Secret Santa

The Office': Revisiting season 2's ill-fated Secret Santa | EW.com

The day before The Night Before
The office turned into a store
With gifts galore from Santa’s stock
At lunchtime, right on one o’clock

A furtive glance across the room
As someone tried to wrap perfume
A figure hunched behind a fern
(the new girl had a lot to learn)

A friend will cough to help a mate
Disguise the sound of Sellotape

Shirley’s eyes revealed a glint
Each time she dropped another hint
In knowing just what not to tell
She kept the weak under her spell

And Andy, bless him, the poor dear
Just hoped he’d get it right this year
For Sue, who longed for something French
He’d bought a Jean-Paul Gautier wrench

Old Davey Wilcox saved a packet
He thought the whole idea a racket
His gifts were met with trepidation
Bought at his local petrol station

All dreams of wintry escapades
Were dashed by half-price wiper blades

Still, pity those who drew Pru’s name
The dowager who ran the game
And claimed the true meaning had gone
Then priced her gift on Amazon

Big Tony came to stuff his face
So ate at an alarming pace
Before they wrapped it up for Luke
Whose wife was just as bad a cook

Stollen, edam, Toblerone
Belgian nougat in a cone
Baby Jesus, Heaven sent
Now came via the continent

I’ve seen several scars happen
Over a slice of marzipan

Paper plates now put aside
Each festive tummy satisfied
Fiona stood to give a toast
But belched up Captain Morgan’s ghost

So Lenny then began to lift
And sift until he found his gift
50 ml of CK One
Would do quite nicely for his son

Aww, it’s lovely… that’s so sweet
As girls are wont to coo and tweet
With every present they unwrap
And gaze upon whilst in their lap

Which makes guys pause and think a bit:
This Santa thing’s made me a hit
That perfume seemed to animate her
I’ll say ‘hi’ at the laminator

So Merry Christmas one and all
Be pleased you got a gift at all
Enjoy that glass of Triple Sec
In your new purple turtle neck

Best Before Date

January’s no one’s friend

A month that lingers without end

No end to winter’s deepest chill

Which steals the breath and makes us ill

No end to counting every dime

From letting go at Christmastime

To resolutions boldly made

Then just as quietly betrayed

No reason to buy a bouquet

No fireworks

No Mother’s Day

At New Year’s we all raise a glass

Bemused by how the months soon pass

Then wake the next day full of dread

In fear of that which lay ahead