Drivel From Devizes - Dateline Sunday 31st January 2021

Drivel From Devizes: Dateline – Sunday 31^st January 2021 

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

1.      A diplomatic war has broken out between D-Town and Trowvegas over the distribution of supplies of root vegetables, after the commissioner for T-Town claimed that it had a binding contract with the supplier of carrots and swedes, and demanded that supplies from the farm should be diverted from D-Town.  But in a late gesture of reconciliation, D-Town offered a special discount price on its parsnips and beetroots. 

2.      Since reports of thefts of pampas grass have been reported, police have discovered a vast network of underground plant-dealing.  Well known as a signal, where it is planted in front gardens, that the owners are up for a “swinging” session, other surprising horticultural signals have now been revealed.  For example - rhododendrons signal “threesomes”, magnolias offer “BDSM” and mimosas are requesting sex with animals.  However the meaning of hedges of box trimmed into cute shapes remains unchanged – the people here are just wankers. 

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2021

 

Birdlife

Birdlife 

Gatherings of gulls

Sweeping, swirling, swooping, screaming

And flockings and flutterings

Of the smaller feathered species

Scatterings of speckled starlings

Silhouettes in the darkening sky

The sun sinking and dying

A roosting of ravens

Eyes sheeny-black and shiny

Amid the cawing of crows

And the hooting of owls

 

Chirpings, shriekings and chatterings

Alarm calls in the twilight

The shift-change noises of crossing purposes

Between the night-time nesters

Who will sit in fear through the curfew

Of dark-hours till the sun rises again

And the day-time sleepers

Who welcome pale moonlight

Amid the cawing of crows

And the hooting of owls

 

Shapes and shadows in the darkness

Stirrings, wing-stretchings, shakings

Within the barns and trees

A ruffling and preening of feathers

Sharpened beaks and beady eyes

Of the wakening hunters and raptors

Prior to crepuscular activity

Amid the cawing of crows

And the hooting of owls

 

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2021

Sacrament

Sacrament

In the awesome name of God,

in the victorious name of Jesus

in the mysterious name of the Spirit

 

By words we acknowledge our God

By prayer we summon our God

And we wait, we are still

And we wait, we are silent

And we wait, wait for the sounds of God

And the sounds of the sacrament

The breaking of bread and the gushing of wine

 

The pain of sorrow, and the pulse of hope

And the echo of our name

And the bread in our teeth, a cup on our lips

Others breathing beside us

A voice in our face “The body of your Lord”

A power in our ears “The blood of your Lord”

And we wait for the sounds of God

The sounds of the sacrament

The breaking of bread and the gushing of wine

 

We hear strange sounds in the distance

The misery of other human lives

The scramble for rice, and the searching through garbage

The shuffle of withered limbs, the breaking of brittle bones

The shiver of a pregnant mother, the scream of a motherless child

The trickle of goat’s milk, the sigh of the dispossessed

The mumble of fear, the murmur of distrust

The grumble of empty stomachs, the splash of spent blood

The sounds of a scramble for life

Amid the breaking of bread, and the gushing of wine

 

We hear the snarl of a bullet, the snap of a trigger

The thump of lead tearing into flesh, the grinding bite of steel into bone

The sudden crump of unseen mines

The constant moan of riddled skies

The hiss and crackle of angry flames

And the staccato cough of smoking ruins

The whisper of desolation

The sounds of civil war

Despite the breaking of bread, and the gushing of wine

 

We hear the bleating of a lamb, and the splitting of a womb

The death of a lamb, and the breaking of a tomb

The beginning of an end, and a word that carries healing

The taste of a mystery, and a God who has feeling

In the breaking of bread, and the gushing of wine

 

Yet we still listen for the bursting of joy

And watch for the bubbling smile of release

The happy laughter of children’s voices

The dancing among willows, and the surprise of freedom

The shout of the mountains, and the scream of a new birth

The leap of our spirit, and the whirl of celebration

We still listen to God

The sounds of the celebration of God

And the breaking of bread, and the gushing of wine

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2021

Veggie and/ or Meat Croquettes

Recipe for: CROQUETTES 

Ingredients: 

