Jolly Old Hawk

Christmas shopping time. The Great Western Arcade is looking the least overtly consumerist outpost of our materialismopolis, but to be honest, that's not saying much. Restraining themselves to a tree beneath the lights and five garish "kissing patches" - marked by stick-on circles beneath suspended mistletoe - it only ranks as Twenty Four Carrots on the Vomitometer.

Still, it could be worse. I could be the poor protagonist of Jolly Old Hawk, the old English folk song about a lad desperate to attract some festive attention from the girl he fancies. Like its more famous cousin, The Twelve Days Of Christmas, Jolly Old Hawk was originally a forfeit game that we got off the French in the eighteenth century, playing it as a parlour game to test the memory of participants. Because frankly, this boy's missis is high-maintenance to say the least. And if he thinks he's going to catch the express train to Shagville by sending her an assortment of uppity cattle, livestock, poultry and fairies - not to mention the dozen pissed off bears that Royal Mail have decided against getting a signature for - he really hasn't thought it through at all:


Jolly old hawk and his wings were grey;
Now let us sing.
Who's going to win the girl but me?
Jolly old hawk and his wings were grey
Sent to my love on the twelfth-most day.

Twelve old bears and they was a-roaring,
Eleven old mares and they was a-brawling,
Ten old cocks crawl out in the morning,
Nine old boars and they was a-quarreling.

Jolly old hawk and his wings were grey
Sent to my love on the twelfth most day.

Eight old bulls and they was a-blaring
Seven old calves as they ran before 'em
Six old cows and they was a-bawling,
Five for fif and a fairy.

Jolly old hawk and his wings were grey
Sent to my love on the twelfth most day.

A four-feeted pig and a three-fistle cock,
And two little birds and a jolly old hawk.

Jolly old hawk and his wings were grey;
Now let us sing.
Who's going to win the girl but me?