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On the first day of Christmas, my true love said to me, ‘I’ve bought a big fresh turkey and a proper Christmas tree.’
On the second day of Christmas, much laughter could be heard as we feasted on our turkey – a most delicious bird.
On the third day of Christmas, came the people from next door. The turkey tasted just as good as it had done before.
On the fourth day of Christmas, we had the turkey cold. With mashed up spuds and salads, our appetites to hold.
On the fifth day of Christmas, outside the snow flakes scurried, But we were nice and warm inside – we had the turkey curried.
On the sixth day of Christmas, the Christmas spirit died. The children fought and bickered, and we had the turkey fried.
On the seventh day of Christmas, my truelove he did wince. To sit down at the table and be offered turkey mince.
On the eighth day of Christmas, the dog ran out for shelter. He’d seen our turkey pancakes and the glass of alka-seltzer.
On the ninth day of Christmas, by lunchtime Dad was blotto. He knew the bird was back again, but this time as risotto.
On the tenth day of Christmas, we were drinking home-made brew. And as if that wasn’t bad enough we were eating turkey stew.
On the eleventh day of Christmas, the Christmas tree was moulting. With chilli, soy and oyster sauce, the turkey was revolting.
On the twelfth day of Christmas, we had smiles upon our lips. The guests had gone, the turkey too – we dined on fish and chips!
