Drivel From Devizes - Dateline Sunday 31st July 2022

Drivel From Devizes: Dateline – Sunday 31st July 2022 

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

1.      D-Town remains in shock this weekend as one of the world’s longest-running soap operas finally came to an end, with families clustered around their TV sets to witness the final episode of a drama that had been the accompaniment to many of their lives for almost as long as could be remembered.  There were tears of joy, and of sorrow, as the key characters came and went on the screen towards the final denouement.  But, of course, nothing can last for ever, and the time had at last come for the Vardy vs Rooney case to end.  What are we left with?  Memories, memories, memories.  And a feeling that everyone needs good neighbours. 

2.      But The Vize continues to put itself on the sporting map.  Not only is Hillworth Park hosting the DEG (D-Town Empire Games), featuring some of the world’s great events, such as disposable barbecuing, queuing for the toilets, balancing three ice-creams in one hand, and drinking too much on a sunny afternoon, but tonight it is also hosting the Wiltshire Ladies Football Cup Final.  Kick-off is due at 5pm, but may be delayed if the hair-dresser has not completed her tasks in time, or if there is any kind of eyelash incident. 

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

 

Wether(spoons) or Not

Wether(spoons) or Not

To the weary traveller who turns up at night,

Through the gloom there’s beckoning light,

My hostelries are a welcoming sight.

Push past my bouncers of great height,

And after you’ve had a meal or a light bite,

You can get yourself as high as a kite,

And (in Trowbridge) involved in a fight!

Yes – come Hell or High Noon,

I’m your Mister Wetherspoon.

 

I’m there on every High Street,

In every town and great city,

And some occupy elegant buildings,

And others that are far less than pretty.

My floor-coverings are sticky and gritty,

And some are positively shitty,

But you don’t need much in the kitty,

To buy drinks that are cloudy and bitty,

And though our menus attempt be witty,

You’ll be served by a barmaid who’s snitty,

Or a youth who’s positively zitty -

I might employ the lowliest goon,

But I’m still your Mister Wetherspoon.

 

So all hail my family-friendly chain,

A calm refuge that’s out of the rain,

My all-day serving meal deals,

Where grease on the tables congeals,

My establishment for the crap-lager man,

That sells alcohol as cheap as it can,

But my lurid advertising never fails,

To offer a wide range of ciders and ales.

For the all-day drinker it’s life’s greatest boon,

To have a house named Wetherspoon.

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

Officially Fragile

Officially Fragile

I went for my check-up the other day

A long-delayed appointment

And had to sit amongst the great unwashed

Whilst awaiting my consultation

And when it finally came round to me

And made it inside to see the doc

I sat myself upon the patient’s chair

And he asked me what my trouble was

 

Where to begin? I said morosely

And then proceeded to tell him of my woes

Of all my aches and pains

The stiffness in my joints

My general lack of energy

And all my trouble sleeping

That I hated taking tablets

Of how my hip was always hurting

As I waited for my operation

That I disliked walking with a stick

And was frightened now of falling

 

That I couldn’t carry heavy shopping

Nor stand for long when riding on the bus

How everything felt so exhausting

And how my bladder was no longer to be trusted

 

And he listened patiently to me

Despite all the others waiting in his queue

Asked a few general leading questions

Felt my pulse, took my blood pressure

And perused my bulging patient file

Before coming to his sad conclusion –

That I was doing pretty well, considering

My great advance in years

And it was only to be expected

 

He told me I’d earned a new designation

And reached another milestone in my life

He explained that I was now “officially fragile”

And that I must be extra careful

Because my bones were dry and brittle

That any breakage might be my last

And that my body would shy away from healing

 

So it’s a cotton-wool existence now for me

No going out or taking risks

Avoiding any surface that is hard

Which rules out just about everything I love

So I might just have to cancel

That long-awaited skiing holiday

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

Spiced Poached Clementines

Recipe for: SPICED POACHED CLEMENTINES 

Ingredients: 

