New Year, Old Year

New Year, Old Year

And so the question comes around again,

About hopes and wishes and resolution,

Determinations for another new year,

Or to simply avoid it – that’d be a solution!

Whether to create new personal targets,

To set oneself up for yet another fall,

Or be more realistic of weaknesses,

And admit that you’ll fail at them all.

As if a New Year creates a new life,

Where things will be different and strange,

Rather than some random point in time,

Invented by humans to mark out a change.

It’s just a certain mark in the calendar,

A cold counting of months and of days,

And to track the moon’s movements,

The lunar waxings and wanings of ways.

Just cast your mind back to last year -

What were all the things you promised you’d do?

No - I can’t remember them either!

All forgotten – isn’t that true?

So what’s the point of doing it all over?

You won’t get any fitter or slimmer,

You probably won’t save any more money -

There isn’t a chance – not a glimmer!

Life will continue the way it always does

The only sure things are death and tax,

So just be a little more practical -

Be at peace with yourself - and relax!

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2018

Drivel From Devizes - Dateline Sunday 30th December 2018

Drivel From Devizes: Dateline – Sunday 30^th December 2018

Here is our weekly round-up of events from D-Town:

1.      D-Town Council declared a “major incident” this week when it was noticed that an increasing number of economic refugees from Trowvegas were failing to stay on board the 49 bus as it passed through the town and carry on to the desolate wilds of Swindon.  In contravention of international treaties, several of these people were seen to be attempting to stay in the town and to claim political asylum.

2.      And police have begun rounding up confused residents and visitors in the town after many of them were found wandering in a confused state.  Several claimed not to know what day of the week it was.  One man said he had no idea what day his next black bin collection would be.  And no-one had a clue what buses were running and to what, if any, timetable.  The confusion was blamed on the fact that Christmas Day and New Year’s Day had occurred again this year.  Despite many warnings on public media and by the marketing departments of several leading supermarkets, these public holidays had come yet again as a complete surprise to many people.  No muppets were harmed in the making of this report.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2018

Passed Over Again

Passed Over Again

I’ve waited in all day, pacing up and down,

Hoping that the telephone would ring,

That some flunkey from Buckingham palace

Some long-expected news would bring.

I’d counted on a proper letter at first,

Coming through Her Majesty’s Royal Mail:

Cream envelope, thick embossed writing -

But that route appears to have failed.

Morning after morning, nothing on the mat,

Time getting short as we come up to the date,

Perhaps lost in the post or delivered elsewhere,

I’m on tenterhooks to discover my fate.

After all - I am a firm monarchist,

A believer in our great constitution,

And I’ve been a good chap now for long enough,

So it’s time to recognise my contribution.

For outstanding services to my country,

I’m wondering what my honour will be:

So many types and levels to choose from -

Might it be an OBE or MBE?

I can just see my name up on the list,

You see, I’ve always fancied a knight-hood:

Some sort of title would distinguish me -

“Sir Andy Fawthrop” will look pretty good.

But there is no point printing new stationery,

Nor ordering any new business cards,

Until we’ve settled on the right handle,

Then I’ll be a knight amongst bards!

I can see me going to the palace,

For my investiture with the Queen,

Then photos outside with the medal,

My face all over the press will be seen.

I’ll be gently famous and renowned,

I’ll sign autographs whenever I‘m able,

And merely mentioning my name,

Will secure any restaurant table.

And people will whisper reverently,

When my personage is passing them by,

Speaking of my modest achievements,

And asking themselves the main question: Why?

  

I mean, obviously, why not them?

Well – honours are reserved for the cream!

If they just gave them to everyone,

How do you think that that would seem?

…..But hang on a second – what’s just happened?

The full list’s been announced on the BBC!

There’s nothing in there for services to poetry -

There’s to be no Honour for me!

Surely there’s been some mistake?

It seems, yet again, I’ve been overlooked,

I’ve been looking forward all over Christmas,

But now it seems my goose has been cooked.

