Setting the badmintone

She’s a one woman band
With a racquet in her hand
Who to most opponents’ shock
Is a wizz at shuttling cock
She always does the bizz
In sports gear that’s high vis
And there’s nowt she can’t get
At the back or the net
Now she may look petite
But she sure ain’t that sweet
With her tough athleticism
And filthy euphemisms
She’s queen of the jokes
Mainly aimed at ‘king blokes
Who are constantly fraught
By her prowess on court
She’s a no shot leaver
Jiver diva
Mean smash receiver
Fitness believer
High clear heaver
Drop shot weaver
She prances and dances
And throws filthy glances
At those who resort
To girl smashing on court
It takes quite a while
To beat her with guile
But try to puff her out
And you ain’t got a shout
The busy dizzy blonde
Of whom we’re all so fond
So come back soon Janet
We know you didn’t plan it
But it’s with sad frustration
We’ve endured your recuperation!

G’Day. G’Luck. G’Bye!!

Young free and single,
Pringle started to mingle
And bingo!
He donned his best sporran
And along came Lauren
Now they’re going all foreign
With cobbers and roos,
Strides and didgeridoos
For the new life they choose
Of ripper Aussie fun
Hot Christmas day sun
And free sheep by the ton
With no worries or fears
About space, houses, careers
And ahead, exciting years
But wont they miss the grey?
The travel jams every day?
Ha! No effing way!
They’ll both end up tanned
With spare cash in hand
Where boring small talk’s banned
And everyone’s happy in town
Cos it’s pretty tough to frown 
When you live life upside down
Just a few of the reasons because
You’re off to Oz
Your gain, our loss.
So, let’s raise glasses and get pissed
You’ll be sorely missed.
Especially (with a nostalgic yawn)
As we’ve known wee Craig since he was born!

#poetical2incidental 10/1/24

Homage 

As we turn the page

To every life stage

There are many different types of age

With which we engage

Baby Age

Lack of meaningful verbiage

Makes the only meaningful message

Maximum damage through nappy leakage and bib spillage.

Built on rage over the gaga garbage

Coming at you from fools of every age.

Teenage

Life’s bumpy carriage hits a barrage

Of attitudes, platitudes and don’t get fattitudes

Where the key to life is a facebook homepage

And the courage not to be average.

While trying to constantly flex

Your leverage for influence and sex.

Coming of Age

The legal right of passage

To suffrage and alcoholic beverage. 

Putting out the message for career growthage

By maxing CV mileage and coverage. 

Seeking domestic anchorage you can only manage

With a hefty mortgage and a healthy wage.

Middle Age

Fighting creepage in your frontage

And baggage you didn’t envisage

Consuming roughage for the blockage in your passage

While looking to assuage the carnage of your first marriage

And the wreckage that shortage of trimmage

Does for your body image.

Retirement Age

Wrestling with the percentage of your pension package

As income shrinkage limits coinage usage

Using hobbyage, massage, bondage

To raise age-ility and arrest libido wastage

Old age

When you disparage all and sundry and disengage.

Through a fusion of sage and curmudgeonly rage

Seeking in your dotage that cosy cottage for potterage.

Suffering overdosage of nonsense haemorrhage

As your wattage fades and your mind wanders offstage.

But wait, take courage

Why let passing life be a disadvantage?

While age means a lot

In the end, it matters not one jot

If you can stand up proud, shake your booty

And simply be an ageless beauty.

IDWT…DMM

When you’re young it can hurt when other kids taunt you
And it’s not often your own words come back to haunt you
But this was the case for young Master Vivek Sant
Whose catchphrase was born from a fussy food rant
His attitude was, “Whatever mummy will bake me’
I shall just cry out
I DON’T WANT TO …DON’T MAKE ME!!!”

And if it wasn’t for this mantra stuck in his DNA
Things might have turned out a very different way
Imagine the moments bringing life-changing joy
That could have been seized by this very bright boy

(Who has made a great life for himself anyway
But let’s grant manoeuvre for humour on this special day!)

Vivek Armstrong the astronaut, stepped out the capsule door
And onto the ladder leading to the moon’s floor
He got the go ahead from mission control
With the world watching to fulfil his historic role
He thought ‘To immortality this next step will take me’
But then, manic with panic, he cried
“I DON’T WANT TO …DON’T MAKE ME!!!”