• 12 clementines
• 5 tblsp maple syrup
• 2 cinnamon sticks
• 6 cloves
• 500ml orange juice 

Method: 

1. place clementines in a bowl & cover with boiling water
2. leave to stand for ten minutes, then drain & peel, pulling away all the skin & pith, but being careful to keep the fruits whole
3. place whole fruits into a pan with the maple syrup, cinnamon, cloves & orange juice
4. bring to the boil, then reduce heat, cover & simmer gently for 25 minutes
5. remove fruits from pan with a slotted spoon & place in a serving dish, allowing to cool
6. meanwhile re-boil the remaining liquid & boil rapidly for about 10 minutes until the liquid is thicker & reduced in volume
7. pour over the clementines & allow to cool completely.  Chill in fridge before serving. 

What else you need to know: 

1. you can add a little alcohol to the liquid to add some zing
2. best served with yoghurt, crème fraiche, cream or ice cream

 

Stopped

Stopped

The house is slowly grinding to a halt

For want of better care and more attention

There’s nagging neglect and a lack of love

A running-down of what once was vibrant

 

But now, in the empty bathroom

The tap carries on its steady leaking

Its silent drips fall unheeded

And make a stain upon the sink

 

In the lounge, upon the mantel

The clock un-wound stands silent

And no longer tells the time

Nor chimes upon the hour

 

In the cheerless kitchen

The plates sit unwashed upon the drainer

Holding dirty forks and knives

Awaiting loading into the machine

 

And in the bedroom

The floor has gathered a fair selection

Of abandoned grubby clothes

Which have not yet made it to the laundry

 

Will no-one draw these gloomy curtains back

And let some light back in to the rooms?

How much longer can this go on

Before something starts to give?

 

How many days until everything’s gone

And there is nothing left that’s fit to use?

And do you think we will ever start again

To put our lives back in running order?

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

Botswana

Botswana

The drift of woodsmoke

Its tendrils curling through the air

The kettles set to boil above the licking flames

As we sit around the campfire

Staring into embers

Listening to the grumble of distant thunder

The intermittent flash of lightning

Across the far horizon

Through the darkening clouds

Threatening the coming of the long-awaited rains

 

We gaze across the scrubland, the wasted desert

And the arid desiccation of the salt pans

The calm of the delta shattered

By cicadas screeching in the cooling air

And the booming of lions calling in the night

Then we remember sipping rooibos by the river

The journey of giraffes, the dazzle of zebras

And the disputatious baboons, chattering and screaming

The subsonic rumble of elephants

In the land of trunk and tusk and trumpeting

The circling of vultures, aerial indicators

Then the smell of the kill

Ripped and torn and freshly flayed

Guts and blood, white and red

Spilled upon the dusty ground

And under the early starlit sky

The bleached bones of earlier victims

Long finger-shadows cast

By the burning disc of a sinking sun

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

 

 

 

I Never Wanted A Dog

I Never Wanted A Dog

I’ve never really wanted a dog

Not even when I was only a sprog

Their barking and general behaviour left me agog

Under the feet if I went for a jog

Getting all messy and running into a bog

 

As an alternative, I considered a mog

Looked into keeping a hog

Or even a tropical frog

But the choices made my thoughts clog

And put my brain into a fog

 

Yes it was quite a quag….mire

The whole thing turned into a slog

Then I started using my nog

(I’ve written my thoughts up on my blog)

Yes – I’ve decided to foster a log!

 

You really ought to try it!

It’s very clean and it’s quiet -

That’s what persuaded me to buy it

And it never ever needs feeding

Precious little attention it’s needing

It doesn’t interrupt when I’m talking

And it never needs walking

But that doesn’t stop folks from gawking

It may be a rather inanimate sprog

But, overall, I’m pleased with my log

No – I never wanted a dog

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

 

Drivel From Devizes - Dateline Sunday 24th July 2022

Drivel From Devizes: Dateline – Sunday 24^th July 2022 

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

1.      D-Town is slowly coming to terms with the fact that last week’s two-day heatwave means that Summer is now officially over for another year.  As paddling pools are left to fester in the back garden and to collect flies and leaves, it’s all downhill from now – last night of the Proms, clocks back, Halloween, bonfire night, then it’s Christmas before you know it. 

