THE FULL HALF DOZEN 

Sprawling on the sofa, curtains half closed,

Ronald and Prue haven’t bothered with clothes,

Just Christmas nightwear – no one’s looking!

It’s Boxing Day and Ron’s been cooking.

Twelve sausage rolls, the homemade sort,

Shortcrust pastry, not shop bought,

Six for him, half a dozen for Prue,

Ron hurries to the kitchen and brings them through.

He settles on the sofa where Prue is sat,

Prue’s stroking Greta, the old family cat,

Stiff grey whiskers, a missing front tooth,

Her best years behind her, to tell you the truth.

The cat on the other hand’s in very fine shape,

She hisses at Ron and makes her escape.

Prue pours a large sherry and they reach for the snacks,

Then the doorbell chimes – who on earth’s that?

Ron pauses the start of the Boxing Day drama,

Pads down the hall in his festive pyjamas.

“Ron!” bellows Terry,  “It’s been a while.”

He’s brandishing a bottle, Ron forces a smile.

Terry’s the nurse from next door but one,

And Prue views Terry as a second son.

“Sausage rolls!” beams Terry, “Don’t mind if I do!”

Ron stomps off and brings another plate through,

Three people now so four on each plate,

Prue doesn’t mind as Terry’s her mate.

Ron’s sausage rolls are well renowned,

But only four each now Terry’s come round.

Four sausage rolls and Terry’s champagne,

They start to unwind….. until the doorbell again!

Ron shrinks from the window but nowhere to hide

From Reverend Candice who’s peering inside,

“Greetings Ron! It’s me, Candice.”

Afternoon destroyed, farewell peace.

“Oh Candice, what a surprise.”

Ron’s frustration barely disguised,

Prue and Terry, Candice in-between,

Ron stops in the doorway for a silent scream.

Mini sausage rolls, now 3 apiece,

First it was Terry and now Candice,

It was six each, they’ve been caught on the hop,

Proper sausage rolls too, not from a shop.

They crack out more sherry (Prue’s suggestion),

Then Ron feels a rumbling of indigestion,

He wafts the air with a car magazine,

Scrabbles in his pockets for a Deflatine.

Ron’s hopes for the day are now sorely diminished,

Better dig in before the snacks are finished!

Then a sharp ‘rap rap’ on the front room window,

It’s Denise and Dawn, back from the bingo,

“Not those two,  you’ve gotta be joking.”

Back to the door which he wrenches open.

Ron with a grimace lets Dawn and Denise in,

“Come in quick it’s flippin’ freezing.”

Dawn and Denise who live next door,

They get the chairs, and Ron’s on the floor.

Denise and Dawn start making merry,

Dawn on the ale and Denise on the sherry,

Candice starts making eyes at Terry,

He shrinks right back, she’s proper scary.

Still, twelve sausage rolls, they could each have two,

Ron sorts the plates and gives one to Prue.

But the pastry is rough and makes Prue cough,

Crumbs cover her blouse which Greta licks off,

Then a rogue lump of sausage is caught in Prue’s throat,

Ron starts to panic and drops the remote,

Terry steps in with the Heimlich manoeuvre,

Denise and Dawn go in search of the hoover,

The Reverend steps in the mess on the floor,

Ron’s had enough, he can take no more.

“Is that the time?  You’d better be going,

It’s getting late and look! It’s snowing,

Thanks for braving the winter weather,

I’m thrilled we managed to get together,

Off you go, it’s our pleasure,

But don’t come back, we’re busy -  forever!”

The door’s double locked, curtains pulled tight,

Mini sausage rolls on Boxing Day night,

Twelve more made and slammed in the oven,

This time they’ll both get the full half dozen.

© Sarah Ogilvie 2024