• 350ml milk
• 50g butter
• 50g plain flour
• 1 small onion, finely chopped
• 1 clove garlic, peeled & chopped or crushed
• 2 tblsp olive oil
• 250g leftovers e.g. chicken, turkey, other meat and/ or veggies, chopped small
• 1-2 tblsp fresh herbs, finely chopped
• Nutmeg
• Salt & freshly-ground black pepper
• 1 egg, beaten
• 75g white breadcrumbs
• Sunflower oil for frying 

Method: 

1. first make a béchamel (white) sauce by melting the butter in a saucepan, then adding the flour to make a roux
2. stir constantly for 1-2 minutes to cook out the flour, then add the milk, still stirring & bring to a simmer (but do not boil).  The sauce should be thick by now.  Turn off the heat & set aside
3. in another pan heat the olive oil and sweat the onions & garlic until soft
4. add whatever leftovers you are using & stir to incorporate evenly
5. take off the heat and add the mixture to the white sauce
6. add the herbs, some grated nutmeg & seasoning, then mix everything together well
7. put the bowl in the fridge to chill for at least an hour, longer if possible
8. when cold, use your hands to roll the mixture into balls, patties or sausage shapes
9. dip each into the beaten egg, then into breadcrumbs until well coated
10. pour enough oil into a deep saucepan to come 10cm up the side and heat to 180C, or hot enough to turn a cube of bread brown in 40-50 seconds
11. deep-fry the croquettes, in batches, until golden on all sides – about 4-5 minutes 

What else you need to know: 

1. you can adapt this recipe to use up just about anything left-over, although probably not good with Christmas pudding

 

Yaffle

Yaffle

Beady-eyed head bobber

Persistent beaky nodder

Large lawn-digging pecker

Ever watchful and waiting

Not greater nor lesser spotted

But sheen of green and crest of red

With your hoarse, chattering cry

As you take sudden umbrage

At my presence in your ground

And fly swooping to the trees

Where you call bitterly

Complaining, to your mate

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2021

 

 

T In The Lounge

T In The Lounge

What’s the attraction of festivals?

The discomfort and the expense?

The downside is really extensive -

Haven’t people got any sense?

 

They’re desperate to go to Glasto

Have a great blast-o

Get absolutely plast-o

Sail before the mast-o

Get stoned fast-o

 

Or that other great festival

The aptly-named Bestival

Where you get no rest-ival

Patience put to the test-ival

The insects are a jest-ival

And you head gets messed-ival

 

Then there’s T In The Park

With rock music to hark

Mongrels to bark

Snort a good narc

Chance to make your mark

As you pee in the dark

 

Nip over to the Isle of Wight

Use all your might

Get in a mud-fight

Or as high as a kite

Not feeling too bright

Well out-of-sight

Go to bed tight

 

I suppose it’s about the music,

But who wants expensive booze?

Cheesy chips, over-priced, greasy food?

And queuing just to use the portaloos?

 

Chemical toilets are a real downer,

And with the exposure to the sun’s rays,

The sunburn, the dehydration,

The not washing for five days.

 

And then there’s the camping,

Sleeping out on lumpy ground,

And even with elegant glamping,

A tent that can never be found. 

 

Watching the stage from half a mile away,

The sound is distorted and loud.

There’s a chance of food-poisoning,

And you get lost in the crowd.

 

The bouncers and security men are rough,

It’s quite a dud, in an ocean of mud,

Plastic glasses and polystyrene cups,

And warm cider’s really no good.

 

I could get very bitter

About all the litter

But I’m not a big-hitter

I get all of a jitter

I’m a miserable critter

I can’t help but witter

You see - I’m sofa-seat sitter

 

I like all the comforts of home:

A bed, a shower, and a good seat.