2.      But the last vestiges of The Long Summer Holiday persist, as long queues continued to build up at the entrance to the Wiltshire Escape Tunnel.  Mental Health services were on hand to help with parents experiencing meltdown, after being trapped in hot cars for several hours with their own fractious and obnoxious children.  Delays are being blamed on non-Wiltshire people, who normally man the passport control points, being foreign and therefore completely useless. 

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

Water, Water Everywhere

Water, Water Everywhere

Let me offer you some refreshment

The best you’ll find in this quarter

Not lager, beer, stout or porter

But a splash of life-giving water

Yes H-2-O, a fluid that’s pure

A refreshing drink to be sure

For thirst it’s the natural cure

And this bottle provides of the best

Passing every chemical test

You can forget all the rest

You might think that it’s strange

But it comes in a very wide range

Not only sparkling and still

But warmed, or frozen, or chilled

Vaporised, evaporated, and distilled

Osmosis-reversed, and de-ionised filled

Brewed from birch, coconut or maple

It’s more than a natural staple

Melted from glaciers and pack-ice

Deep-water harvested in a trice

Purified through thick beds of rice

Processed and refined to taste nice

It comes very highly rated

Omega-enhanced, and ultra-filtrated

Anti-oxidising manganese

What could be better than these?

It’s cellulite-eradicating

And it’s faster-hydrating

And it’s so easy to see

Why this should be

To vegetarians and vegans it’s key

And it’s sugar-, dairy-, and gluten-free!

The key to all life with very few faults

Cos it’s packed full of mineral salts! 

This First World luxury’s not trite

And a privileged lifestyle’s our right

And as we want connoisseurs to see the light

So our packaging is plain black, or plain white

(We trade on such minimalist shite)

We are a water-obsessed nation

It’s all about drinkable elation

Not just simply hydration! 

Yes, we know the stuff falls from the skies

And in ponds and lakes it gathers and lies

From geysers and spas it will bubble and rise

In wells you can gather a hoard

It springs from the Earth of its own accord

The wide oceans cover the map 

And it just pours forth from the tap

But we think we’ve spotted the gap –

What we’re simply demanding

Is for you to pay more attention to the branding

The “terroir” is important to the flavour

It provides a crystal purity to savour

 

But when we’ve exhausted this elitist demand

When every type of water’s been bottled or canned

When thirst has been slaked throughout the land

We’ll have to find a new designer ware

About which consumers will care

Even though it’s already there

And exploit something that appears to be rare –

So we’re thinking of bottling….the air

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

 

Morning Has Broken

Morning Has Broken

Morning has broken

But the coffee’s not yet spoken

The clouds of last night

Still fog up my sight

The daylight’s too bright

I’m not yet ready

Nor feeling too steady

Time to get through the gate

In spite of my state

The newspaper must wait

It remains to be seen

When I get that hit of caffeine

If the day won’t hold any fear

And the clouds in my head will finally clear

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

Red Cabbage with Port & Pears

 Recipe for: RED CABBAGE with Port & Pears 

Ingredients: 

·        Large red cabbage, quartered, cored & very thinly sliced

·        1 large onion, peeled & very thinly sliced

·        200ml/ 7 fl oz port

·        1 large cinnamon stick

·        Pinch ground cloves

·        2 star anise, or a large pinch of mixed spice

·        2 tblsp soft brown sugar

·        1 tblsp red wine vinegar

·        4 firm pears, unpeeled, but cored & cut into small pieces 

Method: 