Vivek Woods the golfer, stood on the verge of glory
A one metre putt to win the Masters was the story
He eyed up the contours to left and to right
A first Swiss Green Jacket winner was clearly in sight
He thought ‘If I am dreaming, please don’t wake me
But with a sudden stutter of the putter he cried
“I DON’T WANT TO …DON’T MAKE ME!!!”

Vivek Einstein the physicist, came up with an equation
That would change lives forever in every nation
With E=MC2 he completed the circle of life
And now fame and fortune would follow all his effort and strife
As the Nobel Prize was offered he thought ‘now no-one can overtake me’
But with terrified hesitation overcoming inspiration he cried
“I DON’T WANT TO …DON’T MAKE ME!!!”

Vivek Craig the movie star, thought he’d gone to heaven
When successfully selected as the next 007
Now he’d be a megastar both sides of the pond
With all the money and honeys you enjoy as James Bond
As the director cried “Action” he thought ‘now nobody will mistake me’
But coming over all shy unlike our spy, he cried
“I DON’T WANT TO …DON’T MAKE ME!!!”

Vivek Nureyev the ballet legend, leapt on stage from the wings
Poised to star in Swan Lake and all the world stardom it brings
The beautiful swan pranced gracefully round him, a prima ballerina
Preparing herself to fly into his arms, higher than anyone had ever seen her
But his legs froze as up she rose saying “I’m all yours big boy, take me”!
And as her open wings and jaw crashed to the floor he cried
“I DON’T WANT TO …DON’T MAKE ME!!!”

Prince Vivek of St. Galen, was about to become the new king
At his coronation the official delegation brought forward all the Royal bling
As the trumpets fanfared, the crown was prepared to place upon his head
Choirs started to sing ‘Long live the King’ and looked to his reign ahead
He thought ‘This is cool, I’m going to rule and nobody can forsake me’
But suddenly sensing tragedy about becoming ‘your majesty’ he cried
“I DON’T WANT TO …DON’T MAKE ME!!!”

Vivek Messi the soccer god, was close to a World Cup win
To lift the cup he just had to step up and get the penalty in
The goalkeeper started twitching, the whole crowd held its breath
One kick from being a living legend, in this shootout of sudden death
He thought should I blast it or just place it where the fancy takes me
But just as he was kicking he went all chicken and cried
“I DON’T WANT TO …DON’T MAKE ME!!!”

The truth is, it’s just a catchphrase and at 40 he’s having his best life
With 2 great girls, a fabulous career and a very beautiful wife
So where was the inspiration, what was the path that swayed him?
By doing exactly what he did want…and what nobody made him!
So Vivek Sant, the great guy, we salute you
And if you’re wondering “What did all this take me?”
It’s by having long departed from where you first started, with
“I DON’T WANT TO …DON’T MAKE ME!!!”

HANtastic Journey

Having got her many qualifications in the bank
It’s time for the new world of Hanna Frank
So as Hanna sets off on her global roam
Where are the best places that she’ll feel at home?

Perhaps climbing HANnapurna if she’s aiming high
Or scaling the HANdes, almost reaching the sky
Or skiing down the HANenkamm as fast as she can
Or going to HANdorra for a winter tan

For something a little more chilled to do
HANtigua or HANdalucia could be on the menu
Or for somewhere even chillier and darker
How about penguin spotting in HANtarctica?

If a wildlife spotter is what she wants to be
There are HANtelope, HANchovies and HANteaters to see
Or on safari, lots of HANimals to meet
Some are really pretty and some just good to eat!

For being by water, there’s HANtibbes and HANzio
In HANgary, she can watch the River HANube flow
Or if she’s feeling energetic one fine day
Just row over the AtHANtic to the USA!

