christmas treats
in my sack for you!”

Griffin was downcast,
and stared at his feet.
“Not even satsumas?
Or chocolates to eat?”

“Not a sausage, old boy!”
Said Santa, quite stern,
“A harsh lesson, I know-
but one you should learn!”

“So who gets the pressies?”
Asked Nick, with a tear,
“Where will you go, if
you're not coming here?”

“I've got gifts for all
who've learned not to hate.
and believe we're all equal
(and that ain't you, mate...)”

“For teachers and preachers
and union folk,
(that's real unions, mind-
not that Harrington bloke...)”

“For all anti-racists-
Black, White and Yellow-
There's pressies and treats-
but not you, old fellow!”

And with that, Dear old Santa
climbed back in his sleigh,
shouting: “Dasher and Dancer!
Away, lads, away!”

And as Griffin watched,
Santa flew from the yard,
leaving poor Nick
not so much as a card.

And he heard a feint cry,
as he went back indoors:
“Merry Christmas to all!
And Griffin, Up Yours!”

(I'd just like to wish a Merry Christmas, Winterval, Eid (a bit late, I know...), Diwali, Hanukkah, Kwanza or whatever else you may be celebrating to all our Readers. Although not some of our Readers, obviously – you know who you are...

See you in 2011!)