I can still eat shit food if I want to,

But watching on TV’s quite hard to beat!

 

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2021

The Staff

The Staff

I’m a very busy man these days,

Working twenty-four seven earning a dime -

I’d like to do so many things,

But I simply don’t have the time.

 

I don’t have a minute unoccupied:

There are books un-read upon my shelf,

So I get others to do things for me,

That I can’t get round to myself.

 

Mrs Clegg comes in to do the ironing,

With folding and creasing she’s got the nous -

She drops things off at the dry-cleaner’s,

And there’s another lady cleaning the house.

 

Her husband is outside, doing the garden:

He’s here early, from when the day dawns,

And he’s still here in the evening

In order to get finished the lawns.

 

I have all the groceries delivered,

Because there’s no chance to nip to the shop -

It keeps the local economy going,

For my life never seems to stop.

 

My accountant does my all my tax returns,

To make sure the figures aren’t funny -

I don’t get chance to look at the papers -

I’m far too busy just earning the money.

 

I use people with the right expertise,

For being wealthy that’s a great perk.

I get things done professionally -

Like the government, I outsource the work.

 

The girl next door does the baby-sitting,

And a lady comes round to walk the dog.

I find that the task just takes far too long,

And I don’t have time to go out for a jog.

 

I’ve got a subscription at the gym,

But it takes far too long going there,

So my trainer does the exercise for me,

Well – it saves on all the wear and tear.

 

I record everything that’s on the TV,

And I’ve got a huge collection of CDs.

I’m using some-one to listen to them for me,

Then to make a start on the box-set DVDs. 

 

I have a faithful old house-keeper too:

She makes the beds, and in the evening she cooks,

And, because I’ve simply no time for leisure,

She’s reading her way through my books.

 

You can employ someone to do anything,

Provided that you’re happy to pay.

For example, I can’t take a break from my work,

So I’ve got a young chap taking my holiday.

 

It saves all the time of travelling -

He’s relaxing in the Caribbean sun.

I’ve given him plenty of money to spend,

To make sure he enjoys all of my fun.

 

You see – I’ve got everything sorted!

My life is organised very fine -

I just wish that I was able to enjoy it,

But I simply don’t have the time!

 

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2021

Drivel From Devizes - Dateline Sunday 24th January 2021

Drivel From Devizes: Dateline – Sunday 24^th January 2021 

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

1.      D-Town’s new mayor, Hugh Jardon, wasted no time getting down to work on his first day in office.  Within 24 hours he had already signed into law, via executive order, intentions to rejoin The Tufty Club, reclaim the town’s Blue Peter badge, re-accept the controversial Trowvegas Accords, stand down the Bromham Light Infantry, and make whistling in any public space into a capital offence, punishable by death.  He has also been rumoured to have re-arranged the furniture in the Elliptical Office several times, finding it almost impossible to find a layout that he likes in a room that has no corners.  However, a bust of Nigel Farage has been unceremoniously dumped into the bin, from where it had been inexplicably removed previously. 

2.      Police are now roaming the streets of The Vize in an attempt to quell riots caused by people who have already been vaccinated against Covid taunting and provoking those yet to be jabbed.  The “haves” have been flaunting their naked arms towards the “have-not-yets” in what is widely seen as a proxy for age-warfare.  However both groups have been rumoured to be behind arson attacks and assaults against a third group the “not-going-to-haves”, a group so dense that even light has begun to bend around them. 