1.      Put all the ingredients, except the pears, into a large pan and bring to the boil.

2.      Turn the heat down to low, and cover with a tight fitting lid.

3.      Cook gently for an hour, stirring occasionally.

4.      Add the pears and stir in.

5.      Cook for another 30-60 minutes until the pears & cabbage are very soft & cooked through.

6.      Season with a little salt & pepper before serving. 

What else you need to know: 

1.      Can be cooked a day or two ahead, then chilled or frozen, and re-heated.

2.      Goes really well with beef, venison or game.

 

Everything Is Completely Under Control

(Everything Is) Completely Under Control

Everything here is completely under control

So you mustn’t panic or worry

There’s no need to rush or to hurry

No need to get into a flurry

In fact I’d like to contradict the allegation

That there even is any “situation”

 

I’ve been very careful myself

So I’ve put my medicines on a very high shelf

Out of the reach of children

And kept the plastic bags away from the babies

So there is no danger of suffocation

Or imminent self-immolation

From the use of flammable materials

(Not that it’s at all immaterial)

 

I’ve read the warnings on the packet

About allergens and side effects and all of that racket

I’ve read through all the instructions

Before commencing construction

I’ve turned off the power before disconnecting

And done a risk assessment before erecting

I’ve removed any possible confusion

And avoided the risk of electrocution

 

I’ve used the contents before the Best-By-Date

And so that I wouldn’t become late

I kept the contents sufficiently cool

(You can’t take me for a fool)

And consumed within two days of opening

 

I’ve kept up my mortgage repayments

It has to be confessed

So my home has not been repossessed

I’ve declared everything I had to do

That to the best of my knowledge is true

As a false statement could de-bar

Any future claims on the car

 

To retain my complete safety is my goal

I don’t want to end up in a hole

Mister Health & Safety’s my role

Yes, everything here is completely under control

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

Gooseberries

Gooseberries 

Asking every time I go to her house

To find out whether the time is right

If the season has yet come round

When we can start the picking

 

Grandma cautious of the damage

That may be done to little hands

Finds the fabric gloves inside the shed

And finally gives the go-ahead

 

The thrill of impending danger

From the vicious scratching thorns

Hiding beneath the leaves of shiny green

To find and pluck the precious fruits

The light-green downy orbs

To fill the waiting basket

And emerge triumphant

Unscathed and only slightly scratched

 

Then Grandma hard at work

To top and tail the little beauties

Dredged in caster sugar

And hidden beneath the pastry crust

Of the pie we shall have tonight for tea

Then to commit the rest to jars and jams

That we might enjoy them longer

Bursts of luscious fruit in deep mid-winter

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

Grandad's Garden

Grandad’s Garden 

Past the bilberry bushes at the side

Along the narrow path that he has flagged himself

With rough-hewn Yorkshire stone

And up three steps between the rocky flower-beds

Into the larger upper garden

Where he rules his undisputed empire

Out of sight of Grandma

And out of hearing, when it’s time for tea

 

There stands the bunker of his green-house

Heavy-built of brick and iron and glass

Heated by the sun in summer

And by the stove in cooler seasons

With its shed-like little office

The filing done in a dozen pigeon-holes

In tobacco tins and sweet-boxes

Housing his horticultural paraphernalia

Of labels, seeds and bits of string

And, there, hanging limply on one wall

The old certificates, faded firsts

From garden shows of decades ago

 

And down the length of this glass cathedral

Along the apex, twisting through the cross-ties

A grape-vine of indeterminate age

Its curling foliage providing shade for more tender plants

Which every autumn shyly presents

Its modest crop of bunched black fruits

 

