Holidays are coming...

Hasn't it gone quickly again. As I write this blog there is less than a week until Christmas. Am I ready? No. Am I worried? A little. I have six days to finish present buying, wrapping, sorting and I'm a little unsure as to whether or not Santa will have time to pick up presents for my cousins and so on before the big day. I figure he'll only come to collect them if they are really good kids, so I don't think I need to buy them really.
I think at this time of the year there is so much going on that everyone gets a little pressed for time. I'm booked up for the tail end of the week now- family gatherings and suchlike have crept in and so any hope of a quiet Christmas has fallen away. With this in mind I have been a little annoyed at the overwhelming commercialism that goes on. I found out this morning that Kim Jong-il has died. Heart attack apparently, which is a shame because I always wanted Team America to sort him. Alas, I missed the news breaking because I was playing Christmas songs on a loop. I bought into it..
This brings me, rather tediously onto my post for this week. DGPS on Friday was themed "Yule", the blog this week is themed "Christmas" and so a little duplication is acceptable I think. Also, I am hacked off with X Factor ruining perfectly good singles. I urge you all to buy the Military Wives CD this week. If you're buying Little Tits, you have to get an extra copy of the Military Wives CD, these are the rules. On that note then, a poem.

I Wish I Could be Christmas Number One

Every year there is a migration
Scores of young girls all bouncing in line
As they snake their way down to a studio
Each with a number, uniquely assigned.

Al the odds have the face for the big time
All the evens are weird but filmed too
In the line where the freaks tell sob stories
and the producers decide who goes through.

The balance is always a fine one
Young Mariah was filmed quite a bit
She hoped to be deemed a contestant
Not just there to be laughed at, but win it.

When Mariah stepped up to the microphone
With the audience readily primed
She put in a seamless performance
No one seemed to care that she'd mimed.

So Mariah came through the auditions
With a fresh face and recorded notes
By the time she left the judges houses
She had gathered a strong public vote

Mariah became bookies favourite
Ambitious and gunning to win
Though backstage the producers were nervous
For without auto-tune, she couldn't sing

But Mariah still swept home to victory
Splashed the kind of cash she'd never seen
Had a hot tub installed in the garden
and gold plated her marble latrine.

The phone rang one day to change everything
her manager, bearing bad news
the newspaper headline expose
left her dropped with a case of the blues.

Mariah slumped into her futon
From the vodka she took a good glug
Circling labels in an old Yellow Pages
She could call with her record to plug.

For a while she toured round the country
Was MARIAH, as seen on TV
But the Christmas lights switch on in Dagenham
wasn't all she had hoped it would be

By December her schedule was empty
Her bank account had long since drained
It was good being a star whilst it lasted
But she knew, time was up in this game

So Mariah sold up and went quiet
On the high street no one knew her name
And she sat alone, crying at Christmas
Wondering why all the songs were the same.


Cheers for reading folks. Have a great Christmas. Shaun