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2021

 

A Moment

A Moment

His troubles are but small: the ache of his back, the crack of his knee,

the numbness of his hands in the coldness of water, and the slippery shiver of his fingers

as he struggles to bait the hook securely, his keep-net still empty

then the whispering, glistening slip of line from the rod’s end

into the blackness of the lake

 

Impervious to the calling of geese behind him in the reeds

and the lapping waves, slapping the sides of the dinghy

bobbing gently, a mile out from shore

he soon detects the steady throb of diesels

the pleasure-cruiser emerging from behind the headland

silhouetted by the setting sun

 

He squints and shades his eyes, straightens up to stare reluctant

at this disturbance to his evening solitude

but still raises his unencumbered arm, in greeting or salutation

a vague communication to me across the water, the one man yet out on deck

then drops down roughly into the boat, bracing himself, to keep things steady

before the bow-wave buffeting that will come

as we glide past and leave him to his fishing

 

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2021

BBQ Wars

BBQ Wars

What a fine creature is the Englishman,

Who stays English wherever he may roam -

He regards his house as his castle,

And always comes back to his home.

 

And I’m no different to the others,

A middle-class semi is my domain:

Like a dog, I mark out my territory,

But the neighbours can drive me insane.

 

In the Summer, the house seemed way too small -

I just couldn’t wait to get out in the garden.

I liked to spread out as much as I could,

And for that I’ll not beg any pardon.

 

The Supplements call it “patio living” –

I’ve no idea if that’s really true –

I just want to get out there and party,

And to wheel out the old barbecue.

 

I’ll admit that my cooking contraption

Had probably seen much better days,

But I’d used it over and over -

I was too old to be changing my ways.

 

The sides might have been grease-encrusted,

Harbouring a well-blackened grill,

But the rusting pan still held the charcoal,

And you could smell the smokiness still.

 

A quick dose of petrol and firelighters

Was enough to get them coals glowing,

A beer in my hand, the stereo blasting,

And soon we had the sausages going.

 

Set among the cracked patio slabs

With some rickety, broken plastic chairs

And a great big wobbly plastic table

It was a bit ramshackle – but who cares?

 

That was until I looked over the fence,

To see what it was my neighbour had done.

I know it’s not meant to be a competition,

But his guests seemed to be having more fun.

 

I saw that he’d started to up the ante,

That he’d got a bigger, better barbecue.

It was one of those high-end models,

And not only that, but it was quite new. 

 

It had multi-burner gas rings,

Thermostats and finger-tip controls,

Shelves for the food and utensils,

And synthetic, re-useable coals.

 

I stared in horror and disbelief,

At this top-of-the-range barbecue beast,

As he loaded his flavoured cooking wood,

And served up a veritable feast.

 

There were coloured marinade brushes,

A rotisserie and a pizza stone:

It was truly the dog’s bollocks of “homeware”,

And, as he cooked, he jawed on the phone.

 

His guests lounged on ample bamboo sofas,

Under a candy-striped open marquee,

The sun shone on the glass-topped dining-table,

And his well-tended lawns were easy to see.

 

I looked back at my miserable display,

At my bare patch of ground with no plants,

At my shed that was tumbling down,

And decided the whole thing was just pants.

 

My middle-class angst overwhelmed me,

I could see how I’d be marked as a “fail”,

I hated next door’s culinary nerd -

I was beaten by the local Alpha Male.

 

My burgers and ribs no longer appealed,

That was to be no more cooking that day -

Stuff that for a game of soldiers, I thought,

Went inside, and ordered a takeaway.

 

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2021

Salmon & Leek Lasagne

Recipe for: SALMON & LEEK LASAGNE 

Ingredients: 

• 2 tblsp sunflower oil
• 1 medium onion, finely chopped
• 1 clove garlic, peeled & finely chopped
• 2-3 large salmon fillets
• 2-3 leeks, trimmed, washed & finely chopped
• Salt & pepper to taste
• 12 sheets oven-ready lasagne
• 50g/ 2 oz parmesan cheese, grated
• For the cheese sauce:
• 75g/ 3 oz butter
• 75g/ 3 oz plain flour
• 800ml/ 1½ pints milk
• Grated nutmeg
• 50g/ 2 oz cheddar cheese, grated 

Method: 