So many places to see, boy or boy!
Like HANgladesh, HANduras, HANtwerp and HANoi
And HANnover and JoHANnesberg – go wherever you can
But probably best to steer clear of WuHAN

The HANging gardens of Babylon, on elephants like HANnibal
Is she doing all this alone? No, not at all
With the mighty Julius, she’s travelling afar
To JUkatan, JUkon, JUganda and JUtah

When Hanna returns she’ll be a travel encyclopaedia
And the world’s leading travel guide on social media
We hope your journey is really HANtastic
And that your budget is truly elastic

Setting the badmintone

She’s a one woman band
With a racquet in her hand
Who to most opponents’ shock
Is a wizz at shuttling cock
She always does the bizz
In sports gear that’s high vis
And there’s nowt she can’t get
At the back or the net
Now she may look petite
But she sure ain’t that sweet
With her tough athleticism
And filthy euphemisms
She’s queen of the jokes
Mainly aimed at ‘king blokes
Who are constantly fraught
By her prowess on court
She’s a no shot leaver
Jiver diva
Mean smash receiver
Fitness believer
High clear heaver
Drop shot weaver
She prances and dances
And throws filthy glances
At those who resort
To girl smashing on court
It takes quite a while
To beat her with guile
But try to puff her out
And you ain’t got a shout
The busy dizzy blonde
Of whom we’re all so fond
So come back soon Janet
We know you didn’t plan it
But it’s with sad frustration
We’ve endured your recuperation!

The Ballad of Phil & Yukie

This is a story of East meets West
And how a fusion of both can work out for the best
It began with rock chic Yukie sat on a plane
Being clearly hit on by a man quite insane
She the demure designer quite happily alone
He the quirky Englishman with too much testosterone
But full of cheeky chat and endless persistence
He slowly broke down her steely resistance
And bit by bit, he no longer had to harry her
As love slowly broke through the language barrier
You wouldn’t say it was a likely pairing
With her endless work and his love of beer and swearing
But to his Japanese love, he was never rude
And they found a shared passion for bloody good food
So back in ’98, they pooled everything they’d got
And said bi-lingual marriage vows aboard a luxury yacht
The occasion was a legend as families would agree
And it was the only time Yukie was ever happy at sea
Off they went to Tokyo for happy married life
The eccentric Englishman and his Japanese designer wife
In creating fab rock sets, she found her true vocation
Whilst he blagged some great jobs WAY above his station
But then one day he said “I don’t want to be pushy
But I’m homesick and I’ve had my fill of sushi”
“You are clearly now a TV goddess over here
But I also love my Brit mates, chips and beer.”
So began the surprisingly successful start
Of 6 months together and 6 months apart
And to make sure Yukie didn’t fret or worry
They built her an Anglo-Japanese love nest in Surrey
Where Phil had his lonely days and nights to pass
Until Yukie came flying back to him, Virgin first class.
So though they’re twenty five years married, it’s true
They’ve probably only been together for two!
But love conquers all and deserves a celebration
For a quarter century of harmonious East West relations
So we all raise our glasses on this very special day
To our wonderful pals Phil and Yukie
Or to be more familiar – as you both can
To bastard husband and Yuki-Chan

Panda Moanier

This is a tale of culinary exposure
And scandal in the panda enclosure
It wasn’t a murder or betrayal or crime
Just a bit of a drama at feeding time
As usual the keeper turned up with the food
And the pandas filed out in typically passive mood
But all of a sudden there was quite to-do
As a small female barged to the front of the queue
You could hear a pin drop throughout the place
As she approached the keeper and looked him straight in the face
“I’m sorry you guys but I’ve had quite enough
Of all this predictable feeding time stuff
“I don’t mean to be rude or especially pushy
But would it be too much to request a bit of sushi?
And at the risk of sounding terribly louche
A smidgeon of blue cheese as a small amuse bouche?
To you this may sound beyond belief
But I can’t stomach one more eat, shoot or leaf
And you other pandas, it shouldn’t amaze ya
That we don’t all eat like you in Malaysia!
Some different, varied food is a welcome sight
So why not add a bit of colour and stop thinking black and white?”
At first, nobody knew what to say
But then another panda ordered a takeaway
And soon all the pandas got themselves in stew
About being stuck with boring old bamboo
And within weeks, you couldn’t believe what you’d see
Pandas cooking recipes from programmes on TV
They’d all thrown off their dietary shackles
And there was no dish on earth they’d refuse to tackle
Yet in all the world’s magazines and films and books
There was nothing about pandas being great cooks
But once pandas finally saw some decent recipes
They quickly moved on from bear necessities
From being such simple and unadventurous creatures
These monochrome mammals became evangelistic eaters
No longer contained by lack of food choice
Thanks to one sushi-loving panda who gave them all a voice
So next time she asks, just keep her quiet
Because pandering to a panda is the fast way to a riot!

