As I walk to the shop in my warm winter top, I pass by all the windows and see. Family folk sat on chairs, so I follow their stares to a whacking big fuck off TV.
It’s all Christmas time shite, though I try as I might, to ignore that big festive coke truck, but the sight of a child with a smile that’s as wide as they come, then I don’t give a fuck!
It’s November, you see, that’s still Guy Fawkes to me as the smell of the fires still linger. So with reverence I cry, with a tear in my eye, and raise high in the sky my mid finger!
Let the festive tone stay, in the run to that day whence we celebrate our lack of vision, so we spend all our dough, and we watch pointless shows on our whacking big huge television!
Dec247h 