1. butter a 3-litre/ 5pt ovenproof dish
2. Steam or bake the salmon fillets for 7-8 minutes
3. remove from the heat & allow to cool
4. when cool enough to handle, flake gently with a fork, discarding any skin & bones.  Set aside
5. heat oil in a large pan & fry the onion and leeks & garlic for 4-5 minutes
6. meanwhile make the cheese sauce
7. melt the butter in a saucepan, add the flour to make a roux & stir constantly for 1 minute
8. gradually add the milk, stirring constantly
9. bring almost to the boil, until the sauce thickens
10. remove from the heat, then add the cheese, stirring until melted
11. heat the oven to 180C/ fan 160C/ gas 4
12. in the buttered dish, spread a very thin line of cheese sauce on the base
13. cover with 4 sheets of dried lasagne, cutting to shape/ size
14. cover with a layer of the flaked salmon & cooked leeks/ onions, then about a third of the cheese sauce
15. cover with another layer of dried lasagne sheets, then salmon/ leeks, cheese sauce
16. finish with a layer of lasagne sheets, topping with the last of the cheese sauce
17. sprinkle the top with the grated parmesan
18. bake in the oven for about 45 minutes, until the sauces are bubbling up at the edges & the top is golden brown

 

Villages

Villages

Rolling through the broken landscape, the old road cracked at the edges,

surface cratered with potholes, hard-used and neglected

our progress precarious

 

A village –

the people curious and suspicious, houses broken and shell-holed

tarpaulins, ropes on the roofs, rusted, corrugated sheets bound into walls

pungent smoke from crumbling chimneys, old carpets draped in doorways

hunger in their eyes

 

The track twisting and turning, churning mud under tyres

the engine labouring, my arm aching from shifting the gears

my back breaking from the rolling and pitching

but moving forward

 

Another village –

no people, or perhaps hidden from view

echoes in the emptiness, smells of scattered straw

dirt and dung piled in the streets, the burnt black ribs of a house

deserted amid the rubble

 

Straighter again before plunging downhill through a gulley, arched by trees,

darkness for a few moments, flickering light dappling the windscreen

emerging at the foot of a valley

the car rolling and rattling

 

And another village –

tents here but no buildings, the women washing clothes in the river

their faces gritted with effort, bodies shivering with cold from the water

regard us with envy and disdain, their menfolk nowhere to be seen

danger in the darkness

 

Right foot down quickly, thankfully, left behind

in the fumes of our escape, diesel exhaust and dust

headed for the distant lights of town

blockades, barricades, checkpoints, the only things remaining

between ourselves and sanctuary

 

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2021

If Only...

If Only…

If only… he’d got out of bed in the mornings

And gone for a run in the sunshine

Just a few miles to get the heart beating

And the muscles more finely toned

If only… he’d never started smoking

And forsaken the twenty a day

Given his lungs a break from the poison

And avoided the tobacco and tar

If only… he’d not developed a taste for the beer

Not drunk so many pints in a night

Missed out on the intake of alcohol

Ah, yes, if only he’d looked after himself better

He might have led a healthier life

 

If only… he had taken his chances

When they had presented themselves

Had taken the risk by gambling

Double or quits on the turn of a card

If only… he had backed the horses that won

The ones that romped home by a mile

Or piled in another few coins

To the machine that was due to pay out

If only… he’d remembered to buy a ticket

And pick out his usual numbers

That week they came up in the lottery

A double roll-over jackpot

Ah, yes, if only he’d speculated

He might have been so much wealthier

 

If only… he’d been brave enough

To speak his mind when he saw her

To ask her to walk out with him

And to be the special one in his life

If only… he’d been sure enough

To value her above all of the others

To want to spend the rest of his life with her

And given her the whole of his heart

If only… he’d asked her to marry him

And set up a home life together

To have and to hold from that day forward

Ah, yes, if only he’d asked her

He might have been much luckier in love

 

