Engang, for mange mange år siden, da jeg var en lille pige, havde jeg en engelsklærer ved navn Fru Mørkeberg. Fru Mørkeberg var den dejligste lærer - et smittende humør, stor forkærlighed for Monty Python, lige så lav som Kylie Minogue og med lige så stor sangglæde. Fru Mørkebergs repertoire var dog en lidt anden stil end Ms Minogue's, knap så meget ass-shaking og noget mere fællessang. I de mørke julemåneder hev hun et mindre kompendium i English Christmas Songs frem, og så sang vi ellers af hjertens lyst/karsken bælg/indsæt selv passende beskrivelse.
Min absolutte yndlings var (er!!) The Twelve Days of Christmas, hvor hukommelse og tungetwistighed sættes på prøve når man pisker igennem 10 Lords a-leaping, 8 Maids a-milking, 5 gooooolden riiiiiings and a Partridge in a Pear Tree. Så stor var glæden, da jeg opdagede nedenstående perle af en korrespondance:
Day 1: Dearest Darling John, I went to the door today and the postman delivered a Partridge in a pear tree.What a delightful romantic gift. Thank you my darling for the lovely thought. With deep affection, your everloving Agnes.
Day 2: My Dearest Darling John, Today the postman brought your very sweet gift of two turtledoves. I am delighted, they are adorable. All my love, Agnes
Day 3: Dearest Darling John, Oh how extravagant you really are. I must protest, I don't deserve such generosity, three French hens, I insist you are too kind. Your loving Agnes
Day 4: Dear John, What can I say? Four beautiful calling birds arrived with the Postman this morning. Your kindness really is too much. Love, Agnes
Day 5: My Dear John, What a surprise, today the postman delivered five golden rings. One for each finger. You really are an impossible boy, but I love you. Frankly all the birds are beginning to squawk and get on my nerves. Love, Agnes.
Day 6: Dear John, When I opened the door this morning, there were actually six bloody great geese - laying eggs all over the front step. What on earth do you think I can do with them all? The neighbours are beginning to complain about the smell, and I can't sleep because of the noise! Please stop. Cordially yours, Agnes
Day 7: What is it with you and these fucking birds? Now I have seven swans a-swimming in my bath tub! Is this some sort of god damned joke? The house is full of bird shit, oh, and the racket !!! I am becoming a nervous wreck. It is not funny anymore, stop sending bloody birds !!! Agnes.
Day 8: OK buster, I think I prefer the birds. What the hell am I going to do with eight maids a-milking? It's not enough with all the birds, now I have eight cows a-mooing and shitting all over the house. FUCK OFF !!!!!!! Agnes.
Day 9: Look dickhead - what are you on ??? You're having a laugh. Now I have nine pipers playing shite music constantly !!! And Christ do they play.... When they aren't playing their sodding pipes, they keep chasing the maids through the cow shit. The cows keep on mooing and are treading all over the fucking birds !!! The neighbours are threatening to have me evicted. Agnes.
Day 10: You fucking bastard !!!! Now we have ten ladies dancing. Though how on earth anyone can call these whores "ladies" is beyond me, they're pulling the pipers all night long !!!!! The cows can't sleep and now have diarrhoea. My living room is a sea of shit and the landlord has just declared the building unfit for human habitation. FUCK OFF AND DIE JOHN !!!!!!!
Day 11: Listen shit face - what with eleven lords a-leaping about the house, shagging me and the maids senseless, I shall probably never walk again. The pipers are now fighting the lords for all the crumpet and resorting to committing sodomy with the cows, the birds are dead and rotting, having been trampled during the orgy. I hope you're satisfied - you c**t. Your sworn enemy, Agnes.
Day 12: LAW OFFICES GOLDSTEIN, SILVERBERG AND O'REILLY
Dear Sir: This is to acknowledge receipt of your latest gift of twelve drummers drumming, which you have seen fit to inflict upon our client, Miss Agnes Haversham. The destruction, of course, was total. All correspondence should come to our attention. If you should attempt to reach Miss Haversham at the Charter Glade Sanitarium where she is now residing, the attendants have been instructed to shoot you on sight! With this letter, please find attached a warrant for your arrest.
- Den findes i forskellige versioner rundt omkring på indernettet; denne er kopieret fra en bog min tidligere chef i London fik forærendes engang i tidernes morgen (nok anno dengang jeg lærte at synge sangen. My God, I'm getting old)