Friday, 20 December 2013

Jingle Balls - The Hampstead Trash Christmas Special

We know that Hampstead School is a multicultural school with many different students from many differing backgrounds celebrating many different festivals at this time, but The Hampstead Trash Christmas/Diwali/Hanukkah/Bodhi/Saturnalia/Yule/Kwanzaa/AbdiDay Special didn't really have the same ring.

Every year, on the last day before Christmas, the school puts on a Christmas assembly which is formulaic and the same year in, year out, and has a suicide rate of 63% of A*-C students, some of which simply die of a loss of will to live. The usual show contains Miss Babygoat reading out the same poem (see below) every year, the Small Whale talks about how people are dying at Christmas (cheery, we know) and something about other faiths, and of course one of Szmellsofsherrykowski's notorious Christmas stories, that usually involves the plot-line of an episode of Corrie and a vast amount of imaginary snow. However, in the spirit of Christmas, we have done a Miss Babygoat and a Szeminaldiseasekowski and written our own version of the Christmas Poem and the Xmas Story, as you can see below:
Twas the day before Christmas break, when all through the school
Not a creature was working, not even a fool.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that Szemelikowski soon would be there.

The children wished they were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of freedom danced in their heads.
And Miss in her ‘kerchief, and sir in his cap,
Had just settled their brains for a long winter’s nap.

When out in the quad there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the hall to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tried to open the lock, and was left a hand with a gash.

The sun on the breast of the non-existent snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to my weary eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tinny reindeer.

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be that dick.
From next door his decorations had fallen from the roof
And the blow up Santa was flailing loose.

But along came from his office, he created quite a fanfare
Could it be that Szemelikowski was there?
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

"Now sir! now, sir! Now tuck your shirt in!
Where the hell is your blazer? I’m not giving in!
I don’t care if it’s the last day of term!
Will you students never learn?”

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the roof-tops the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of Ties, and Szemelikowski too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The knocking and sawing of the scaffolding goof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Into the hall Szemelikowski came in with a bound.

He was dressed all in grey, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with blood and soot.
A bundle of Ties he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a cookie peddler, just opening his pack.

His eyes-how they twinkled! his many chins, how merry!
His cheeks were flaccid, his breath smelled of sherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chins was as white as the snow.

The stump of a Year 7 he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a large round belly,
That shook when he shouted, like a bowlful of jelly!

He was chubby and plump, like a right miserable elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon made me to know I had everything to dread.

He spoke not a word, but waited his turn,
For the small whale to finish speaking at the lectern.
He scanned his papers quickly before
He started his hour-long story, he took to the floor

He sprang to his place, to his team gave a whistle,
Finished his Year 7 and spat out the gristle.
His speech went for an hour, for the end we could not wait.
I've never heard more disapproving tuts of hate.

But when all was said, his story was done.
He had made his tenth reminder about uniform fun.
He had told everyone to be back on the 25th
Unless the boilers had been cast adrift.

He stopped his warbling, put on his red hat
Ignored the remarks about him being fat
I heard him exclaim, as everyone pissed off home, out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, to all This is a Good Night!"


[Head stands up, untangles his balls slyly from his trousers, and makes his way to the lectern, making sure that the rustle of the paper he is unfolding is picked up completely by the microphone.]

It was Christmas time in Victorian London, and a young pauper working in a factory, that made useless inanimate objects and other forms of haberdashery. The pauper went by the name of Kieran, and for many years had been ruled over by an evil tyrant. One day, Kieran made a donkey with very long legs. He got on his high horse and spoke to the other pauper workers. He shouted: "It is Christmas! We should be celebrating, not working!" The other paupers cheered. He said "I shall go to Glasgow! To have a new life, away from this oppression!" but the evil overlord, that had been described as 'malicious' and 'vindictive', overheard his words, and sent a telegraph to Glasgow, telling them not to allow the boy Kieran into their city. He then shouted down to Kieran:

"Ye shall be banished, never to return!"

Kieran was forced out, and the evil overlord telephoned the police, who did not care about Kieran, as they were chasing other paupers who were out of their factories already. Kieran left the factory, his head held high, and hailed a taxi cab somehow, despite having no money [Head coughs through the part about the story being copied and pasted from] and told the driver to take him to Glasgow. The taxi driver replied: "Is that in Zone 2?"

When Kieran arrived at the gates of Glasgow, but there was a guard there, who said: "You do not have the right qualifications to enter this great city, full of academical people, employment and a healthy population. You must leave."

Kieran was crestfallen. He found comfort in reading a book about anarchism, that the evil tyrant would never let him read. The guard saw his dismay and said:

"Why don't you try Portsmouth, I hear it's very nice down there."

Kieran heeded his word, and traveled down to Portsmouth, only taking a 5 minute montage by some feat of reality, and involving a lot of snow, and some sort of minor dilemma (but not too big a dilemma, since the story has to fit into a 15 minute slot, or 5 minutes if read by a normal human being) like every Christmas story has, and soon he found Portsmouth on Christmas Eve, and all ended happily because it's Christmas and all. You may now be dismissed.

The Hampstead Trash Christmas Special will continue at 19:00 today with Part II.

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