If only… he’d seized life by the scruff of the neck

If only… he’d squeezed out the juice of the fruit

If only… he’d tried that little bit harder

Things might have been so much different for him

He might have been healthier,

Wealthier and loved by the world

He might have felt a sense of fulfilment

That he’d drained life to the dregs

That he’d truly lived

Ah, yes, if only…

 

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2021

Split

Split

the sudden chasming of the Earth

the falling away of land, the breaking ground

from its sharp, precipitous edge

a vertiginous rim

looking down into the stomach-churning void

to the deepest valley bottom

far, far below the vantage point

almost beyond the power of the naked eye

is still the greatest shock

and a glory indescribable

 

a level, monotonous landscape

fools to deceive, carries no warning

conceals within its folds a feature

the volume of a mountain range of rock

a massive hole of empty space

an accident of geology in its prehistoric making

a crack, a gash, a split, a weather-riven wedge

canyon crack in the planet’s crust

trench of impossible scale

seduces the senses with its shimmering blues and greys

a shifting drift of haze making mist of distance

belying its terrible depth

down, down into the abyss

 

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2021

Drivel From Devizes - Dateline Sunday 17th January 2021

Drivel From Devizes: Dateline – Sunday 17^th January 2021

 

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

1.      Liberal councillors in D-Town have voted to imapple the Lord Mayor (because it was impossible to find any impeaches in the market this Thursday) for political crimes against the town.  This is the second time that the mayor has been imfruited after previously being imoranged two years ago for improper conduct in office.  His life, however, is not thought to be imberried or impeared in any way. 

2.      The Chief Constable of The Vize has been reprimanded by…well, everyone really...after admitting that his police force have managed to lose the piece of paper that had the names of suspected criminals written on it.  Described as actually looking like the back of a used envelope, the scrap seems to have disappeared when PC69 Terry Fick went to get change out of his pocket whilst buying a cup of takeaway coffee.  A search of the bins and the floor at the café have turned up nothing so far.  An appeal has gone out for information – if anyone can remember the names of any wrong ‘uns that live down their street, please let your local cop shop know. 

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2021

 

Red Shoes

Red Shoes

It’s a strange kind of wanting

An emptiness you could call it

But there is a hankering I have

A longing, a long-held desire

To complete my wardrobe

And fulfil a need I’ve had since youth

But had not the means

And when I knew no better

 

I must have a pair of red shoes

To peer out shyly from my denims

And show the world that I still have some style

And that I am still alive

 

But they cannot be bright or brazen

The wrong shade, not Royal Mail red

But dark as ox-blood, deep as bleeding

Soft, gentle tongues

Lurking beneath eyelets

With laces pulled through

And carefully tied with double bows

Hard soles and calf-leather uppers

To embrace my aging feet

And carry me through

Until I need footwear no longer

 

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2021

Helpful Callers

Helpful Callers

There’s a man in Bangalore who’s very concerned about my car insurance

And a woman from BT who’s questioning my Broadband speed

Another said my Amazon Prime subscription won’t renew itself

And Microsoft are quite clear about what it is I need

 

All I had to do was to give them complete control of my PC

And then, as I watched, they deleted everything that looked slightly funny

Setting up a new savings account for me within the bank

I popped in the PIN and they quickly transferred all my money

 

I’d never even realised I’d been mis-sold PPE

Never knew I’d even had it in the first place

Ever such a nice lady rang to tell me all about it

And said, if I claimed, I’d be quids in that being the case

 

And that accident that wasn’t my fault

Well it seems I’m not to worry any more

All I have to do is to sign some forms

So many helpful people by the score

 

So it’s been a busy morning on the phone

But so many things have now been put right

Think I’ll go and have nice strong cup of tea

Before any other problems come to light!

