Playwrights' Competition Calendar

23/12/2012

Happy Christmas!

Filed under: Random Musings — Gina @ 13:50

‘Twas The Night Before Christmas

By me (with a little help from Clement Clarke Moore)

*

‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house

Not a laptop was working, not even a mouse.

The script had been packed up and posted with care

In the hopes that the BBC wanted to share.

*

The writer was snuggled at home in her bed,

While visions of Oliviers danced in her head.

Himself and her too had had a nightcap,

And settled their brains for a long winter’s nap.

*

When suddenly downstairs there arose such a clatter.

She sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

Away down the stairs she flew like a flash

To check on her top secret choc-o-late stash.

*

The last fairy lights on the lopsided tree

Threw just enough light so she could now see.

And what to her hung-over eyes should appear

But a miniature Sleigh and eight tiny reindeer.

*

It was parked on the rug which she realised she must

Remember to hoover and maybe to dust.

But where was the driver, so jolly and round?

He was opening a file of her playscripts he’d found.

*

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his toe

And he held a red marker which flashed to and fro.

He tutted and sighed as he turned every page

Of the play she had written to be acted on stage.

*

His eyes how they twinkled ‘neath a red bobble cap

As he tore through her script like a dose of the clap.

“Too much exposition, is annoying my dear,

And you’ve repeated yourself over here, here and here.

*

Act one is too long, Act two is a chore

And as for Act three –  that’s one giant flaw.

Your hero is dull and your plot far too thin.

If you ask my opinion it’d go straight in the bin.”

*

He was chubby and plump, his nose like a cherry

From many mince pies and too much sweet sherry.

“How dare you!” she cried, as at him she came,

And she whistled and shouted and called a rude name.

*

Then she spoke not a word, but went straight to her work,

With a left and a right. A snatch and a jerk.

He had a broad face and a round little belly

That shook, when she kicked, like a bowlful of jelly.

*

“Stop stop!” cried the man as she twisted his head,

And gave her to know she had nothing to dread.

“I may not like it,” St Nick said to she,

“But try them at Soho or Theatre 503.

*

Now please let me go, there’s more work to be done

Or Caryl’s new play will be a short run.

And what’s worse, if I don’t get out with my pen

A play like the Spice Girls’ could happen again.”

*

She dropped him at once, and got him a beer

Which he drank before calling to all his reindeer.

“Is it Basher? No, Chancer. Can’t remember them all!

Bugger it! We’ll just have to dash away all!”

*

And laying his finger aside of his nose,

He snorted some coke. Up the chimney he rose!

But she heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,

“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good write!”

***

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2 Comments »

  1. Nice, Gina!
    Merry Christmas!

    Comment by Kathy Rucker — 24/12/2012 @ 16:34 | Reply

  2. “As he tore through her script like a dose of the clap.” This literally made me laugh out loud! I love it!
    Merry Christmas, Gina.

    Comment by Wayne E. — 25/12/2012 @ 06:15 | Reply


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