Betjeman in Coronatide

The tills in Marks and Sparks are quiet

James Dalrymple is running riot
We hang the lights up on the roof
To shout this loud and lasting truth

That though the times are wearing grim
We still won't let the virus win.

The early reindeer  on the lawn

And round the bungalow the strings

of fairy lights in many colours

and many flashing, tasteless things

mean that the passers-by will say

“We're glad you did” on Christmas day.

The Coca-Cola ad is stilled

retailers face a grim new year

the top toys though will still sell out

cos Amazon still gets about

and people say the Pogues are haggard

and try to find a rhyme for "maggot".

And no-one's flying out to Spain

We're stuck here in the Advent rain

And no-one's going down the pub

Unless they eat some token grub.

Instead we order online beer

To generate some FaceTime cheer.

We try to rank our family near

Which granny do we hold most dear?

But hugging granny's not so wise

This weird, unfair Coronatide.

Though Laurence Fox might act quite brave

Please don't help grandad to the grave.

But is it true, can it be true

This most unlikely tale of all,

As Brexit looms through Advent mists

A baby in an ox's stall?

But is it true? That ancient tale?

I'll have to check with Ian Paul.

And is it true? For if it is

No virtual drinks upon the screen

No social-distanced carollers

Around the empty village green

No massive fight about the right

To eat Scotch eggs on Christmas night

 

No DPD upon the drive

No PS5 that won't arrive

No Xmas rat-run thanks to Waze

Can ever this great Truth erase –

Our God was born to share our pain,

And so this Advent does again.

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