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2021

Roquefort & Walnut Rolls

Recipe for: BREAD – ROQUEFORT & WALNUT ROLLS 

Ingredients: 

·        140g/ 5 oz walnuts

·        100g/ 4 oz wholemeal flour

·        400g/ 14 oz strong white flour

·        10g salt

·        14g fast-action yeast

·        25g/ 1 oz butter

·        300ml warm water

·        250g/ 9 oz Roquefort cheese, crumbled

·        2 medium eggs, beaten 

Method: 

1.      Chop the walnuts very finely

2.      In a large bowl put the flours, salt, yeast and butter and mix

3.      Add the water & mix to form a soft dough until comes together

4.      Tip dough onto a floured board and knead for 10 minutes

5.      Return to bowl, cover and leave to rise for an hour

6.      Take out the dough and knead in the chopped walnuts

7.      Put back in the bowl, cover and allow another 20 minutes to rise

8.      Tip dough out onto floured surface

9.      Roll out to rectangle 8” x 20”

10.   Sprinkle over the crumbled cheese & lightly press in

11.   Place rectangle widthways in front of you & roll up like a swiss roll

12.   Lightly oil a baking tray

13.   Cut dough into 8 pieces and place on tray, cut-side down

14.   Cover and allow to rise again for an hour

15.   Heat oven to 200C (fan)

16.   Brush each  round with egg and bake for 20 minutes

17.   Cool on a wire tray

 

Weather Warning

Weather Warning

I used to fall asleep to the weather forecast,

Barely noticed what they had to say,

Just slightly interested in one thing -

What would be the conditions for next day?

 

On the BBC it was just information,

There was really no need to get frantic,

About average temperatures,

The fronts coming in from the Atlantic.

 

But now things seem to have changed quite a lot,

The language has turned rather urgent,

The Met Office is sexing things up,

And talking about a “weather event”.

 

Rain has become “precipitation”,

Gales have suddenly become “cyclones”:

It’s all about “threat levels” and “warnings” -

I can feel annoyance through my bones.

 

The jet-stream’s gone all over the place,

They’ve ramped it up to a third-tier “yellow”.

“It’s all because of global warming”

The presenters are ready to bellow.

 

It sounds like a national emergency,

Extreme freezing due to climate change,

Bulletins filled with hyperbole,

Exaggeration that’s out of the range.

 

And now it’s come round to the Winter,

It’s not just ice, and hail, and winds that blow,

But frightening graphics and huge arrows,

And the apocalyptic “thunder-snow”.

 

Severe conditions are a “weather bomb”,

Fahrenheit has become centigrade,

The “alert” level rises to “amber”,

Dire predictions are being made.

 

Panic sets in over a very slight frost,

Melodramas over the isobars,

Alarmist language because of the storms,

The jeopardy in store for the cars.

 

Hysteria if it drops below zero,

Or if there’s “severe cold weather action” -

We’ll soon be at warning-level “red”,

If things change by just a fraction. 

 

Well, you’ll never guess what, but it’s Winter!

It’s been happening for millions of years!

It can get a bit parky this time of year,

But for us it doesn’t hold any fears.

 

The weather-men seem surprised about this -

It’s time we put them all in the dock.

This is the usual pattern, you know,

Not really a surprise – no shit Sherlock!

 

We might expect a bit of a cold snap:

Blizzards, snow-drifts, maybe some floods.

It’s on a par with the Pope being catholic,

And bears taking a crap in the woods!

 

We live in the Northern hemisphere!

This chilliness to us is no stranger,

We’re familiar with these conditions,

And we’re not really in any danger.

 

It’s good advice to wrap up nice and warm -

We might consider an overcoat,

Perhaps a scarf, or maybe some gloves,

Carry an umbrella would get my vote.

 

We might have to scrape the car’s windscreen,

Inconveniences in a many a guise,

But I’m sure we’ll work our way through it -

After all, it’s hardly a surprise!

 

We’re British! Resilient and hardy!

We can cope! We know how to do it!

We’ll use our common sense and survive -

Somehow, yet again, surely we’ll get through it!

