News From Bromham - Dateline Sunday 2nd June 2013

Bulletin From Bromham: Dateline – Sunday 2^nd June 2013

Here is our weekly round-up of events from Bromham:

·         1. The world of Bromham politics has been rocked onto its backfeet by the scandalous events reported in the village this week.  In a secret, undercover “sting” operation mounted by the Bromham Broadcasting Corporation (BBC) two senior Parish Councillors were secretly filmed apparently agreeing to actually turn up, and perhaps ask questions in the Council chamber, in return for substantial rewards.  The implications of this “Questions For Carrots” situation are still being absorbed.

·       2.  Meanwhile the village is celebrating after one of its most fearless people Major Tim “Bonkers” Piglet was selected to begin training for the long mission to Trowbridge.  The mission, whose stated aim is to get a team of people into the shopping centre at Trowbridge, and to return them safely to Bromham, has long been a dream of the community.  The long-distance crew will have to endure a lonely journey of up to an hour to reach the remote town.  When they get there, they will endure an airless, and soulless, environment.  They will have no means of external support, and will depend for their survival on remembering where to catch the No, 37 bus back to the village.

·       3.  For details of these and all other Bromham stories, don’t forget to listen to local radio station Carrot FM.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

Organic Panic

Organic Panic (or why Mud can be Good)

Each time I go off to the market in town,

There’s something I see,

Which brings to my face a terrible frown.

It annoys me and it’s getting me down.

I feel they’re treating me like I’m a clown.

It’s when I see the label organic,

That I enter a mood near to panic,

And people nearby think that I’m manic.

It’s when I read the back of the label,

That it alarms me.

For in among all the country fable,

Is all the truth that’s not on the table.

This really ought to bug and annoy you,

That even in summer, and this is not new,

Green beans are being flown in from Peru.

What madness is this that they are doing?

To fool us all badly.

It’s causing pollution we’ll be ruing,

On this planet that’s now started stewing.

There’s trouble ahead that we’re brewing.

We can’t go on madly.

We’re killing seasonality and taste,

Raising food in too much hurry & haste,

Leaving behind us trails of carbon waste.

I don’t want hormones or drugs in my meat:

It’s not natural.

Nor genetically modified wheat,

But nor do I want a planet that’s beat,

Or a climate that will soon over-heat.

But we’re exhausting what’s left of the land,

And it’s time that we took it back in to hand,

Before the time comes that it’s panned.

The supermarkets must share in the blame,

With their approach.

They are taking us for fools in this game,

And their excuses are becoming more lame.

They ought to be reddening in their shame,

For covering up all of these airmiles,

And all of their plastic packaging guiles.

I’m putting their marketing in the frame,

Cos knobbly veggies taste just the same.

They don’t need to be perfect & straight,

To be edible.

Nor do they need to have a sell-by date.

We can work it out at our own rate,

Whether it’s best to eat now, or to wait.

But I’d certainly object if I could,

That farmers’ markets shouldn’t try to be good,

And charge more for carrots covered in mud.

This whole thing’s become tattered and frayed,

At the edges.

Words like “free-range” and “pure” have become greyed,

And nobody’s sure any more what’s Fairtrade,

Or who’s making the profits or being paid.

There’s something confusing about food,

Where real meanings have become skewed,

And the labels try to shape our attitude.

Wasn’t all food once “organic” and real?

Or am I naïve?

What we want back right now is the real deal,

With veggies that you can fondle & feel.

Let’s get rid of the packages and labels,

Get the stuff all laid out on the tables,

And banish this marketing-house Babel.

So let’s have dirty spuds and bent parsnips,

And let us get back to having real chips.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

Old Age Non-Pensioner

Old Age Non-Pensioner (or Growing Old Disgracefully)

I’ve just reached a certain age now,

But I have to tell you the truth:

As you can all plainly see before you,

I’m still in the first flush of my youth.

For age affects us all in different ways,

There’s no use in trying to hide:

It’s time to get out & declare it:

I’ve become a member of Grey Pride!

I may have to go for a medical,

And lay on the doctor’s bed all prostrate.

I’ll hear the snap of the marigolds,

When he’s about to inspect my prostate.

There’ll blood & urine samples to give:

It’s really not very nice.

