The Night Before Christmas (with minicabs)

The Night Before Christmas

‘Twas three weeks before Christmas, and we emailed to say
That some prices may change, from the usual way;
The tube is all shut and the buses are still,
So the minicab drivers will increase the bill;

From Christmas Eve 6 to Boxing midnight,
The prices on ubiCabs take a 50% flight;
And that makes up the wages to time and a half,
For the drivers are driving as you have a laugh,

So remember when making your holiday trip,
It’s not always that much, tis a seasonal blip.
And that if on New Year’s you’re aiming to book,
The pricing will take on a similar look.

And that’s message delivered with verses to go,
So we’ll fill all the rest up with Santa and snow.
Hmm, what shall we say did my wond’ring eyes meet?
Yes, how ’bout a sleigh, drawn by minicab fleet.

For Claus moves with the times and he’s having a crack,
At getting animal rights off his jolly red back.
Less fuel efficient, but fast all the same,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

“Now Akram! now, Alan! now, Sergei and Hamal!
On, Roman! On, Rodney! on Jawad and Kamal!
Leave me on the roof and park out of sight!
And this time can we check that the drop-off is right?”

With a revving of engines they soared to the sky,
Clipping off a Sky dish as they thundered by.
And when into the chimney old Santa had gone,
They parked in the street with their hazard lights on.

With much scraping and cursing he came down the flue,
Like a great swearing pigeon with mighty to-do.
As I dashed to the hearth the disturbance to find,
He fell in the fire and burned his behind.

He was dressed all in leather, from his head to his shoe,
Where the reindeer had gone, I then suddenly knew.
And in place of a sack he had a battered case,
Like a seasonal Del-Boy down the marketplace.

His eyes-how they twinkled! His dimples how merry!
You could see from his face that he’d been at the sherry.
He staggered a bit and then squared up to me,
Then he belched up my nose and fell into our tree.

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And mysterious smoke circled his head like a wreath.
He complained he was hungry and turned on the telly,
As he purloined from the fridge, a bowlful of jelly.

He grabbed the remote and began channel hopping,
While choice nuggets of scent surreptitiously dropping.
Until he discovered to his great irritation,
A child lock applied to the channel Babestation.

He remembered himself and got on with his work,
And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk.
And running a finger crosswise on his throat,
He threatened the cost, if of him I wrote.

He sprang to his sleigh, speakers thundering bass,
And away they all flew soaring up into space.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere I lost sight of the cab,
“Happy Christmas to all, now let’s get a kebab!”

Happy Christmas from ubiCabs.