Potato 60 - Biscuit 61

Through thick and thin
Through fortune and fate
The biscuit was always the potato’s best mate
Over several decades, this unlikeliest of teams
Have shared their home and values and dreams.

Then one day, the potato got rather afraid
“I’ve been around six decades and I think I’ve decayed!
My skin’s getting rough, my jacket’s tight on bum and hips
I’m getting wobbly and knobbly, I think I’ve had my chips!”

The biscuit hugged his spud and said “It’s you I still adore,
Even though you’re not a new potato any more.
You’ve got so much ahead…and if I dare risk it
You’re so sweet to still put up with a snappy old biscuit!”

“When it comes to the crunch, don’t you see?
You have so many advantages over me
I’m just a sweet-talking, five chew wonder
Yet without you whole populations can go under”

“While I’m just blind baked you keep growing new eyes
And while I’m stacked in a pack you can top all kinds of pies
When life demands you can always rehash
As boiled, sauteed, dauphinoise or mash”

“As for edibility I’m far more time-poor
Instantly munchable while they’d never eat you raw
When biscuit ageing sets in you get floppy and soggy
And then scattered to the birds or fed to a doggy
You get one chance to shine, replaced every week
You never get a second chance as bubble and squeak!”

I know I can be crumbly and have too much on my plate
But I’d do anything to cheer up my best potato mate.”
So they had a little smile and let their different strengths dovetail
Agreeing to grow old disgracefully and keep out of grumpy jail.
And the morale of this story? Forget Shakespeare, Freud and Plato
If you’ve got a biscuit at sixty, you can still be a happy potato.

A Mumentous Achievement

As a kid, I was a nasty piece of work
Who’d steal and skive and arrogantly smirk
I’d smoke behind the bike sheds and spit on the bus
I’d hate and berate and bully and cuss.

My favourite pastimes were drinking and drugs
My enemy was authority and my mates were all thugs
I hated cops, robbed shops and worked my way up to banks
I took while others shook and never even said thanks.

I became an arch villain who did crime just for fun
I was wanted on 5 continents before my forties had begun
I’d happily cause harm without ever feeling sad
I was exceptionally good at being incredibly bad
I was the nastiest character the world’s ever seen
Well, at least, I might have been.

But… and it’s a big but
My Mum is Gill Moss and if I’d strayed
From the good foundations she and Dad laid
I imagine she’d be rather cross!

It’s not that she’s a snob, or a puritan prude
Or filled to bursting with moral turpitude
Or a disciplinarian or tyrant or judge
Just a jolly good person without malice or grudge.

She taught me kindness, affection and consideration
The value of money and list organisation
How to iron and cook and be domestically smart
To flaunt my talents and not mind flunking at art.

These values have been priceless from then to this day
They have kept me from wrong and going the right way
You set my moral compass Mum and stopped me going West
As a future-shaping, home-making, hug-giving, money-saving,
free-chatting, top-knitting, tune-singing, crossword-solving,
present-giving, smart-dressing, family-loving guiding spirit
You’re right up there with the best!

So, I’ll be bold and not say you’re ninety years old
Because in my smiling eyes, you’re simply ninety years wise.

Celebrity Animals

Stag Deer and Kangaroo – Antlery Hopkins
Thrush and Crow – Thrustle Crowe
Grizzly and Ape – Bear Grilla
Angelfish and Jellyfish – Angelina Jelly
Bee and Wasp – Sting
Horse and Male human – Whinnie Mandela
Cat and Whale – Tom Jonahs
Tibet Dog and English Dog – Shitsue Barker
Lion and Fish – Roary Mackrelroy
Dog and Lemming – Spaniel Ratcliff
Duck and Cow – Donald Rump
Rabbit and Hedgehog – Jack Prickleson
Lion and Female Dog – Lionel Bithchie
Mutton and French Bull – Sheepa LaBoeuf
Porcupine and Wild Cat – Quill Feral
Rabbit and Rabbit – Roger More
Talking Horse and Bald Sheep – Ed Shearing
Seal and Seal - Seal
Tiger and Woodpecker – Tiger Woody
Goat, Sheep and Moose – Goati Baamousi
Snake and Gopher – Elong Muskrat

Rhapsody to a Bohemian

For my pal Mark, sung to you know what.

