Night Before Christmas, Notes from The Watt

Original by Maj. H. Livingston, Jr.

Retold by local brah, Roy Harrell

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all thru the house,

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

My wetsuit was hung by the chimney with care,
In hope that a swell would soon be there.

My surfboard was lying right next to my bed,
While visions of tubes whirled 'round in my head.
With my booties and gloves and hood by the door,
I laid on my cot for a wee bit of a snore.

When out on the beach, I heard such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I made a quick dash,
Whipped open the shutters as a bright light flashed.

The moon on the water, yellow and full,
Illuminated the beach, it looked pretty cool.
Then what - to my amazement - screeched to a stop,
But a red Mini-Cooper, with a surfboard on top.

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be surfer Nick.
Quick as a wink, he whipped off his board,
Then hooting and shouting, he tied on his cord.

Now paddling, now turning, now dropping in deep,
Now walking the nose, out of the tube barely peeps.
To the top of the lip! To the top of the wall!
I swear, Surfer Nick could do it all!

As he kicked out of the wave at the end of his ride,
He turned and signaled I should join him outside.
So, in a twinkling I put on my wetsuit,
Grabbing my surfboard I ran out with a hoot.

As I splashed in the water, and paddled outside,
Down the line came Nick, finishing his ride.
He was dressed all in fir, from his head to his boot,
And his clothes were drier than any wetsuit.

A couple of gold chains he wore 'round his neck,
And his mini-longboard was shaped by John Peck.
His face was beaming 'cause the waves were so cherry,
Perfect A frames, and not a bit hairy.

With a nod of his head, he told me to go,
While wave after wave lined up row after row.
When I pulled out of the barrel, he flashed his white teeth,
As the wave that he rode encircled like a wreath.

He had a broad face, and a little round belly,
But he could ride a wave like one of those guys on the telly.
He was small but quick, old Surfer Nick,
And I laughed when he tried an old school trick.

We spoke not a word, but surfed all night through,
'Til the sky in the east was just turning a bit blue.
Then hanging the tip of his boot off the nose,
Rode straight to the beach with that hood-ornament pose.

He sprang to the Cooper, his horn gave a whistle,
And away he roared, like a shot from a pistol.
Then I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"Merry Christmas to all, and to all 'youse' good night!"