Christmas day

K

This morning started well – I was up early and started my potatoes off, got everything ready and had breakfast.

Then, planning to put my failed cake in the bin, I decided I might as well cut it open before I chucked it out. It turned out it’s fine on the inside!

 

 

After that good news things could only go well so when I realised I’d forgotten to buy bread sauce I didn’t care. All I had to do was reach for Delia Smith’s ‘Cookery Course’ and so, before I went out I had poked cloves into a halved onion and left it to soak in milk with peppercorns and a bay leaf, ready for my return.

Where was I going to? Well, I need to have a think about whether I should  be blogging this morning – tonight perhaps.

Here’s a clue, it’s what I took with me:

 

 

In the mean time, as I promised there would be ‘drunken blogging’ (I kept my word) here’s my contribution to Christmas Day, a song from the Socialist Songbook:

THE MAN WOT WATERS THE WORKERS BEER

 

Now I'm the man, the very fat man,

Wot waters the workers' beer,

Yes I'm the man, the very fat man,

Wot waters the workers' beer,

And what do I care if it makes them

  ill,

If it makes them terribly queer,

I've a car and a yacht and an

  aeroplane,

And I waters the workers' beer.

 

                      2

 Now when I makes the workers' beer,

I puts in strychinine,

Some methylated spirits and a drop of

  paraffin,

But, since a brew so terribly strong

Might make them terribly queer,

I reaches my hand for the water tap,

And I waters the workers' beer.

 

                         3

Now a drop of good beer is good for a

  man

Who's thirsty and tired and hot,

And I sometimes has a drop for myself

From a very special lot;

But a fat and healthy working class

Is the thing that I most fear,

So I reaches my hand for the water tap

And I waters the workers' beer.

 

 

                        4

Now ladies fair beyond compare,

And be it maid or wife,

O sometimes lend a thought for one

Who leads a wandering life,

The water rates are shockingly high,

And meths is shockingly dear,

And there isn't the profit there used

  to be

In watering the workers' beer.

 

 

L

Neil Harris

(a don’t stop till you drop production)