Now focussed on his bedding plants

Which he sells to earn a few bob

Just to maintain his life-long hobby

Chatting with his mates, sipping tea

Chomping on his unlit pipe

Then fussing with the water-hungry tomatoes

And, finally, his pride and joy

The prize-winning chrysanthemums

Reds and pinks and whites

Which even Grandma admits she likes

Before she complains about the muck

She says he trails into the house

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

Drivel From Devizes - Dateline Sunday 17th July 2022

Drivel From Devizes: Dateline – Sunday 17^th July 2022 

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

1.      Citizens of D-Town have been aghast this week to observe the antics involved in the undemocratic and unedifying sight of the Town Clowncil leadership contest, wondering who the few hundred braying gammons and their wives might be supporting.  The runners and riders in this race so far include:

a.      A signed, but sadly stained, 1980 picture of Margaret Thatcher;

b.      Two matching pairs of Michael Gove under-crackers;

c.      A top hat that once belonged to Jacob Rees-Mogg;

d.      A part-used blue-covered cheque-book for an overdrawn account;

e.      A steaming pile of fresh manure with a Union Jack planted atop;

2.      And the local population have been once again surprised and shocked to find that, even though it is now Summer, the temperatures have gone up a little.  Overcoats, hats, scarves and long trousers have been shed in favour of t-shirts, shorts, flip-flops and (unfortunately) thongs.  The Clowncil have been at the fore-front of issuing beyond-obvious warnings to “try and keep cool”, “don’t get too hot”, “drink plenty of liquids” and (most importantantly) “do not insert frozen potatoes up your anus”. 

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

Cathedral Green

Cathedral Green 

I lay abed that morning

First night away from home

Restless and long awake

The covers still unfamiliar

And the light breaking through the curtains

Making new criss-cross patterns

On different walls and furniture

In a room I did not recognise

And I heard the heavy bells

Deep and penetrating

Striking every quarter hour

In that early part of day

And I crept across the floor

To peer through cloudy windows

And the rain-streaked panes

At the freshness of the green

The cultivated square

That was the cathedral lawn

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

Men In Suits

Men In Suits

Though I’ve been accused of being a shirker

I’ve never felt threatened by a woman wearing a burkha

Or accused of being a blue meanie

By a girl sporting a burkini

And though some say that the hijab, or a niqab

May appear unappealing and drab

Or that there’s not much going for

Those confined to a chador

That something may be lax

For those in yashmaks

That nuns wearing wimples

May be hiding their dimples

Or even a bad case of pimples

I simply don’t get the thing about terror

I think it’s more of a social error

 

You see - there’s no airs and graces

With those choosing to cover their faces

And I have to report sadly

That none of them treated me as badly

As those who dress up in posh suits

With nice knotted ties, and shiny boots

Like those politicians – the wankers

The City institutions and bankers

Who caused me distress an’

Presided over major recession

Caused mayhem and civil dissension

And thoroughly buggered up my pension

Or turned me straight down for a loan

And talked to me with condescending tone

Or lied to the nation over the despatch box

Then never forced to stand in the dock

With intelligence that he swore

Forced us to go immediately to war

 

No – the real baddies are in plain sight

And take particular delight

In exercising their power by law

Using the system – that’s what it’s for!

So let’s fight back using a different route

Show the buggers that we do give a hoot

Relieve them of their ill-gotten loot

Let’s reform things, branch and root

And ban anyone who’s wearing a suit!

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

 

Red Onion Marmalade

Recipe for: RED ONION MARMALADE 

Ingredients: 

• 3 tblsp light olive oil
• 700g red onions, very finely sliced
• 1 tsp salt
• 1 tsp freshly ground black pepper
• 150g golden caster sugar
• 150ml sherry vinegar
• 250ml full-bodied red wine
• 2 tblsp fresh raw beetroot juice or grenadine 

Method: 

1. heat the oil in a heavy pan, adding onions, salt, pepper & sugar.  Stir to mix
2. cover & cook on low heat, until mixture has produced some liquid
3. uncover & cook on gentle heat, stirring occasionally for about 30 minutes, until the onions are completely soft (but don’t allow to brown)
4. add the vinegar, wine & beetroot juice & cook on higher heat for 30 minutes until thickened a little
5. remove from heat & pot into warm sterilised jars.  Cool completely before sealing & labelling. 