I’ll be told “Stop smoking, and drink less,

And take more exercise”.

For I’ve got to keep healthy,

To avoid increasing debility.

Keep my mind & body active,

And ward off approaching senility.

I’ll get increasingly forgetful,

As I become a bit of a part-timer.

I’ll try to keep mentally agile,

And avoid contracting Alzheimers.

There’ll be hardened arteries to cope with,

As I approach age fifty seven,

But to help me at home these days,

I’ve got a Stannah stairlift to heaven.

I can look forward deafness,

And eye-sight that grows ever dimmer,

But at least I won’t need a road test

To go for a spin with my Zimmer.

With spreading waist, dodgy knees & joints,

The outlook’s increasingly “grey”,

And every day I’ve noticed,

That my toe-nails seem further away.

I’ve become follically challenged:

At least that’s what they say that it’s called,

But when I was that much younger,

They just used to say you were bald.

As more of my body parts stop working,

And my memory I’m starting to doubt,

I’m falling prey to more illnesses:

The wheezing, the coughing – and, of course, gout.

 But I’m told that I’m a silver surfer.

My computer has got lots of ROM,

And now I can get a subscription

On a site called Confused.com.

And there are some compensations,

Which come as quite a relief,

For whatever else I might be losing,

You know I’ve still got my own teeth.

So I’m going to grow older disgracefully,

And go out without my glasses.

I’ll probably get lost in the High Street,

And start chasing the older lasses.

But now I guess it’s off to Help The Aged,

To seek some help & dedication.

So I’ll see you all sometime later:

It’s time to take my medication.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

A One-Way Ticket to Mars

Mission

We left upon a high tide

Of love and hope and enthusiasm

That pushed us gently off from home

Out into the starry night

To travel upon waves of faith

And the best of our technology

We embarked upon the journey

In our silvered ship of dreams

Carrying deep within the belly of its hold

Supplies and building blocks of life

Essentials for the colony

And a fragile early settlement

And now we can only wait

And voyage on regardless

Tracking our co-ordinates

On our pre-determined trajectory

A long-distance one-way ticket

Through cold and airless space

There will be no return

No coming back across the void

From this long-term venture

From a dry and dusty planet

With its darker horizon

Orbiting further from our Sun

But we may survive for long enough

To thrive and procreate the species

To build a tenuous foothold

Upon the rocky surface

Where we can stand defiant

And watch the Earth rise once again

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

Shoulder of Lamb Pot Roast

Recipe for: POT ROAST OF LAMB SHOULDER

Ingredients:

• 1 boned shoulder of lamb
• ½ tsp ground cumin
• ½ tsp ground black pepper
• 2 tblsp fresh mint, finely chopped
• 2 cloves garlic, finely chopped
• Juice of ½ lemon
• Salt
• 2-3 tblsp olive oil
• 1 large onion, chopped
• 1 large carrot, diced
• 1 small glass white wine or water

Method:

1. lay the boned shoulder out flat & trim off as much excess fat from the skin side as possible
2. turn cut-side up.  Scatter the cumin, pepper, mint, garlic & salt over the surface
3. drizzle over the lemon juice
4. roll the joint up tightly, in a spiral, and secure with cooking string
5. in a large, heavy pan, just big enough to take the joint, heat 2 tblsps of oil and brown the joint all over
6. take out the lamb & set aside
7. throw in the onion & carrot, sautéing until lightly browned
8. turn the heat down very low, spread the vegetables evenly over the bottom of the pan to form a bed, and place the joint on top
9. pour over the wine or water, and season with salt & pepper
10. cover tightly & cook over a very low heat for 1½ to 2 hours, turning the lamb every ¾ hour or so, until very tender
11. rest the lamb in a warm oven for 15 minutes before slicing
12. strain the juices & serve with the lamb

 What else you need to know:

1. you may need a little more liquid – check from time to time that the lamb is not drying out

Dying to Try It

Dying To Try It - (or Trying To Diet - a hand goes out to those on the 5/2 diet.  I feel your pain.)

A Dieter’s Resolution is a terrible thing,

But losing some weight is a must.

My clothes no longer fit me,

And I’ve started to develop a bust.

Diets always begin on a Monday,

But my belt has tightened a notch.