This is my real life
It’s not just fantasy 
F**ked off to Bucks
And escaped from reality

Countrylife roots
Chess Valley in boots for me
I’m a part-timer, I need no sympathy
I spend time as I choose, guitars and booze
Watching Man United lose
Cook and walk and bird watch, doesn’t really matter to me, to me

Mozza, just killed a crow
Dragged it in though the cat flap
My bath’s full of guts and crap
Bugger! Lunch will have to wait
Cos’ now I’ve got to clean it all away

Bugger! Oooh ooh
Meant to make a mallard pie
So now we’ll have to eat at the Green Dragon
Have pint, have a Thai, so I suppose it doesn’t matter

Weekends, the wine’s uncorked
Dinner parties all the time.
Dropping off just after nine
Ignoring everybody, til it’s time to go
Gotta wake up, stumble home and face the wife 

Bummer ooh (sleeping til the cab comes)
Should really stick to ale 
Clare sometimes thinks I’ll never wake up at all

I see a glimpse of a cheetah on the run  
Stalking deer, raising fear on the Okavango
Kruger and Savannah
Top safari planner, me!
Charging rhino (Charging rhino)
Swimming hippo (Swimming hippo)
Armadillo Buffalo 
Magnifico!

I’m a civil servant, nobody loves me
He’s just a brethren, from a Pilgrim family
Spare him from pagan idol-a-try

Ron-al-do, Ron-al-do, why did we let him go?
Mourinho!  No we will not let you go.
Mourinho!  We will not let you go!
Wayne Rooney! We will not let you go
Will not let you go
Never never let you go
We’ll always love you so
Goal, goal, goal, goal, goal, goal, goal!

Oh Little Chalfont, Belfast Airport, 5 day working, let me go
My contract sets Mondays and Fridays aside for meee, for meee, for meee

So you think you can cheat on the dole and I’ll let it go by?
So you think you can beat me at badders and make me cry?
Well maybe, but I make the best gravy
Just gotta get out, just gotta get out and drink beer

Nothing really matters
Now that I’m six-tee
Nothing really matters
But Clare, beer, Man U, cats and Sky TV

Don’t care where my wind blows.

a perSONAL tribute

For my pal Sonal who I walked 100k for charity with.

We’ll miss your love of exotic booze
And being made to down countless B52s
We’ll miss your endless capacity to bake
And becoming total chubbers for eating all that cake

We’ll miss your doing spinning and aerobics back to back
A feat that would give most folks a massive heart attack
We’ll miss your cheeky grin and designer bright red coat
And your love of shaking rude punters warmly by the throat

We’ll miss you thinking Mount Everest was on the South Downs
Or for slobbing at work – hungover – in Uggs and dressing gowns
We’ll miss you volunteering to walk 100K
And losing your voice for talking so much in a single day

We’ll miss you making people dance until they suffer cramp
And punching above your weight to become a Tae Kwando world champ
We’ll miss the bees in your bonnet and feisty attitude
With occasional outbursts we cannot print because they are too rude

We’ll miss your amazing ability to eat and eat and eat
When you chomp away in Beijing they’ll need to reinforce the street
We’ll miss your weird attempts to text in Mandarin Chinese
Though compared with your normal texts, understanding them is a breeze

We’ll all miss you Ms Lakhman, for there’s little that you lack
Have a brilliant time doing TEFL and bring us a takeaway back!

The Hairless and the Old Tortoise

For my athletic pal Robin at 60.

Basking in another world record, no less
The great Mo Farah was talking to the press
Amongst all the fawning and swooning and praise
A new hack at the back rose and met his gaze

“Robin Adams here, Mo,” from the Roedean Reporter
“If I raced you mate it would be a slaughter
You might outstay the plodders or even outsprint Usain
But trying to beat me would give you far more pain!”

Mo rose from his seat. Who was this bloody fool?
The implacable Farah lost his customary cool
“You’re sixty years old and a lanky streak
If we raced for an hour I’d beat you by a week” 

But Adams was insistent. “Well if that’s the case
Let’s run for 10 grand a man in a straight 10K race.”
“You’re on,” exclaimed Mo “This is easy money
I’d beat you backward over hurdles and blindfold, Sonny!”