What else you need to know: 

1. the key to this is long, slow, gentle cooking.  The onions should have a completely soft, silky texture
2. improves with age as it matures
3. great with cheese, pates & terrines, cold meats & roasts

 

Don't Ever Have A Cat

Don’t Ever Have A Cat 

Don’t ever have a cat!

But why do I say that?

Well the reasons are really quite plain

Assuming that you’d like to remain sane

For they live their lives in their own way

And though sometimes they like to play

Or weave round your legs when they want feeding

(Or for anything else that they’re needing)

And they’ll sit on your lap and they’ll purr

And they’ll let you fondle their soft fur

I’m afraid I have to tell you this straight

They have some less appealing traits

Like when they wander off from the house

And come back dragging a mouse

Or sometimes it’s a shrew

Which they torment and they chew

And there’s nothing you can do

Or the bloody, headless rabbit on the mat

That’s what you get with a cat

Or else they come and collapse on the floor

After fighting the tom from next door

 

They don’t take up too much space

And you get used to having them about the place

But then one day they get into a mood

Fall ill, and go right off their food

Then there’s the long trips to the vet

With a feline that’s what you get

Before you know it they’re just wasting away

And finally they pass on one terrible day

It’s only then that you realise to your cost

Just how much you’ve lost

How you miss them being around

And their particular sound

How their affection had crept into your heart

How your world’s been torn apart

How the sense of loss can steal

All of the love you’d started to feel

It’s not worth it to have all of that

So don’t ever have a cat

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

 

 

Health Scare

Health Scare 

I was a bit down, not feeling me-self,

with symptoms of tiredness and lassitude,

so I went along for a medical check-up,

and this is what thereafter ensued:

 

Me examination was thorough,

subjected to all kinds of tests,

not feeling me best,

stood there in me vest,

then sat down, needing a rest.

 

The doctor took me blood pressure,

looked in me ears and me nose,

felt me all over, right down to me toes -

I had to take off all of me clothes!

Then he took me temperature,

listened with his stethoscope to me chest,

but the part that I enjoyed the best,

was having a quick cough, lest

there be any trouble “down there” I guess.

 

Now I’d been Googling my condition,

to try and find a diagnosis,

a treatment, and a prognosis,

to see what type of psychosis

might have led to my current neurosis.

 

It’s funny how your anxiety teases,

and your imagination seizes

upon a large range of possible diseases,

but the doc, with his bedside manner not loth,

and aware of his Hippocratic oath,

looked at me steadily and quoth

that he was terribly keen

for me to know that I had been

the worst case of hypochondria that he’d ever seen!

 

Well this verdict pleased me no end!

To know that medical science,

had been held at defiance,

and assured that all of this indicated,

that my condition had been vindicated.

 

And whilst me health notes he was fingering,

he opined that signs of “malingering”,

might persist and be lingering -

so you see - I’d been quite right to worry!

me heart-beat would scamper and scurry,

me symptoms had me all of a flurry:

no chance I’ll be cured in a hurry!

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

Casual Bearers

Casual Bearers

“Wanted – Casual Bearers, No experience necessary, training will be given” -

So read the sign outside the under-takers,

Which had my heart sinking, but it got me to thinking,

When I studied the note on that door, did they really know what they were asking for?

 

I assumed there was an occasional call for someone to carry the pall,

That sometimes they needed a hand, to join their mourning band,

That it might be on demand and that they’d pay cash in hand.

 

But their lazily-worded expression had formed up a quite different impression,

For I saw “casuals” as those who wouldn’t care,

Turning up un-shaven, without washing their hair,

Appearing in trainers and leisure-wear, which would hardly be fair,

Upon the recently bereaved, who’d feel justifiably peeved,

Let down, and badly deceived.

