To the tune of “Good King Wenceslas”
Twenty Santas all turned up for Run 1049,
Graham’s lighted kites drifted / up towards the power line,
Helen left her hiding place, pulling a contraption –
Cycle wheels, fur, fairy lights all in celebration
Of the 50 years that Ros has now walked this earth:
Matt had toiled o’er many nights in order to give birth
To this Christmas rickshaw gay all for Ros to ride in,
Pity that she chickened out when offered a good shafting.
Those who opted for the trail that was the least longest
Trusted Maggie’s map reading to give them the broad gist -
Since only Jane and Mike offered to jog along beside her
Dave could be left at the pub, sipping pints of cider.
Through Wendover’s snowy streets, then along the towpath,
Maggie’s mob made steady ground, dreaming of a warm hearth,
Some confusion near a bridge brought the pack together,
Whence they dragged the broken cart through the icy weather.
Once esconsed back at the pub, beards and toes defrosted,
Everyone scoffed piles of chips that surely had costed
Matt and Ros an arm and leg, but more treats abounded,
Choc’late cake whose portions huge left Mike quite dumbfounded.
So we raise a Christmas glass to absent companions,
David, Audrey, Barney, Mick – you should be in leg irons,
Even Gerry flunked the cold – all was left to Roger,
Limping round, collecting subs, mutt’ring “Committee – sod yer”