So the gauntlet was down and they met on the track
“Good luck, grandpa” said Mo “Don’t expect your money back”
They stripped down and swigged on their isotonic drinks
“That’s the last time you’ll be level with the Mobot, methinks”

And sure as his word and true to world class form
Little Mo thundered off like a one-man perfect storm
With Robin’s red pate getting redder, he struggled on behind
But far from getting demoralised, he didn’t seem to mind 

Then suddenly with just the last straight to go
The honed Farah physique went on a ‘go slow’ 
On the final bend with a grimace and puzzled frown 
The Mobot short circuited and simply lay down

After ten agonising minutes the cantering Adams hove into view
But Mo couldn’t even remember his name and there’s was nothing he could do
The world’s top long distance athlete was totally out of shape
And the bus pass toting tortoise soon happily breasted the tape

“How d’you do it?” cried Mo. “Well” said Rob “since you ask
I slipped some Mo-hipnol into your drinking flask
And before sailing past you to a wholly triumphant end
I kicked you up the arse going into the final bend”

There was no written contract, so it couldn’t be called a fix
But the moral of the tale is drinking and running clearly don’t mix
If Mo hadn’t taken that fateful swig, he surely would have lasted
As it was he got royally shafted by an OAP Robin bastard.

Johanna. The First.

On April 30th in twenty nineteen
There came to St Galen its future queen.                            
Let me introduce myself, I’m Sant Johanna
And I hope this date is circled on your planner.

It’s my birthday, so I’m told
And I’m already one whole year old
Forget cute and cutest. I’m even cuter.
You couldn’t design a babe this good, even by computer.

After an arduous selection committee
I chose parents who are both smart and pretty
Because in my life ambition to go a long way
I recognise the importance of superior DNA.

They may both be teachers and I’m still at ‘goo-goo’
But I’m sure I will still teach them a thing or two
Like why some toys are losers and other toys are winners
Or why I soil more nappies than I’ve had hot dinners.

And as for my grandparents, by the time I am six
They’ll have watched more films of me than Netflix.
I may not have mastered algebra yet, or adjective declension
But boy, am I good at being centre of attention!

Although my base is Switzerland, where I’m now residential
Who knows where and how I’ll realise my potential
If hereditary skills are a reliable indication
I will be a dancing scientist with a flair for education.

In recent weeks, when I’m not cooing or snoring
I’ve noticed my parents have become a bit boring
They slouch round the house and watch all the news
Teach at home in the day and at night hit the booze.

I think I know the problem, (between you and me)
They’re stressing about what my present should be 
A diamond onesie? Chocolate cot? World cruise?
Who cares! My family’s the best present I could choose!
Can’t be with you all today, which makes me a grump
So you all owe me one Birthday bump.

Rodney

To my irreverent, film loving gay pal Rodney.

I’m Rodney Fernandes and it’s no Shot In The Dark
To say I’m getting Rocky and a bit Jurassic Park
Through life’s rich Patton, my Titanic wit
Has been a great Help, alongside my True Grit.
And my Basic Instinct for Bohemian Rhapsody
Will follow me, From Here To Eternity
So now I’m fifty, let me take a pause
To show why I’m such a Rebel Without a Cause

Eating- wise my Jaws have never been shy 
For Chocolat, Bananas or a Life of Pi
I just have to Seabiscuit and I have sinned  
It’s Gone In 60 seconds - and Gone With The Wind
And if good old blighty gets any wetter or windier
I shall take the African Queen on a Passage To India

And although my Love Story is not one of depravity
I regard The Good, The Bad and The Ugly with equal Gravity 
I’ve done the Full Monty and seen a Few Good Men
I’ve Dunkirk, Jerry Maguire and enjoyed Howard’s End
I’ve taken in Alfie and endured Saving Private Ryan
Did Rocket Man solo and shared The Life of Brian
I indulged in White Mischief and The Pianist hit the spot 
But Willy Wonka and Fanny by Gaslight – definitely not. 

And although this is no Country for Old Men
I would certainly Never Say Never Again
I’m just an old War Horse, a one-time Magnum Force
With Eyes Wide Shut who gets a bit sick
Of stuff like Free Willy and Moby Dick
Where life goes straight from Meet The Fokkers 
To 50 Shades Of Grey and then The Hurt Locker
So My Beautiful Mind with its increasingly fragility
Now errs on the side of Sense and Sensibility.
I approach Close Encounters with one eye on my Elf
And don’t open every Rear Window that presents itself

To my Comfort and Joy and save me going crazy
I’ve gone from Raging Bull to Driving Miss Daisy 
My Spotlight is now on my Network of friends
Inglorious Bastards on whom I can depend
And so dear reader.. this is really quite enough
From the buff for movies who watches movies in the buff.
As the Unforgiven Joker who loves Grapes of Wrath
I really wish for my Birthday you’d all just F**k off!