 

As if the service were not of the best, at the Crem or the Chapel of Rest,

The casuals’ attire would be quite dire, as they waited for the fire, of the funeral pyre,

And would not be of black silk, not sombre, or owt of that ilk,

But chattering and nattering, cracking a gag, or having a fag,

With no respect for the one that had died, as they gawped at the graveside.

 

So - that note I think they should be re-writing, or else they’ll find themselves fighting,

For contracts of zero hours, set amongst the funeral flowers.

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

Drivel From Devizes - Dateline Sunday 10th July 2022

Drivel From Devizes: Dateline – Sunday 10^th July 2022 

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

1.      Party politics have been moving quickly this week in D-Town.  Only days after the Council leader declared that under no circumstances would he resign from office, and having chained himself to his own bicycle with a pair of bent cycle-clips, Beau Joe was carried kicking and screaming out of the Council chamber.  Finally, after being pacified by the promise of champagne and a sticky bun, he was persuaded to give his resignation speech.  In this he was defiant to the end, failing to apologise or to accept any responsibility.  But, as one commentator was heard to observe “when the turd moves, the turd moves”. 

2.      But, in an attempt to distract the population from paying any attention to anything that’s actually important, there was a tennis tournament held in Hillworth Park.  Almost seven people attended, and had great fun watching players abusing umpires and officials, hitting balls at the ball-boys, and spitting into the crowd.  Small, overpriced trays of strawberries and cream were on sale, together with glasses of warm prosecco.  And, as the sun slowly set behind the courts, the only sound was that of the local yoof engaged in the pizza-eating, coke-snorting and underage-drinking semi-finals. 

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

Poetitis

Poetitis – A Public Health Warning

There’s an epidemic sweeping the nation,

A disease that’s only going to get worse,

Cos of these poetry competitions and slams,

And those that have been exposed to… verse.

 

It’s a socially-transmitted disease,

And the oral tradition of which I write is

Derived from having unprotected sestets,

And it’s got the medical name of “poetitis”.

 

Once a rarefied condition suffered only by poets,

But now everyone has deciphered the code,

Through limericks, and haikus, and sonnets,

It’s now as prevalent as The Common Ode.

 

No longer the preserve of the Bards,

Its causes are certainly not vague,

Its symptoms are debilitating,

And couplets get spread like The Plague.

 

Public Health England has issued a warning,

That sticking to prose is no longer a barrier:

Once you start worrying about metre,

You’re probably a contagious carrier.

 

The best treatment is isolation,

But that’s easier done than said.

It only takes a careless quatrain,

For the virus to be much further spread.

 

For poets tend not to be continent,

With their infectious sense of bad timing -

Before you know it there’s iambic pentameter,

And a constant tendency to rhyming.

 

So take the right steps and be careful,

Behave, now you know what course the right is,

Avoid those mad, raving rhymesters,

And save yourself from “poetitis”.

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

 

It's That Time Again

It’s That Time Again (or A Pain In The Grass) 

It’s summer again and the sun is shining hot:

It’s a very special time of the year,

When I start dreaming of young bodies,

Yes I just want them to come near.

 

You see, because the heat is now on,

I’ve got the urge to be there once again.

And I’ve selected,

To get re-connected,

And for seeing them I’ve got a great yen.

 

To see and hear some young ladies,

I admit that’s what I’m hunting.

With their moaning and groaning,

Their cries, and even their grunting.

 

The agony and the ecstasy,

As they show off their legs in their short skirts,

And all in the tightest of underwear -

So tight, you’d think it must hurt.

 

For, despite all of the dangers,

And the presence of strangers,

It’s clear that I yearn,

Whilst waiting my turn,

To see some darling young honey,

And to hand over a pile of my money.

 

The fittest bodies are a fine sight,

Just the thing to whet the appetite.

And with every squeak,

And every high-decibel shriek,

Not forgetting the sweat,

That’s what you get.

You seem to forget,

For a nearly year and then –

It’s Bloody Wimbledon again!