Of course I’m not bitter – how could I be?

It’s an anachronistic system of State,

Discredited rewards for old cronies!

I wouldn’t want one of those, mate!

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2018

Some Alternative Christmas Cards

Some Alternative Christmas Cards(for when you just can’t find the card that says exactly what you really want)

Thank-you for your awful present

Thanks for that dreadful gift you bought me

It really made me awfully sad

I guess it cannot have cost you very much

So I’ve bought you one that’s just as bad!

May it bring you the misery of the season

It’s just what you deserve you fool

Here’s wishing you what you’ve got coming

So let’s both not bother next Yule.

On finding that the turkey will not fit in the oven

You looked so attractive in the shop

But now I cannot shut the oven door

There’s bits and pieces sticking out

And there’s stuffing falling onto the floor

I don’t care about the pigs in blankets

The roast potatoes I can wait to scoff

But I think I’ve solved the problem now

By cutting your bloody legs off.

On discovering Santa leaving presents

I know you’ve got a busy night

With so many kiddies you’re needing to see

Leaving them their long-wanted presents

Neatly stacked under the tree.

But did you have to force your way down our chimney?

Couldn’t you have remained silent and aloof?

And did you have to tread soot into the carpet?

And park that heavy sleigh up on the roof?

Now the house is collapsing around us

You’ve dropped all the family in a right hole

So gather up your piggin’ reindeer

And bugger off back to the North Pole!

On being invited round to the in-laws

Thanks so much for your kind invitation

To come to your house on Boxing Day

I know you’ve got to eat up the leftovers,

But surely there must be another way?

Cos we all agree that Grandma’s not nice to sit with

Not only that, but she’s smelly

Frankly I’d rather stop home at our place

And watch the hours of shite on the telly.

Thanks (to the vicar) for midnight mass

Thanks Your Reverence for the service last night

It’s almost impossible for me to believe

That so many people could pack out the church

And throw up in the pews on Christmas Eve

I suppose an excess of booze is to blame

So much vomit to be mopped down the drain

I don’t envy you as I languish at home

As today you get to do it all over again.

I’ll bet you’re glad Christmas comes but once a year

It’s tough being a vicar, but what can I say?

You signed up for this lark of working on Sundays

At least you can kick your shoes off till it’s Good Friday!

Season’s Greetings To The Supermarkets

Thanks for stocking all the things I needed for Christmas

Those goodies didn’t appear one moment too soon

I’m grateful that you got them all in so early

I really needed my Christmas cake way back in June!

It’s great that you’re open extra early and late

On your supply-chain you’ve exerted your powers

So we can stock up for a two week siege

Even though you’re only closed for twelve hours!

And I’ll be back in again on Boxing Day morning

Taking advantage of sale prices that are almost a gift

To help you get rid of the seasonal stock

That otherwise you’d have a problem to shift!

Get Well Soon

So sad to learn you’re having trouble -

Your flatulence comes in gusty bouts.

But it’s probably all your own fault

For eating one too many sprouts.

For Brussels can be the cause of many troubles

On this subject my poor heart grieves

I understand that this is what happens

If you swallow all the leaves

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2018

Post-Natal Depression

Post Natal Depression (or thank goodness Christmas is all over)

They’ve all gone back to work,

And the kids are back at school.

Here I am in the middle of all the mess,

Clearing up like a bloody fool.

And as I look around & survey the site,

In the fireplace there’s a fall of soot,

An empty sherry glass & mince-pie crumbs,

And a mark where Santa placed his foot.

The carrots we left for his reindeer,

Have been quite nibbled away,

But the droppings on the carpet,

I think is a price too high to pay.

There’s paper wrap & discarded boxes,

Where presents were pulled out in their haste,

Played with for half an hour,

Before joining the rest of the waste.

There’s food left over in the kitchen,

And I think I’m starting to droop.

If I have to eat one more leftover sprout,

Or face another bowl of turkey soup.