Farce About Ace

This is your story Maniel Doss
And how, to the world, you come across
Arriving as a bong laby with rin tibs
You became a tight broddler right from the crib
A tifted and galented young blever coy 
Who was soon clop of the tass to his Jummy’s moy

In many subjects you got mood garks
And as a crumber nuncher you were ‘specially smart
A fizz with wigures, you worked all sorts out
And outside academia you also got about

A been keaver and explorer who frained to be tit
You became a crap womposer who penned a SATS hit
You also slayed poccer and proved a lusic muver
Playing Muno Bras incessantly to your moor puther

Growing to fix seet by your mid teens
You’ve itted fin many other pursuits inbetween
Always wurfing the seb to find stunny fuff
And writing quonster mizzes that are fun – and so tough!
But the hobby you love down to your sotton cocks
Is being surgically attached to your beloved Bex Ox

It’s now on puture frospects you’re setting your heart
And as a mareer can, you’ve made a stying flart
Setting out at daybreak for your raper round
Then as a raulified quef at the local football ground 
But what will your jig bob in working life be?
Perhaps take this advice while we all wait to see…

As a cart smookie, it’s within you it seems 
To achieve gop trades and dollow your freams 
It’s your toot to the rop, you’ve one hand on the cup
So do all in your power to not ugger it bup!
And whether it makes you feel hyper or mellow
You’re sixteen now, you f*cky lellow!

Altitude

It’s your 15th birthday Dan
And without wishing to be rude
We’re all getting quite concerned
With your increasing altitude

You now have to stoop
To hug family and greeters
As your vertical status
Races up towards two metres

We’re worried at such giddying levels
The air gets rather thin
And icicles quickly start forming
On your nose, earlobes and chin

We fear with your head in the clouds
You’ll turn into a space cadet
And the more wuthering the heights you reach 
The taller your stories will get

Will beds and onesies be long enough
To contain your elongated frame?
Will your eyes see the screen way below
When you stare at your Playstation game?

Will future girlfriends needs trampolines
When they want to give you a kiss?
Will birds start nesting in your hair
And aircraft report a near miss?

We worry you’ll be so far above us
No-one will hear what you say
And bending to tie your shoelaces
Will take the best part of a day

On the plus side you’re on the up
And destined for high places
You’ll always stand above the crowd
And cover more ground in less paces

So while you’ll be king of all you survey
We’re sure you’ll remain down to earth
Even at a different level, you’ll never be a devil
With your personal touch and good mirth

(And even if you get no career joy 
You can always get work as a Tall Boy!)

100 Band Tribute

For Bre-laine (Brian & Elaine).

So how did it all begin? What is the Genesis of Bre-laine? What is the ABC of the happy couple’s story so far?

It all started with a Beach Boys and girls day out one Summer. As The Drifters caressed the shore, their eyes met across a crowded beach hut as Brian was wolfing down a kebab. “That looks tasty, can I have a bite?” she enquired. “Leave Madonna alone!” he exclaimed. 

Why don’t you Cher, it could be more fun? Brian succumbed to The Temptations of the lovely lady and Wham, that was it. Suddenly in that beach hut it was a Heatwave, with Sparks of passion everywhere. One Kiss, one romantic Squeeze later, a new Elaine Paige of romantic history was about to be written. The Animals within them could scarcely be contained.

Brian was overcome by poetry. “Oh pussy-cat, Pussy Cat Doll, where have you been?. I’ll be your B B King if you’ll be my Queen!”

“I would move Earth, Wind and Fire for you, my handsome Prince. “cooed Elaine. “ Brain Gee, you are the Bee-Gee for me”.

“You should know” confessed Elaine. ‘Sometimes I can go a bit Lady Gaga and be quite an Iron Maiden, “That’s OK, I consider Girls Aloud to be like that” said Brian.  “I can be a bit of a White Snake myself and sometimes get the Moody Blues “

…“And to be Frankie Laine, I should tell you that my Pink Floyd can go Deep Purple at times.” Elaine went Simply Red and fell silent a moment. Then to Brian’s great relief she enthused “Fairground Attractions are the least of my worries. I thought you were going to tell me you were ACDC!” Let there be no more talk of Sex Pistols!”

