Decs up before the 1st, usually.

All splendidly arranged,

never sparing an inch of space from glitter,

and musical mechanical gadgets singing carols -

all part of her enchanted grotto.

One year there were that many lights,

They confused pilots in the sky heading over the house,

And Sellafield had to go into overtime.

Still at least Santa had no trouble finding it.

But she loves a good Xmas,

curling up on the couch,

Baileys in hand, crackers and a love for pate:

so must everyone else.

You don't dare to say any different – or else,

You’re getting coal on your backside.

She loves her old silver movies,

'Merry Christmas Bedford falls',

or a miracle on 34th street.

Still it's a wonderful life in her eyes,

and why not?

That's what I love about her,

that's what we all need.

She's the perfect host,

and most definitely like the ghost,

and well being spirit of Christmas presents.

And as the years pass her by,

she gets worse with vitality,

gonna get married on a harley,

in Vegas with her young Elvis.

Age is not a concern with her,

and to hell with worry,

she makes a good role model,

in any son's eyes,

she's cool, she's mad, she's radge,

HO! HO! HO!

Me ole Mother Yuletide.