PIERPONT ADDS A FOURTH VERSE

Things are winding down at last. I've drawn an enormous number 5 on my notepad, counting down the days until Tuesday.

Really though, it's only three and a half, as Tuesday afternoon is the Christmas bash and there's a lovely old weekend in-between now and then.

"These look like fun arrangements," said Peter, scanning over my cobbled-together versions of Rudolph and Jingle Bells. I smiled with relief. Peter's a very good musician, much better than me technically, and if anyone can spot a dodgy harmony from the dots, it's him. Hopefully, when we play them on Tuesday afternoon, they'll sound half-decent; though by that time I suspect people will be too inebriated to appreciate the counterpoint melodies of trumpet, alto sax and clarinet with piano.

People start wandering about with large parcels at this time of year too. Desks get stacked up with Amazon boxes and tubes of wrapping paper. My friend next to me just pulled out an enormous roll of industrial strength bubble wrap, glistening with shiny unpopped bubbles. My eyes lit up with a chidlish temptation, but you'll be pleased to know I did manage to control myself.

Meanwhile, the character of Pierpont is taking shape in my head. Would you believe he wrote a fourth verse to Jingle Bells? It contains some rather prurient advice...

Now the ground is white
Go it while you’re young,
Take the girls to night
And sing this sleighing song;
Just get a bob tailed bay
Two forty as his speed.
Hitch him to an open sleigh
And crack, you’ll take the lead.

Now in 1850 I'm sure that was all a bit of a laugh, but you've got to admit, way out here in the 21st Century...

I picture Pierpont as a tall, young bounder, bright-eyed and bushy bearded with a villainous tophat and dark winter coat, flapping about him. I hear the wooden wheels of his one-horse open sleigh, grinding across the slush and snow, I hear the bob-tailed bay whinnying and the evil crack of Pierpont's whip pushing it faster and faster. He laughs into the wind as he flies by, drunk on life, power and speed while the girls giggle and shriek with the delight and danger. He's a boy racer, isn't he?

It's no wonder we only sing the first verse.