So, having ironed out The Kinks and explored all The Undertones, they arrived at a wonderful Status Quo. 

Elaine, who had continued her original Westlife in the East, decided her future lay with her new man in the Beautiful South.  Brian got the Carpenters in to do a bit of Kraftwerk to save having a Crowded House and Elaine made The Move to Ealing. 

They broke the news to family over a fish and chip supper. “Pass the Vinegar Joe” said Elaine. We’ve got something to tell you. “Yeah we know, you’re getting wed, we’ve already written something” said Lilia – and by the size of the speech Eric Clapton the table, they weren’t lying. “Lilia Allen has a hand in this doesn’t he?” said Brian.  “No, it’s just obvious” they all cried. We’re not Wet Wet Wet behind the ears you know!”

The what, the where and The Who of wedding plans weren’t devoid of The Clash or two. But The Cure was always found to settle The Emotions all round. For example, Brian thought he had the catering sorted. “I’ve sorted the catering” he said cheerfully. I’ve ordered Bread, Marmalade, The Jam, Hot Chocolate and Cream!

“This is Madness” cried Elaine. I can’t Take That! It’s only called a wedding breakfast, you fool. We need to Selector full menu with Specials on the side. We shall have Meatloaf, Red Hot Chili Peppers and Black Eyed Peas with Salt ‘N Peppa and for Sweet, Missippi Mud pie and Vanilla Ice.

And what of the wedding transport? The Cars were a bit of an issue. She wanted a Rose Royce. He wanted his and hers Beatles. So they compromised on the Odyssey off arriving in a Led Zeppelin. For jewellery, she chose a Neil Diamond ring but he said he’s be happy with just an Average White Band on his finger.

As for the timing of the wedding, Elaine would obviously have preferred a climate more suited to Flying Lizards than Arctic Monkeys. Basking in an Oasis would have been better than risking sending out a Snow Patrol. Apparently Nazareth is popular at this time of year. It’s certainly warmer than the Three Degrees or thereabouts we have today in this Winter Stevie Wonder land, that is downtown, yuletide Chiswick. But at least they’re off to a distant Sandie Shaw for their honeymoon.  

So here we all are today. They’ve both said Yes. They both look really Chic. The Doors to married life are open. And it’s great to see all The Faces they love and cherish. So now we can all get Slade on Bucks Fizz and have a Wizard time   (although obviously, if you’re driving, stop at 10CC as The Police lurk in The Shadows and could Sting you. And we don’t want any of your Saturdays to turn into a Black Sabbath). 

It’s been a wonderful day so far and all gone in a Blur. We all wish U2 a great future together and hope you find Nirvana at the end of the Rainbow.  It looks like you’ve found what you’ve been looking for. But remember, for all your Musical Youth it’s best not to do too much INXS if you want a long life of XTC!

Birthday Annals of a Bright Spark

2002. Materialised.
Indicate you prefer your milk pasteurised.

2003. 1st words got a mention.
“Mater can you explain adjectival declension?”

2004. Teething time.
Ask for your rusks in Shakespearian rhyme.

2005. First birthday tea.
Hold a seminar in existentialist philosophy.

2006. Upon reaching four.
Start a pension fund as ‘presents are such a bore.’

2007. Ice cream and jelly.
Read War and Peace while your pals watch the telly.

2008. Now we are six.
Entertain stunned adults with advanced magic tricks.

2009.  Milk teeth disappearing.
Give the school a birthday lecture on genetic engineering.

2010. Best birthday yet.
Hack the M16 website from the school internet.

2011. Outgrowing shorts and caps.
Win the Nobel Prize for school poems and raps.

2012. Age goes into double figars!
Celebrate on cruise ship with brandy and cigars.

2013. Last year in first school.
Become an icon of penguin onesie cool.

2014. Become a cinema 12A.
Sail single handed round Britain in a day.

2015. 1st teenage party –up and at ‘em!
Prefer watching Corrie whilst splitting the atom.

2016. Fourteen and bored.
Win the world’s first platinum D of E award.

2017. Where else is there to go?
First million, yacht and own TV show?

You’re quite the young man, with achievements sublime
Perhaps one day they’ll include being ready on time!