Poetry Corner: Petty Grievance
It takes years and years
For civil engineers
To train and design traffic flows.
But you flashing your lights,
Yes it’s you with the right
To decide who must stop and who goes.
It takes years and years
For civil engineers
To train and design traffic flows.
But you flashing your lights,
Yes it’s you with the right
To decide who must stop and who goes.
What’s that on your head, Fred?
Have you been for the weave, Steve?
Pull on a wig, Stig,
Just get yourself free.
Was it out of a can, Dan?
Drawn on with a pen, Glen?
Buy a new hat, Pat,
And get yourself free.
I’d like to go on the Orient Express,
To travel with such style and grace.
But whenever I look to see if I can book,
It’s full of folk who won big on The Chase.
It all looks so terribly fancy,
Silver service for breakfast and dinner.
I want to see Istanbul, but the thing’s always full
Of people who outran Paul Sinha.
Perhaps I need lower ambitions –
Find somewhere less exotic to be.
Go on Pointless instead and win just enough bread
For a weekend in Southend-on-Sea.
But I would still like to go on it,
Where Poirot solved his most famous case.
But I won’t reach this goal with a Mastermind bowl
So I’ll have to win big on The Chase.
Everyone knows he’s a big massive liar.
His attempts to defend are just dire.
Not one person thinks
that they were just ‘work drinks’.
He’s bald and his pants are on fire.
My sister is 50. Scary stuff, of course, and also of course we were asked to write a quiz for her do. So we did. And because it’s a bugger to do, here I’m sharing what we did. And it’s actually dead easy.
You do a picture round of ten famous faces from the same birth year. You do a music round with ten of the biggest hits of the year, asking folk to name the artist. And you do a before or after round – pick ten world events adjacent to the subject’s birth and folk need to determine if they happened before the subject was born or after.
Which leaves you one round to do, and here’s the generic bit of questions relating to the number 50. It’s a rhyme time – two clues, the answers to which rhyme and you need them both for the point. Screw half points. Here we go:
1. L. Mel
2. Golden. Amada Holden
3. 50 Cent. Clark Kent
4. Bullseye. Pork pie
5. Hawaii 5-0. Dr No
6. Paul Simon. Bill Wyman
7. Joe Root. Birthday suit
8. Tin. Gin
9. EL James. Olympic Games
10. Hitchcock. Woodstock
Help yourself.
Tingle balls,
Tingle balls,
Tingle all the way.
Oh what fun it is to sting one’s nipsy twice a day!
My happiest time:
October the 30th
When you said ‘I do’.
Who ended the career of the great Todd Carty?
Who forced us to withdraw the sweet blue Smartie?
While you were all grieving, who forced us to party?
The tofu-eating wokerati.
Who removed the toxic inks from Sharpies?
Who’s the modern Senator Joseph McCarthy?
Who forces us to take cash from the oligarchy?
The tofu-eating wokerati.
Who assassinated Russell Harty?
Who said you can’t drive after a bottle of Bacardi?
Who is the real Professor James Moriarty?
The tofu-eating wokerati.
My wife is a vegetarian and that makes me pretty much a vegetarian also. But given the chance, I still love fried chicken. Unfortunately, the best fried chicken shop in the world which wasn’t so far away from us closed down during one of the Covid lockdowns. Nobody else comes close, so I’ve had to improvise and while I don’t generally like to brag about my cooking, I reckon I’ve nailed it. And I owe it all to the glory of the air fryer. We got one a while back, may have been in lockdown 1 and I’m still experimenting with it.
What you do is chuck some oil, equal (large) shakes of paprika and sage and a healthy twist of black pepper in a bowl, throw in a load of chicken thighs and make sure they’re all nicely coated. Set aside and let it all marinade.
Into the air fryer with ’em at about 190C. Cook for 10 minutes skin side down, then for about 17/18 minutes skin side up.
Air fryer goes ping, chicken is ready. And it’s really bloody lovely.
My cats are twats.
A duo of dickheads,
A pair of prize pillocks,
A brace of bellends.
My cats are twats.
My cats are twats.
A couple of cockknockers,
The tosser twosome,
Prat partners.
My cats are twats.
My cats are twats.
Toolboxes in tandem,
The fabulous furry fuckhead fraternity,
A deuce of doofuses.
My cats are twats.