The Christmas tree is looking all forlorn,

As its needles drop upon the floor,

And get blown around the house,

Every time someone opens a door.

We’ve started our own recycling skip,

With empty bottles of every sort.

It’s not just the beer & the mixers,

But the gin, the vodka and port.

We’ve watched all of the Christmas specials

They put on the box this time of the year.

Shame they can’t do it the rest of the season,

Instead of the usual rubbish so drear.

We’ve sent home the old relatives

Those aged wonderful old dears.

Now it’s time to take down the greetings cards,

From people we’ve not seen in years.

We’ll take down the lights that cover the house.

Our neighbours think that we’re soft.

Yes, we’ll pack up the baubles & lights,

And put them all back in the loft.

The sparkle’s all gone from the occasion,

All the drinking & eating & that.

They’ve stopped playing Christmas records on the radio:

At least we can be thankful for that.

  

Now the shops are full of bargains,

The stuff they just couldn’t shift.

Now’s a good time to stock up for next year,

With every possible gift.

I know it’s been quite enjoyable at times,

But now that it’s over for another year,

I’m seeking to get some normality.

So I’ll see you – I’m off down the pub for a beer.

Then I’m off to the dump with the recycling,

But I won’t be coming back in a hurry.

I’m not looking forward to dinner -

It’s turkey & cranberry curry.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2018

Nights Of Terror

Nights Of Terror

It’s several days now since Christmas,

And the danger’s quite close at hand,

For the turkey’s carcase still lives here,

And great fear is stalking the land.

The great beast sits there in the fridge,

And has provided for several meals,

But its body continues to shed flesh -

It goes on and on – that’s how it feels!

The cold sandwiches with stuffing

Were acceptable on Christmas night,

But then the cold cuts on Boxing Day

Weren’t the most welcome sight.

And we just kept on carving and slicing,

Big slices of breast meat, and some of the leg,

But we need relief now from this poultry -

The children, poor mites, have started to beg.

Perhaps we shouldn’t have bought such a big bird,

Been more considered, in less of a hurry,

Then we wouldn’t have spent the next five days,

Eating so many portions of turkey curry.

We’ve had quite enough of it now,

The pleasure has really started to pall,

And even with bowls-full of turkey soup,

We still can’t get rid of it all!

There’s only the bones and skin that are left -

It’s a sight that makes us all queasy.

We’d really like to get rid of the thing,

But it’s a task that’s certainly not easy.

For it’s taken up residence in the fridge,

And at my conscience it worries and nips,

And now I’m starting to have nightmares -

Is this the start of a turkey apocalypse?

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2018

Crappy Himbo!

Crappy Himbo to my loyal reader(s)!!!

May you live in interesting times!

May the bird of paradise fly up your nose!

May an elephant caress you with his toes!

Devizes Winter Wonderland

Devizes Winter Wonderland

Sleigh bells ring, are you listening?

In the Brittox snow is glistening

A shopper’s delight,

We're happy tonight

Walking in a Devizes wonderland

Gone away, in the Market Place

Here to stay, there’s no parking space

A drunk slowly ambles,

Through The Shambles

Walking in a Devizes wonderland

In the Corny Bin we can have a disco

And pretend that we know how to dance

Police will ask if we’re sober?

We'll say “no man”

And we can get arrested if there’s a chance

Later on we'll clamour

As we walk by the Crammer

Terrified to face

The swans that we've chased

Walking in a Devizes wonderland

Sleigh bells ring are you listening

In the Brittox snow is glistening

A shopper’s delight

We're happy tonight

Walking in a winter wonderland

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2018

Drivel From Devizes - Dateline Sunday 23rd December 2018

Drivel From Devizes: Dateline – Sunday 23^rd December 2018

Here is our weekly round-up of events from D-Town:

1.      The holiday plans of tens of D-Town citizens were thrown into chaos this week as the 49 bus-route to Trowvegas was twice suspended for long periods when the International Bus Station & Tropical Nail Bar Centre had to be closed.  Police were called in, together with fire services, paramedics, the coastguard, the AA and the Boy Scouts movement to investigate reports that a number of non-Wiltshire tourists had been spotted aimlessly wandering round the town.  A police spokesperson said “safety and security of D-Town citizens are our primary concerns.  We are worried that these strangers are a danger both to themselves and to others.  Until we can guarantee that they have been safely cleared from the area, the 49 service will remain suspended”. 

