Partridges and Pear Trees

It's far too early for a morning run, thought Andrew Griffin as he sat, regretfully in his usual early morning traffic jam, bound for work. An enthusiastic-looking jogger had just pelted past the passenger-side door wearing huge headphones and breathing out pillars of steam in the frozen, mid-December air.

'Idiot', he muttered bitterly to himself, before throwing a dead cigarette butt out of his own window and shouting 'COME ON!!' at the unchanging traffic lights ahead.

He really wasn't bothered about being late for work, but he could think of much better uses of his time than sitting, unmoving in a tiny Vauxhall Corsa, surrounded by other aggressive 'horn-beepers' and having Christmas shoved down his throat by the local shop owners, hanging lights and erecting artificial trees into their window displays nearby. People cheerfully waved at one another and stopped for brief, but happy conversations on the high street. He hated this time of year with a passion.

I bet they don't even know each other, thought Andrew before moving his car forward several inches - 'weirdos' he said, again out loud, though no one was around to hear.

Finally, the temporary traffic lights causing the halt in proceedings changed to green and Andrew was free to move on with his morning.

It wasn't long before he was caught at another set of traffic lights. He pulled out an already opened packet of cigarettes from his shirt breast pocket, slid cigarette out with his lips and lit it. He half-wound down his driver-side window to allow the smoke to billow out.

Then, as if without warning a sense of bitter resentment came over Andrew as a small, red car pulled alongside him with it's windows down and radio playing loudly; 'it's the one thing that people just cannot stop talking about' - said the radio presenter - 'yesterday we announced this year's official UK Christmas number one. Is it "Fairy Tale Of New York" by The Pogues? No. Is it "Merry Christmas Everybody" by Slade? No. It isn't even a parody song by Lad Baby as we have gotten used to in these recent years. So, what is it? It's this absolute banger, brought to you by Cliff Richard and the Cheshire Youth Choir. Yes you heard me right. Are people as shocked as I am?! Enjoy it while it lasts..." The radio presenter's voice disappeared, replaced by a slow melody Andrew suspected belonged in the early 1900's. Then Cliff Richard came in, slowly and solemnly with the lyrics:

'On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me...a partridge in a pear tree...'

A sudden sense of outrage blanketed Andrew as his head flushed with heat. He hated Christmas at the best of times. 'It's just a useless marketing scheme, designed to rinse the public of every last penny at the end of the year', he had told his ex-girlfriend, shortly before being dumped. But this, it seemed, had struck a new nerve. The fact the the British public could actually band together in a scheme as stupid as popularising such a silly song made his blood boil.

The light turned green once again and Andrew quickly glided away from the small red car as fast as was legally possible. He threw the remainder of his cigarette butt out of the open window and closed it.

'What a stupid song', he said, again to himself, but much louder this time as though talking to a non-existent passenger. 'Who the hell wants a partridge in a pear tree as a gift?!' He stopped for a second, chuckled at the absurdity of it and then his face changed as though, now having thought about it, that was a very valid question.

How would you even gift a partridge in a pear tree?! He though to himself. Though his lips stayed still. Could the partridge not just leave the tree whenever it felt like it? Then it's no longer single gift of a "partridge in a pear tree", it's now two gifts; a partridge AND a pear tree. Surely that negates the nature of the whole reason the song was conceived.

Before he knew it, he was pulling into his usual parking space at work. But he didn't get out, nor did he even turn off the ignition. Instead he got his phone out of his pocket and Googled the lyrics to the song, he rather enjoyed poking fun at it and wondered what more ridiculousness he could muster from it.

Once he has found a source for the lyrics, he scanned the page and found himself immediately bombarded with outrageous questions.

What the hell is a turtle dove? Another quick Google told him that there actually was such a thing as a European Turtle Dove, but for one fleeting second, he had convinced himself that someone had managed to breed a turtle and a dove. He found himself imagining a dove with a shell and a wrinkly old head, poking out from between its feathers. He chuckled again.

And what is a calling bird? Is that an actual breed of bird or just ANY bird that won't shut up? Who would want that as a gift? Surely, only someone who hated you, would gift this to you. He snorted a tiny laugh again.

Five Golden Rings. A gift that actually carries some material worth, he thought. You could at least sell them if you didn't want to keep them.

"SIX GEESE A-LAYING?!" he shouted aloud. Six pregnant geese?! As a gift for a person with whom you are supposedly in love with?! Are you trying to get dumped?! And surely you couldn't possibly get hold of Seven Swans, they're all owned by the Queen and I'm not sure they're for sale. This time his laugh was fierce enough to conjure a small tear in his eye, which he happily wiped away.

When he reached the eighth day, his eyes narrowed and he read through the remaining days, through to twelve. Here, he had noticed that for each of these days, the singer's "true love" had given to them...humans. Eight maids a-milking, nine ladies dancing, ten lords a-leaping, eleven pipers piping and twelve drummers drumming.

Surely that's illegal! He thought. Several human rights violations have been ignored here. He couldn't help laughing, though he knew that if this was real life it would pose a massive problem.

Do the maids have to keep milking forever? And the ladies, are they not allowed to stop dancing? And will the lords be 'a-leaping' until they drop dead? He snorted a deep chuckle again as he realised; with all these birds: the partridge, the turtle dove, the calling birds and especially the egg-laying geese, this is going to be one racket of a household. That's even before the twelve drummers drumming are added to the mix.

And with a sudden surge of realisation, he let out a huge 'HA' - each gift is not exclusive to its own day! Which means the recipient will get twelve partridges and twelve pear trees, 22 turtle doves, 30 French hens, 36 calling birds, 40 golden rings - actually not bad - 42 geese a-laying (which will, in turn multiply due to "THE LAYING!") 42 swans a-swimming, 40 maids a-milking, 36 ladies dancing, 30 lords a-leaping, 22 pipers piping and 12 drummers drumming.

I sincerely hope the recipient has room for all of this...and a good lawyer. He thought, sarcastically with one final outburst of great laughter.

He looked at his watch and suddenly realised he was 19 minutes late for work. Time flies when you're having fun, he thought. He quickly took the keys out of the ignition, grabbed his bag from the passenger seat and took one last glance of himself in the rear-view mirror, giving himself a acknowledging smile.

He left his car and started his walk into work. He had finally - in his own twisted way - found some joy in Christmas.