Archive | November, 2011

The churchyard

30 Nov

I sometimes eat my lunch in the churchyard 

Of St James, if the weather is decent –

Away from the office, a distraction

From the Telephone and Computer Screen.

Many others have the same idea        

And often the benches that line the path

And the grass, still scattered with blank gravestones,

Are full of sandwich-eating office staff,

Shouting students, dog-walkers, push-chair mums;

The new parishioners, praying for sun           

And pay-rises, love-lives blessed and blissful,

A shot at Fame, an easy afternoon.


Why here? Are we seduced by the promise

Of silence? Or solace? The ancient dead,

Magnetised by ignorance and despair,

Could not escape. Encaged, their plaintive prayers

Remain unanswered, and their souls still tug

At the gates of heaven’s rusted hinges.


Not us. The Enlightened, when doomsday comes,

Will be here by Chance. Blown in like dead leaves.



Ode to a Joke Thief

25 Nov

I wrote a silly joke the other day
  And tweeted it to sundry joy and mirth
  It was a simple gag of humble birth
But still, it bore my punful DNA.
I watched it slowly grow – my comic son
  A child of innocence which aimed to please
  I proudly counted up a few RTs
And thought my entertainment work was done.
But SICKIPEDIA then my joke did steal
  And tweeted it as though it were the source
  Helplessly I watched its change of course
As globally my joke drew mass appeal.
  Childless now I clutch my pointless pen
  The page stares blankly back at me again.

Still tossers

It's only a stolen joke, get over it you big wuss

“Tevez has locked himself in the shitter” say Man City

15 Nov

(article lifted from the Daily Mail)

Sausage-tongued striker upset at suggestions he’s an objectionable man-child.

Carlos Tevez has locked himself in Man City’s training ground shit-house and is refusing to come out, according to sources at the club. The Argentine striker is thought to have taken exception to a club statement suggesting his recent behaviour was comparable to that of an attention-deficient four-year old who you’d belt round the ear if only the bastard PC brigade would let you.

Club spokesman, Steve, said “Carlos locked himself in the turdshop about 20 minutes ago and all we’ve had since is a sullen silence, interspersed with the occasional overly-dramatic South American sob. One of the cleaning ladies is trying to get him to open the door now, mainly because she needs to get her mop and bucket out. The rest of the lads and the manager buggered off for a pint at the Dog & Spitroast ages ago”

“Actually, I’m amazed he’s managed to last this long. Micah Richards was in there earlier and he left a monster arse-egg floating pan-side. Perhaps Carlos has passed out? Should I call the fire brigade? Sod it, I’ll do it in the morning…”

Tevez is reportedly "devastated" to be leaving Man City

Child psychologist Wally Cheese added “Carlos is clearly frustrated at the way his exclusion from the Man City team has resulted in them topping the Premier League and giving local rivals Man Utd the sort of unforgiving fisting that would make a hooker wince.”

“What also doesn’t help, of course, is that Carlos has the emotional intelligence of a fridge”.

Mr Cheese went on “Mancini did have a naughty step installed for Carlos but he wore that out weeks ago. Besides, it’s not as if he’s going to starve in there. He can always lick the gold-leaf off the bog-roll handler if he gets peckish”

A Tommy’s soup bowl unearthed in Flanders

11 Nov

I held the helmet up;

The regimental insignia had faded
The leather chinstrap rotted
And the field grey camouflage paint
Had long since flaked away in slivers of soil and rust

Yet this part of the soldier who wore it
Was still sturdy

It must have sat heavy on his head
When he first put it on
But it would have kept him dry in wild weathers
And although it might have grazed and bruised him
As he ducked and ran
It would have sheltered his head from the white-hot shrapnel splinters
And kept the shell-thrown mud from his eyes

I rubbed the earth away

The bullet had entered square on one side
Exiting the other with impeccable symmetry

90 years or more since the trigger was pulled

What a shot

“I know where you live” coughs James Murdoch, under his breath.

10 Nov

FISH-EYED son of despot aims thinly veiled threat at MPs.

News Corp dictator-in-waiting James Murdoch was at the centre of more controversy this evening as he appeared to make a series of menacing remarks to members of the DCMS select committee. Murdoch had faced a series of searching questions about the actions of employees at the former News Of The World newspaper when the apparent threats were made.

Kevin Pencil who was in the audience said “James Murdoch was being lightly toasted by Tom Watson MP about the whole phone hacking doohickey when he lifted his hand to his mouth as if to cough. At that point I could swear I heard him say “Watch your back Tom”. But he coughed at the same time, so it was hard to tell. I think he also did a little wink like Ann Robinson, but I could have been wrong about that”.

Mary Face who was also nearby alleged the threats then got much worse. “When Tom Watson asked about the ‘For Neville’ email, Murdoch stopped talking, looked Tom in the eye and mouthed “I HAVE YOUR CHILDREN” before proceeding to regale the committee with some spurious bollocks about being at home having his spider-plant flossed on the day the email was sent round the office”.

As the hearing progressed the apparent threats became more overt. Stephen Mock-O’Hooley-Goose was sitting in the front row. “As Tom Watson was finally pinning Murdoch down on his recollections of events at The Screws he paused for a second and said he needed to refer to his notes. When he took the papers from his briefcase he held them up briefly and you could see someone had written on the back in marker pen “I’M COMING ROUND TO YOUR HOUSE TO FUCK YOU UP”. But then he put the papers down really quickly, so I could have been wrong.

Check your mail carefully, Tom. That's all I'm saying.

Mr Pencil also reported “As the hearing ended, I saw Mr Murdoch stare menacingly at Mr Watson then close his eyes. As he did so he appeared to have “YOU’RE FUCKED” written on his eyelids. But it could have been “I LOVE YOU”. I’d been drinking all day”.

James Murdoch denies making any threats to committee members. When our reporter spoke to him after the hearing he was adamant his remarks were all above board and he bore no ill will to any of the MPs, their children, or their 3 year old border terrier, Jock.

Recipe for Disaster

5 Nov

Scene – a kitchen

Cookery presenter (to camera):

“Hello everyone! Today I’m going to be showing you how to make a hash… of the european economy. First you need a pan …european strategy, a single currant (see?) and lots of member states with greedy appetites. Add Greece and get that economy simmering nicely. Hmm, smells a bit fishy! Would you credit it? Yes, we would. Throw in several trillion and stir that generously. If some of the package sticks then simply add more liquid capital. That’ll budget. Pop the lid on if you can and let that simmer unchecked for a few years… whack up the taxes when things get a bit hot and till the economy’s in a stew. When it all starts to boil over then downgrade the credit rating, pour scorn on the mixture and watch it all meltdown. When the whole thing is well and truly half-baked, dish out generous portions of the collective debt to everyone, whether they like it or not.

Let’s have a taste.

Hmmm. Hard to swallow?

It certainly is.

Anyway! There you go – the perfect recipe for disaster”