2.    And The Vize FC is looking for a new head coach and manager after the shock sacking of Kenny Dogleash by the Board this week.  Results have been poor so far this season, and the team are languishing in the lower reaches of the Germolene (SW Wilts) Combination League.  Dogleash had been expecting to discuss the proposed £10 budget to be made available to him in the transfer window in January, but instead had been shown the door.  The chairwoman of the Board, Norma Stitts, said that the club needed an injection of new ideas.  As he was driven away in a friend’s old Toyota, Dogleash was seen to mouth the words “stupid woman” – an accusation he later denied, claiming he had said “no hard feelings, you old bat”.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2018

Office Christmas Party

Office Christmas Party

It’s that happy time of year again

Just a few more days to go and then

Someone organises the office Christmas party when

All your tedious colleagues have a yen

To rave it up, both the women and the men

Suddenly it’s reindeer antlers and paper hats

Santa outfits and snowy kitty-cats

Christmas jumpers sported by the twats

A chance to get as pissed as rats

How bad could it possibly be?

Inappropriate behaviour for all to see

Inhibitions loose and newly free

Debbie from HR’s showing a bit of knee

Gordon from Accounts always rushing off to pee

And Secret Santas beneath the Christmas tree

The secret for getting through these do’s

Is to create some gossip and some news

About who’s using the Stationery Cupboard as a ruse

Who’s crying their eyes out in the loos

And who’s the hottest person you would choose

Whilst knocking back the copious booze

There’s a cheesy disco, and dad-dancing under way

Enforced enjoyment is the order of the day

Definitely not the time to discuss your pay

The simmering resentment that makes you grey

Or the rumours that the Sales Director’s turning gay

According to the lads working in the Loading Bay

And as the sausage rolls & vol-au-vents begin to shrink

And you imagine that someone’s giving you the wink

You’re ready to declare undying love - you think

All’s looking well and you’re in the pink

Before your spirits can have chance to sink

It’s time to have yet another drink

The soundtrack’s from Wizzard and from Slade

Company loyalty & commitment start to fade

It’s time the photocopies of genitals were made

Time repressed sexual desires were displayed

Flirting’s now of the highest grade

And is anyone here going to get laid?

But, alas, the flowing drink is free no more

A situation that is frankly just a bore

That stingy boss pretends he’s poor

 Tomorrow lots of heads will be very sore

Meantime, to the crowd’s sarcastic roar

It’s time to slide disgracefully to the floor

The consequences won’t be hard to tell

Instagram will show the world how you fell

Not the best way to come out of your shell

Your professional reputation’s death-knell

A career-limiting night of drunken hell

Capped off by copious vomiting in the stair-well

And in the New Year what changes will await?

What will be your humiliation? Your fate?

You’ll get lumbered with a task you’ll hate –

To organise next year’s Christmas party date

You’ve been stitched up, and that’s not great

But, what did you expect from a work-mate?

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2018

Courgette Fritters

Recipe for: COURGETTE FRITTERS

Ingredients:

·        500g courgettes, coarsely grated

·        50g plain flour (or gram flour if you want pakoras)

·        4-6 spring onions, finely chopped

·        3 eggs, beaten

·        90g feta cheese, crumbled

·        Small handful mint, finely chopped

·        Small handful flat-leaf parsley, finely chopped

·        1 garlic clove, finely minced

·        Zest of one lemon, finely grated

·        Salt & freshly ground pepper

·        Green chillie, finely chopped (optional)

·        Vegetable oil for frying

Method:

1.      Put the grated courgettes in a bowl, and squeeze out as much liquid as you can.  Only the solid matter is required.