These trousers are now killing me:

They’re way too tight in the crotch.

I’m now counting calories the day long,

Went to Weight Watchers last night.

But the lack of nourishment is taxing:

I’m dying to just have a bite.

I’ve tried all types of diet it’s true:

The F-Plan, the Atkins, the Hay,

But I’ve still got a fat belly,

And that’s why you’ll hear me say:

Chorus - Lord knows I’m tryin’ to diet:

Please don’t let me be obese.

But I’m still dyin’ to try it,

So just hand over the cheese.

I’ve tried taking pills & supplements,

But they just left me feeling weak.

I even tried the old whiskey diet,

And I lost three days just last week.

But the weight it just won’t drop away,

And I can feel the strain on my heart.

And when I tried the Cabbage diet,

Well – it just forced me to fart.

My thickening waist-line is a real problem,

One that I don’t know how I’m to beat.

I get more lonely & hungry,

And then I just want more to eat.

I start to have dreams & then visions,

As plates of food pass in front of my eyes.

Pastries & pasties & cakes of all sorts,

And fish & chips, and savoury pies.

Chorus –

Where are the cream-cakes, the puddings & buns,

The chocolate, the gravy & foods of great cheer?

The sauces, the tarts, and the roast pork?

I’d give anything for a few pints of beer.

The images swim in front of my eyes,

And my fingers tremble & fumble.

I’ve a case of terrible cravings,

And my stomach has started to rumble.

So have pity on me, all of you there,

To see me cry, to see me unmanned.

If this goes on any longer,

I’ll be trying a gastric band.

And as you feel your arteries hardening,

And tuck into your meals tonight;

Think of me in dieting agony,

And say with me in my plight:

Chorus -

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

That Old Toothless Dog

That Old Toothless Dog (or The Thin End of the Wedge)

Here we are again, as you lie on the floor,

At the side of my chair, your lead all slack.

No wonder, by the look of you,

We were asked to sit at the back.

I felt it was the least that we could do,

Because you’re not too strong in the knees.

For they didn’t want the other pets put out,

Nor frightened, nor infected with fleas.

Your coat’s all matted & tangled,

And I didn’t feel that I could quibble.

For it’s quite obvious wherever we sit,

There’s going to be lots of your dribble.

Cos now you’re old, and you’re toothless,

You’re half-deaf and you’re half-blind,

All of which I can put up with:

It’s the incontinence that I mind.

It’s hard to list all of your ailments,

It’s hard to know just where to start,

But I guess your principal problem

Is quite how often you fart.

You get in the way wherever you flop down,

You cost us a fortune in dog food.

You can’t seem to leave anything alone,

And when we get home, we find everything chewed.

You’re becoming increasingly forgetful.

You just look puzzled, you old wretch.

Cos you stop half way to the stick:

You’ve forgotten what you were going to fetch.

You’ve become a useless guard-dog:

The burglars can’t believe their luck.

Your toothless jaws can no longer bite them,

Only give them a quite nasty suck.

You don’t bark in time to warn us,

They’re upon us all too soon.

And then when there’s no danger

You spend hours howling at the moon.

You’ve become an economic burden,

And now that you’re not very well,

You’re neither use nor ornament.

And on top of all that, you smell.

So here we are for your last journey,

The end of the road for you as a pet.

The life-force of you will soon be ended,

By that needle in the hands of the vet.

So don’t you look up at me like that,

With those big, brown, cloudy but trusting eyes.

I’m sure you can see into my purpose,

That this visit’s one way can’t be disguised.

You’ve grown up with me & the children,

You’ve always been faithful & loyal.

You’ve put in your years of good service,

And to us you’ve been a friend quite royal.

You’ve become part of the family,

As if you were related by blood.

We couldn’t take on a new puppy now:

I just don’t think that we could.

Dammit, everybody loves you,

Though you’re a toothless old hound.

You’re just a part of the furniture.

I think that it’s time we turned round.

Let’s leave this deathly waiting room,

Let’s walk right out calm & steady.

You don’t need to be pushed along,

You can do this when you’re good & ready

For now that it’s come right down to it,

I find that I can’t just erase yer.

We’d be doing it to people next,

And that’s the road to euthanasia!

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013