Snow on snow, on snow, on snow, and so on

So I was in midnight mass, wondering why people still play In The Bleak Midwinter when it is by far and away and without a shadow of a doubt one of the worst Christmas carols ever because of awful lyrics and absolute lack of sense of rhythm, and I felt like writing a short Night Before Christmas-esque poem before Christmas. Problem was I didn't have a plot or anything, except for the very last line, which went as such:

...The hand of my loved one and some festive red snow

That was referring to the fact that there would be blood on the snow, because the person in the poem kills his loved one. You know, because of the Christmas spirit and all.

I got a dartboard and two calendars for Christmas, and some other stuff. I wasn't expecting to get a dartboard. I have nowhere to hang it, and my room is very small so have no room to throw the darts. Still, it's a pretty sweet dartboard. I'll bring it with me to Sheffield in September. (Can't do it now, cos I can't put it in my suitcase). 

Time to watch me some Russel Howard's Good News. Then sleep. I am very tired and the Christmas goose was delicious. 

Christmas Countdown: Say whaaaaaaaat?