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2021

Early

Early

Risen dawn-early to get about the jobs that must be done

in pale thin ghost-light, ice-coldness ,

an echoing emptiness, mocking the night before

of fire-lit warmth and conviviality

in the sharp, crisp-hard silence of morning

each sound re-sounding, ringing hollow

 

The chores of clearing up and cleaning out the grey grate

of soot and cold embers, a grim dismembered mess of cinders

the chill cold of metal brush and pan, tar-blackened pokers and tongs,

the clang and scrape of the battered ash bucket,

scratched and dirty shovel standing at attention to do its duty

shifting clinkered residues, and making way for the laying of new materials

for a future conflagration

 

Grimy newsprint , candle-ends under criss-crossed kindling

cradling the careful stook of splintered logs

creamy grain, hard-twisted knots, backed by soft-lichened bark

of once-glorious greenwoods

rough-scabbed surfaces scratching fingers and scuffing dirty knuckles

the colourless morning, bleak and bleached,

leaching into harsher daylight

an involuntary shiver at the deadness of things

 

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2021

When I Am Seventy I Shall Wear A Hat

When I Am Seventy I Shall Wear A Hat

When I am seventy I shall wear a hat

Whether it be cold or not

I’m not sure what you think about the idea

The weather notwithstanding

 

I feel the time has come to adopt a little style

To assume a certain persona

A characteristic feature by which I am known

And seen about the town

 

I haven’t yet made a decision about the gloves and scarf

Although I think both are highly unlikely

For I do not want to be too encumbered

In my daily perambulations

 

But a modest titfer perched aloft

Covering what remains of my thin hair

May be that thing which is missing from my life

And makes a certain statement

 

And although it may slow me down

Owing to wind resistance

Its shape being unlikely to be streamlined

Perhaps I might appear a little taller

 

And people will recognise me from a distance

As I go about my daily business

And say to one another ‘there he goes –

The seventy-year-old that wears a hat.’

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2021

Drivel From Devizes - Dateline Sunday 10th January 2021

Drivel From Devizes: Dateline – Sunday 10^th January 2021

 

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

1.      Democracy took a sad turn in the town this week when the mayor, upset about not being invited to the next Charity Quiz on Zoom, decided to egg on his deranged supporters to storm the Town Hall to protest about his treatment.  Nearly seven people, clutching cups of takeaway coffee, reluctantly gathered at the building and forced their way past the sleeping caretaker, and into the Council chamber.  One protester, dressed as the front half of a pantomime horse, sat in one of the office chairs, and neighed his defiance.  Another, dressed head to foot in S&M gear, asked to be excused when he realised that he had turned up to the wrong meeting. 

2.      And controversy reigned as medical practices were accused of inflating of their figures by deliberately inviting idiots, morons, knuckle-draggers, Covid-deniers, and anti-vaxxers to come to be inoculated.  By using non-attendance & refusal, they have manage to stretch out the few Milky Bars they’ve been sent by Pfizer to inoculate more of those who actually want the goodies.  Regular supplies of Curly-Wurlies and Crunchies are not expected until the middle of next month.

 

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2021

 

Sex Toy

Sex Toy

I’ve been hunted down by a cougar:

Compared to her I’m nothing but a boy.

She’s an older woman with libido,

Now that I’ve become Nancy’s sex toy.

 

That woman’s fierce and relentless,

And she never seems to tire.

At nights she keeps me prisoner -

I’ve become her object of desire

 

I’ve told her I’m too old for this game,

In between my wheezes and puffs,

But she just smiles back at me sweetly,

And whips out the pink furry hand-cuffs.

 

I mean – it’s tiring for an old guy like me,

A weak excuse it’s got to be said,

But it’s pretty difficult to argue,

When she’s got me chained to the bed.

 

She’s got this amazing repertoire of tricks,

That reduces us both to wrecks.

There’s nothing she draws the line at,

In her pursuit of over-age sex.

 

I do what I can to satisfy her urges,

And I’m not trying to be coy,

But it’s really quite kinky,

What she does with my winkie,

Since I’ve become Nancy’s sex-toy.

 

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2021