I bloody hate Boxing Day. It’s literally an empty box of a day with nothing to offer but the leftovers of Christmas dinner and mounds of ripped wrapping paper bursting out of the bin. Of course it might be different if I had lots of family to visit or to come to visit me, but I don’t, that was put paid to that one Boxing Day three years ago and that particular saga still goes on. Sometimes I wish Boxing Day really was about boxing so that I could get a few punches in, but sadly it isn’t.
In fact just what is Boxing Day about? We don’t have servants any more, so it isn’t a day for giving out Christmas boxes as it was in the past and apart from the football, the sales and the bloody hunt there really isn’t that much too it. I can think of nothing worse than watching a bunch of men kicking a ball about in the freezing cold, wandering around John Lewis with hundreds of angry bargain hunters, or standing around waiting for a bunch of red jacketed blood lusting toffs to ride past on there way to killing a defenceless fox.
This Boxing Day is a particularly bad one as it’s damp and dour and raining with not a hint of crispness in the air and certainly no snow. It’s not even worth the effort of going for a walk. The A55 is flooded so we can’t get to
an as for those two turtle doves, well there’s not a sign although there were
some blue tits in the lavender bush at the back.
Bloody boring, that’s Boxing Day. Perhaps I’ll get my gloves on and start a fight; after all it seems to run in the family.
Boxing Day Blues
So the Christ child’s day is over
Santa’s been and gone
Presents in piles will soon be dust
The end of the Christmas fun.
The turkey awaits deliverance
In sandwiches, curries and pies
Leftover pud hardens in cake tins
Chestnuts wrinkle and dry.
Decorations and lights go unnoticed
The tree is beginning to sadden
The fridge is full of too much food
Singing Santa does nothing but madden.
It’s raining outside not snowing
The crackers have each been pulled
That’s a crow outside not a robin
The wine has all been mulled.
My Santa hat is discarded
My ho-ho-ho all done
The mistletoe has lost its kiss
It’s the end of the Christmas fun.
And Boxing Day is upon us
Most anticlimactic day of all
It’s almost the time of between week
Four days of lethargy and sprawl.
But don’t despair at the situation
The New Year is yet to come
In 364 days it’ll all be returning
And as always we’ll all succumb.