I’m outdoor at the Christmas Market,
And it’s cold, so very cold.
Even though I’m in my woolies,
Wrapped up from my head to my toes.
And I might have been a bit silly,
Or maybe it was pure bravado.
So now I’m outside and cold,
Clutching a frosty stein of lager.
Just how cold is my lager?
Well let me tell you.
The cold has frozen it to my fingers,
As effectively as glue.
But to be honest that’s not the problem,
My real dilemma is this.
Frosty weather plus cold beer,
Means I’m desperate for a piss.
But the crowd is very thick,
And even if I could get to the loo.
I don’t know if my bladder would last,
In the very very long queue.
So I cross my chilly legs,
And try to ignore my bladder’s call.
I drink some more frosty lager,
And try to stand proud and tall.
For am I not a modern man?
Do I not have willpower strong?
Do I not have a full metal bladder,
Which I can hold all night long.
Sadly that last line isn’t true,
The real answer is no.
I hop from foot to foot,
To the toilet I should really go.
I think for the next few minutes,
It’s perhaps best a curtain is drawn.
I really only need to say,
That now at least my feet are warm.