The ASBO Before Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house
Not a creature was stirring; they were all in the pub
Doing eight pints of Stella and five shots of Grouse,
Then vodka and Red Bull; then on to a club.

They fought with the bouncers and drank even more,
Then they flagged down the night bus and barged through the door,
And onto the top deck, apart from young Russ,
Whose ASBO forbade him from boarding the bus.

Russ hotwired a scooter and sped home for bed;
He flattened three cats and he left them for dead,
He skidded on ice, pranged the scooter and fled,
(And while bolting through gardens he burgled a shed).

Russ crept round the corner at the end of his street,
Then he heard a loud cough and went white as a sheet.
He thought it was coppers and started to bolt,
But a kindly voice hailed him and begged him to halt.

A jolly old man stood there decked out in red,
With fur boots on his feet and a gash on his head.
His hat and his white beard were sodden with sick;
Russell knew in a flash that it must be St. Nick.

“Bloody hell, I'm in trouble,” old Santa Claus said,
“I've had a few bevvies and knackered me sled,
I ran a red light 'round the corner from here,
Went under a lorry and killed half the deer.”

“All the presents are busted, my front teeth are loose,
I've spewed on my feet and my phone's out of juice.
I should never have ordered that seventeenth beer
Now, unless you can help, there's no Christmas this year.”

“Then we need us some wheels, Russell said with a smile,
Your sleigh might be wrecked but we'll travel in style.”
He jemmied the door of a Golf with his knife
And he fiddled with wires till the car came to life.

“Hop in, Santa,” he hollered, “We're off to the shops,
I'll drive; keep your eyes peeled and watch for the cops.”
“But the shops will be shut,” Santa wailed with remorse,
“Don't worry,” said Russ, “We'll apply some blunt force.”

They sped to the centre of town in a hurry,
Then they turned and reversed through the window of Curry's.
They leapt from the motor, popped open the boot
And emptied the shelves of electrical loot.

They grabbed SatNavs and laptops and phones and alarm clocks,
Several DVD players, TVs and an Xbox.
Santa filled up his sack with CDs and camcorders,
Then they fled from the store with the place in disorder.

As they drove down the high street with yells of delight,
They saw in the mirror a flashing blue light.
Russell stamped on the gas - but the car went no faster;
The coppers were gaining; it looked like disaster.

“Our cargo's too heavy,” cried Russell, “They'll catch us,
Then block us and brake and we'll crash and they'll snatch us!
We'll never outpace them; we have to be cunning;
Let's head for the park, ditch the car and start running.”

“Fear not,” said St. Nick, “I can give us some thrust,”
He whipped out a small pouch of glowing red dust.
When he sprinkled a pinch on the dash with great care,
The Golf left the ground and took off through the air.

They soared above rooftops and into the night;
Russell's heart soared with joy; this was magic all right.
Then a deafening roar from behind turned him pale;
The police helicopter was hot on his tail.

"Use the dust," Russell said. "Santa - make us more swift."
"But it’s Christmas," said Santa - "Let’s give them a gift."
He reached for his sack and pulled out a TV,
Then leaned through his window and cackled with glee.

“With this pressie,” said Santa, “I'll screw 'em up proper,”
He whirled it and hurled it right into the chopper.
Take that, flying rozzers,” yelled Santa, excited,
The 'copter went down, hit a house and ignited.

“I think we’re in trouble,” said Russ with a shiver,
“Don't be wet,” Santa cried, “We've got gifts to deliver!
Pull in at the offie and grab some White Lightning;
We'll have a few tins; it'll all be less frightening.”

“If it's all right with you, I might pass,” Russell said.
“It's been a big night; I could do with my bed.
“Though the ram-raid was tops and the flying's been swell,
I'm concerned my mum thinks I'm passed out in a cell.”

“Fair enough,” Santa said, “Hey – we’ve been a great team"
“Close your eyes, faithful elf; this has all been... a dream.”
The next thing Russ knew, he was lying in bed,
Feeling sick with a thundering pain in his head.

Eyeballs burning like fire, pillow covered in slime,
'Twas a true Christmas hangover - what was the time?
He staggered downstairs, where his mum made him tea
And explained that he'd rolled in at quarter past three.

“I’ve been dreaming,” said Russ, “It was ever so vivid,
But why are you cheerful? I’d have thought you’d be livid.”
“Something’s happened,” said Mother, “It’s magic – come see;
There’s a huge flatscreen telly here under the tree.”

“Someone’s been in the night and they’ve left us this gift.
With a note: “Merry Christmas - and thanks for the lift.”
“How peculiar,” thought Russ, “Nice one, Santa – you’re ace,”
And he went back to bed with a grin on his face.

Chris Pilbeam 2008

FARKers: an AntiSocial Behaviour Order is a judicial restraining order handed out in the UK to (mostly) young troublemakers. ASBOs tend to have clauses banning the lucky recipient from public transport, town centres or maybe their own street. The term has entered the lexicon as a catch-all for misbehaviour involving drink, drugs and small-time criminality, hence the title of my book, innit.

NB: this poem is not in The ASBO Fairy Tales book - it's a special extra Xmas thank you to everyone who's bought a copy or helped with it.