What a time we had at the Xmas Perty - all dressed up with a "wee refreshement" and plenty of cheer. Not quite as Diane remembers in her exquisite painting (hidden talents Diane!) or Sheila with her less than flattering photo of the inebriated captain!
Pat started us off in stitches with her take on TS Elliot's Journey of the Magi
The Journey of the Lifebelters
by Pat Sutherland
A cold Christmas we had of it
Just the time of year
for going arse over tit on the ice
and doing battle in the supermarket
for the last loaf.
There were times we regretted
ever getting involved
in all that tinsel tawdriness
and the highway robbery of Festive Menus
full of reconstituted turkey
and khaki knackered sprouts.
Still we soldiered on,
to the soundtrack of Slade
with the voices singing in our ears, saying
that this was all mince.
The on-board Christmas party brought relief, however,
Captain Bev pouring libations topped with Cointreau,
Aileen impersonating The Laughing Policeman
And Pat setting fire to the mince pies
And the barge rocking to our tuneless singing.
Then came January and hacking coughs
And we all learned the word ‘pandemic’
But there was no information, though Boris said
It would all blow over, which it did, from Glasgow Cross to
Auchtermuchty and beyond.
New rules followed; we washed our hands
And closed our doors, but set down
This set down
This: Bev and Larry
Saved us from ourselves
Not a moment too soon,
Finding Zoom, (a cloud-based video communications app that allows you to set up virtual video and audio.)
Meetings had a new dimension:
Can you hear me?
No, Put your face up to the screen! Where’s Kay gone?
I’m stuck out here in the ether; get me back!
My screen’s gone blank, no, I can see your feet!
What’s a screen shot? Fuck’s sake! Pat can’t find the link AGAIN…
All this has carried on to the present,
And we’ll be glad when it’s over
but set down
This set down
This
out of Covid new poets have sprung,
Lifebelters have written their way through
House arrest and endless grey days
Prizes were won and pieces published
Lesley has woven magic words and music
Kay has walked through four pairs of boots
And we have kept each other afloat
In our lifebelts.
Here’s tae us!
*************************
The event fell short of authentic Water Story festive spirit, simply because our atmospheres were not suffused with the smoke of Pat's culinary responsibilities... it just isn't the same if Pat isn't setting fire to sausage rolls, croissants or mince pies.
The festivities came to a natural halt and this wayward captain realised that yes, even in the midst of this hilarity, there was writing to be done. And so it was. I'm still waiting for contributions from the crew but here is one from your captain.
Merry Christmas all x
The Thirteenth Day of Christmas
by Pat Sutherland (Apologies to Dave Calder)
Whit you aw aboot?
A should be gratefu’??
A’ll gie ye grateful
a partridge ye say, aye right
bit a perr tree an aw?
It’s oot on the sterr heid
wi the bunker
cannae squeeze it in the door
thae turtle doves huv shat
big wallopers oan ma laminate
the hens are roostin oan the duvet
an the geese are bowfin,
layin eggs oan the sofa an honkin
thae drummers are gein it welly
in the scullery wi the ladies
dancin tae the pipers pipin
an mad mental lords a-
leapin aff the sterrs
knockin the maids a milkin
aff their stools
the cludgie’s flooded from the swans
flappin in the bath –
it’s a pure stramash
aye, A’ll grant the five gold rings
did nae herm but
the partridge ett thaim
an the perr tree’s deid
wi the coal dust
so thanks a bunch
Cheeery Me!
A salute from Cap’n Bev (hic)
Cheery me!
My penpals all are here
in party plumed regalia
and Christmas paraphernalia
How I love this scribbling crew!
How the sailoring sense of waterway muse
is hoisted aloft as writers gather on screen
to sail our sea of words.
Just for a while we forget the beloved green and wet
of loch and canal, zoom into the cheering plasma glow
knowing the welcome that waits.
Was it ever the water, the boat, the ben
as much as the soaring souls
of these writers I’ve come to love and know?
Epilogue from Pat:
Lines for a Christmas Card by Hilaire Belloc
May all my enemies go to hell,
Noel, Noel, Noel, Noel
