A Christmas Waiting Story: the Walrus’s tale.

I am The Walrus. Goo goo g’ joob I hear you tenors mutter but no amount of back chat is going to detract me from the fact that I am indisputably The Walrus. Not a walrus, not any old walrus but The Walrus. So listen up, pay attention and learn fast. We’ve got three hours to turn you miserable lot into a golden angelic host of Serabim and Seraphim so there’s no time to waste.

I am the egg man, you are the egg men. Yes, you at the back, keep up. No, it’s not red men, blue men or any other sort of men other than of the egg variety.

Altogether now. I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together. Ladies: keep it together please, this is no time to query the theological nature of the carol. Just accept it for what it is. Pardon? I have no idea what it is, I am just The Walrus, I know nothing other than how to whip together a scratch choir in the time it takes to shake a llama’s tale.

Now, a tempo please. Sitting on a cornflake, waiting for the van to come. That’s right you basses.. Mind the accidentals… Steady now… Enunciate Mr. McCartney, you’re not in a bloody grunge band now lad.. Cor-por-ation tee-shirt, stu-pid bloo-dy Tues-day. Man, you been a naughty boy, you let your face grow long. Do I really have to spell it out for you?

Yellow matter custard, dripping from a dead dog’s eye. What’s the matter Mrs Lennon? Distasteful? When have Christmas carols ever been anything but distasteful? They’re all about global warming, homeless men and illegitimate births so a dash of dead dogs eye has nothing on Good King Wenceslas.

Ok. Mrs Piano, hang back and get yourself a mince pie or something. Let’s just tap this out slowly on our knees shall we, just to feel it before we hurtle our way through it. Wait for it, wait for it… 2 3 4 and Crabalocker fishwife, pornographic priestess, excellent lets go for it boy you been a naughty girl you let your knickers down. Superb, superb.

Ok ok ok let’s hold it there. Mrs Harrison, what seems to be the problem with you and Mrs Starkey? No Mrs Harrison, I am the eggman, they are the eggmen. That’s right, egg men. I don’t know, just use your imagination.

Semolina pilchard, climbing up the Eiffel Tower. They’re breath marks Mr Geldorf, they’re telling you where to breath. Elementary penguin singing Hari Krishna. Hold it, hold it. And your problem Mr Bono is what? No problem? Are you sure? Are you quite sure? Are you really really sure that you’d rather not be standing up here being me? Being the Walrus and master of all you survey? Quite sure? Ok, well shut it from now on. And 2 3 4 Man, you should have seen them kicking Edgar Allan Poe.

I am the egg man, they are the egg men.
I am the walrus, goo goo g’joob g’goo goo g’joob.
And coda, once more with feeling.
Goo goo g’joob g’goo goo g’joob g’goo.
Yes, even you Mr Bono.
Goo goo g’joob g’goo goo g’joob g’goo.
Oompah oompah stick it up your jumper
Goo goo g’joob g’goo goo g’joob g’goo
.Goo goo g’joob g’goo goo g’joob g’goo.
Job done ladies and gents. This is your half hour call. Mr Bono – I need to see you in my vestry please. Now.

1 thought on “A Christmas Waiting Story: the Walrus’s tale.

  1. Pingback: Christmas Shopping | drnickombe

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