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Hartsyard's Blog

A Hartsyard Christmas. Loosely based on ‘The Night Before Christmas’

By December 21, 2013 2 Comments

‘Twas the night before closing when all through Hartsyard,
Not a creature was stirring not even a cockroach because Charlie the bug guy just paid us a visit. (I’ll try to rhyme from here on in).
The roster was filed in the system with care
In the hopes that the holidays soon would be there.
The guests were nestled all snug in their seats,
While downing cocktails made them light on their feet.

When out on Enmore Road there arose such a clatter
I sprung out from the host stand to see what was the matter.
Emergency vehicles, their sirens all wailing
A typical night for this inner-west dwelling. (Not an exact rhyme, but close enough).
The moon through the haze of a hot Summer’s night,
Gave the lustre of midday to objects in sight.
The graffitied wall at our entrance did shine,
Welcoming, beckoning, sending a sign.

A bearded chef who won’t eat raw egg,
I knew in a moment it must be Chef Greg
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came
And he whistled and shouted and called them by name
Now po’ boy, now lamb ribs, now pulled pork and duck,
Now salad and octopus, peppers, oh fuck.
Pick up three serves of chicken, right now, on the fly.
I missed this last order, quick, before the guest cries.
The chicken technician, we all call him Phill,
Leaps into action, he well knows the drill.

So up to the pass the coursers they flew,
And out to the guests before they knew.
And then in a twinkling I heard round the place
The clicking and snapping as guests start to take
Photos for instagram, facebook and twitter
How many ‘likes’ will make us a winner?

The rest of the poem talks all of Saint Nick,
His cheeks are quite rosy, his belly quite thick.
A belly that Gregory could probably rival,
2014 commences his revival
Of fitness and diet and general health,
I suspect I’d be wise to publish in stealth
And not show a draft to my sensitive hubby
Who will accuse me of publicly poking fun at his tummy.

It’s been quite a year for our small little joint,
Babies and festivals, more to the point,
I was given the award for the best sommelier,

Move over Rich Hargreave you know I’m right there
Breathing sauvignon breath down your fancy wine neck
A hat, why that’s nothing…oh what the heck,
It’s ok to admit we were all pretty psyched
To hear our joint called the one hatted type
Now just to keep it, is there someone to bribe?
I don’t get paid yet, but I could manage a five.

Thanks to you all, your support means a tonne,
And despite the hard work, this year has been fun.
I hope you enjoy a wonderful break,
Beaches and bush walks – watch out for snakes!

We thank our staff too, they’re all pretty great,
Their commitment and stamina, staying up late,
Their belief in us, their talent, their drive,
Helps Hartsyard stay vibrant and alive.

So that’s it from me, my babe needs me now,
I’ll see you next year somewhere, somehow.
But please hear me exclaim, ere I move out of sight,
Happy  Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

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