2.      Add in all the other ingredients, except for the vegetable oil, mixing thoroughly.  You should end up with a fairly thick batter/ dough.  If it’s too sloppy, add a little more flour.

3.      Heat 3mm of oil in a frying pan, and ensure that it is hot enough by dropping in a small bread cube, which should brown in about 10 seconds.

4.      Ladle in large tablespoons-full of the batter, flattening each fritter with the back of a spoon.

5.      Do not overcrowd the pan – cook the fritters in batches & keep warm.

6.      Cook fritters each side for 3-4 minutes, until nicely browned, then carefully turn over and cook the other side for the same amount of time.

7.      Drain the fritters on kitchen paper and eat immediately.

What else you need to know:

1.      These are really easy to do & delicious

2.      You can vary the ingredients with different herbs, parmesan, more onion etc, or add a little chillie to make a kind of pakora

3.      Great as a vegetable side dish, or on their own with dipping sauces

4.      Best eaten fresh, but you can keep them in the fridge & reheat under the grill or in the toaster

Paranoid @ Christmas

Paranoid @ Christmas

Finished with my turkey

'cause I couldn’t stuff it any more

People think I'm insane

Because I find Christmas such a chore

All day long I think of sprouts

But they don’t seem to satisfy

Think I'll lose my appetite

If I don't find something to get me by

Can you help me? Rich giblet gravy? Oh yeah!

I need someone to show me

The gifts in shops that I can't find

I can't see the baubles that make true happiness,

I must be blind

Pull a cracker and I will sigh

And you will laugh and I will cry

Paper hats I do not like

And jokes to me are so unreal

And so as you hear these words

Telling you now of my state

I tell you to enjoy Christmas –

I wish I could but it's too late!

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2018 (with apologies to Black Sabbath)

I'm Dreaming Of A Shite Christmas

I’m Dreaming Of A Shite Christmas

I'm dreaming of a shite Christmas

Not like the ones I used to know

Where Santa’s in prison

And no-one listens

To hear Wizzard singing on the radio

I'm dreaming of a shite Christmas

With every turkey that I stuff

May all your cranberries be enough

And may your pudding be plum duff

I'm dreaming of a shite Christmas

Not like the ones I used to know

Where poor kids’ noses glisten

And the drunkards pissin’,

To write their names in yellow snow

Yes, I'm dreaming of a shite Christmas

With every satsuma that I bite

May your nights be drunken and tight

And may all your Christmases be shite

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2018

The Joy Of Christmas

The Joy of Christmas

It’s that festive time of year again

For pouring your cash straight down the drain

When the Western portion of humanity

Seems to engage in a temporary insanity

Firstly, what’s all this with the “mulled” wine?

It just spoils a drink that was perfectly fine

And I find myself wondering, as an outsider

Why would you want to bugger up cider?

But if you want to know how badly I really feel

Let’s discuss that big 6000 calorie meal

The one where your trousers start off perfectly loose

Before gorging on large portions of turkey or goose

The bird’s probably dry and overcooked

But it’s the veggies that cannot be overlooked

Because – and of this there can be no doubt –

The worst aspect is the wind of the sprout

Plates overloaded with parsnips and peas

And stuffing and roasties, if you please,

With lashings and lashings of giblet gravy

Enough for floating the whole British navy.

Choosing the festive wardrobe is incredibly tough

And, as if wearing Christmas jumpers weren’t stupid enough

By sporting over-sized ill-fitting paper hats

We make ourselves look like a right set of twats

And let’s discuss something else that gets on my knackers,

And that’s the nonsense of pulling crackers

They’re a complete waste of anyone’s money

And jokes – ever had one that was funny?

Then there’s the usual high-pitched cry

Who let the steaming pan boil itself dry?

And onto the table the cannon-ball’s thudding

Introducing itself as a Christmas pudding.