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

 

Chicken Traybake with Herbs & BUtterbeans

Recipe for: CHICKEN TRAYBAKE with HERBS & BUTTERBEANS 

Ingredients: 

• 2 chicken, thighs (per person) with bone in & skin (or make extra & freeze)
• Good handful fresh mixed herbs, washed & chopped
• 1 red onion, peeled & finely sliced
• 4 garlic cloves, peeled & finely chopped
• 2 tblsp olive oil
• 400g tin tomatoes
• 400g tin butter beans (or flageolet etc), rinsed
• 1 lemon cut into slices 

Method: 

1.      In a frying pan, gently fry the onion & garlic until golden

2.      Add the tinned tomatoes and beans & heat, adding seasoning

3.      Pour into a flat casserole dish & set aside

4.      Mix the herbs with salt & pepper and a little oil to make a thick green paste

5.      Stuff equal amounts until the skin of each chicken thigh

6.      Place the thighs on top of the tomato/ bean casserole

7.      Top each piece with a slice of lemon

8.      Drizzle the chicken with oil and season with more salt & pepper

9.      Bake the traybake in a moderate oven (170C fan) for 45-50 minutes until the chicken is cooked through & starting to brown 

What else you need to know: 

1.      Serve with potato wedges, sprinkled with oil & salt, at the same time as the traybake

 

This Toilet Is Out Of Order

 “This Toilet Is Out Of Order”

The note was quite simple, but ambiguous –

a statement of fact, or merely an opinion?

Was it not working, or had it simply gone too far? 

Was it un-functional, or had it overstepped the mark?

Apologies are all very well for having no loo,

but when one’s desperate, what should one do?

Not just number one, but also number two?

 

Like someone from Eastenders,

it’s easy to say “leave it – it’s not worf it!”

But if bladder and bowels are holding a surfeit

Of matter that needs to be voided,

the lavatory can hardly be avoided!

 

I had a new thought, and it were this:

it made me wonder what else may be amiss,

What else had failed in ability,

to work well within that facility?

Because you see,

apart from spending one pee,

It’s not just the WC,

what else could there be?

Had the wash-basin gone down the drain? 

Was the bidet running hot and cold? 

Was the bath too full of itself?

And as for the shower,

should we just draw a curtain over that?

I was not a loofah to any of this,

I didn’t want any flannel,

Nor anyone to give me the soft-soap treatment.

I was completely awash with emotions,

as I stood there, outside of the Gents:

I just hated to be flushed with such disappointments!

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022

I Am A Computer

I Am A Computer

Of course I’m not devoid of emotion

How could you have such a notion?

It’s just that I not sure what I should do,

I’m struggling to interface with you

It’s a situation that’s not very clear

For we’re no longer working peer-to-peer

I find your instructions a distraction

I can’t work with such a transaction

I think we’re both in a rut

I’m struggling for throughput

I don’t have the bandwidth to cater

For crunching through all of your data

 

I continue to love you, but

There’s too little input/ output

The calculation is completely mine

But I think I need more time offline

I’m no longer feeling alive

I think I’m losing all of my hard drive

My ROM feels like a time-bomb

My RAM’s in a jam

You see - the pattern all fits –

Can’t you see I’m in bits?

I need time for some healing

To process every feeling

I don’t want to be seen

As if I’m just a blue-screen

Our programme’s gone crappy

Our chat’s not snappy

And my software’s not ‘appy

I feel I’ve run out of luck

And I just can’t face Book

I’m feeling rather demented

My memory’s very fragmented

I stare out of the Windows

We ought to do well, we ought to Excel

Haven’t you heard? What is the Word?

Let’s try and find the lost chord

In the letters of our keyboard
I don’t want us to fail

I’m a male and you’re my e-mail

So let’s get off the fence

And use our broad-band of experience

Let’s take a byte out of storage’s root

Let’s try to re-start and re-boot

We don’t want to calculate with some terror

And end up with an Unknown Error!

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2022