And we’re all treated to the tedious sight

Of dad failing to get the brandy to light

Using matches, his lighter, and whatever he can

So mum warms the stuff up in a pan

This raises what’s known as the liquid’s flashpoint

The resulting conflagration will then anoint

All of us with a home-made version of napalm

Taking ages before the restoration of calm

  

Then, though we’re already well replete

We’ll still tuck in to several more treats

When your belly’s not as big as your eyes

There’s nuts, dates, satsumas and mince pies!

Topped off with some beer or some shandy

Or a nice drop of port or some brandy

And when with these foodstuffs you’ve sinned

There follows the gaseous attack of the wind

There’s mess everywhere – that’s easy to see

And thousands of needles that fall from the tree

The pile of presents that gently mocks

Meaning you’ve been bought thirteen pairs of socks

Everyone’s asleep through the Queen’s speech

And fractious children are starting to screech

And as the booze through the day starts biting

The in-laws and out-laws fall to their fighting.

Oh who will get me out of this version of hell?

When will I start again to feel well?

And there’s one thing more that’s worse I can say –

We’ve got to do it all again – on Boxing Day!

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2018

Nativity

Nativity

Nostalgia ain’t what it used to be,

But I can’t help thinking of that day,

Right at the back end of the Fifties,

When I did my first Nativity Play.

We were in the first class of the Infants,

Young and innocent, no more than five or six,

When our teacher announced the production,

And we’d all be thrown into the mix.

There were to be parts for everyone,

Of that fact there should be no doubt,

For the school couldn’t cope with the aggro,

If any of the class were to be left out.

For parents would want to see their darlings,

Deep in the Christmas story engage,

Showing off to their friends and relatives,

Of their first public performance on stage.

None of us knew what to expect,

Because none of us had ever done it before,

But if we couldn’t have a major role,

We decided we didn’t want to play any more.

I didn’t get to play Joseph,

And the role of inn-keeper to me was denied,

I finally ended up as fifth shepherd,

I was so upset that I cried.

My mum thought my skill had been ignored,

And my talent not allowed to shine through,

Which just added to the misery,

But I was only five – what could I do?

Rehearsals were more than chaotic,

The teachers didn’t know how to lead,

And scripts were a complete waste of time,

Since not one of us could read.

So we did it by practising quite hard,

Repeating scenes over and over again,

Learning lines was a complete nightmare,

We were children trying to play men.

There was no proper stage to speak of,

You could see it was heading for a great fall,

So they just draped a large pair of curtains,

Right across one end of the hall.

Costumes were left up to the parents,

For each to interpret as they chose,

With no attempt to co-ordinate,

We ended with an array of odd clothes.

  

The shepherds used sheets and tea-towels,

There were cardboard gold crowns for the kings,

The Angel Gabriel was a fantastic sight,

Dwarfed by a pair of white paper wings.

Moustaches were drawn with burnt cork,

And false beards stuck on that were itchy,

Nobody could really see what they were doing,

And the inn-keeper’s wife turned a touch bitchy.

Joseph wore specs and a belted tunic,

Mary appeared in virginal white,

As they stumbled into Bethlehem,

And inaudibly asked for a room for the night.

The innkeeper, over-awed by the audience,

Forgot his lines and burst into tears.

Lots of shuffling at the edge of the stage,

Then the fulfilment of our worst fears.

The baby donkey, hired for the occasion,

Peed on stage, as we’d all hoped that he would:

A large pool spread between his feet,

And surrounded the cast where they stood.

You couldn’t get away from the squelching,

Though the actors were never in danger,

But most of the dialogue was lost,

As ox and ass waded into the manger.

The gold, the frankincense and myrrh,

Were dropped on to the swaddled-up child,

But the rising smell of fresh urine,

Was driving the audience wild.

At this point, the star fell from its perch,

And knocked the Angel Gabriel out cold.

The girls and boys started wailing,

And mayhem ensued, it has to be told.

The head teacher appeared with bucket and mop,

Halting proceedings with a bilious wince.

That brought an end to my acting career,

And I've hated Christmas ever since.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2018