Category Archives: poetry


(With apologies to the late Sir John Betjeman) Come, friendly bombs, and lance Great Wen! It isn’t fit for mortal Ken. Let poor and hungry leave, and then Swarm over, Death! Come, bombs and shatter in your blitz Apartments owned … Continue reading

Posted in art, entertainment, location, london, made_our_own_fun, opinion, poetry, rants, tourism | 1 Comment

We remember in order to forget

Bonfire Night is the kind of gruesome success that most PR people or politicians – still just about separate careers – could only dream of. The idea was planted by the fires, the guys, and of course that doggerel. Alan … Continue reading

Posted in anniversaries, art, christmas_2013, death, emotions, family, future, hope, language, loss, past, people, person, philosophy, poetry, seasons, society, time, understanding, war, word_games | Leave a comment

More ridiculous doggerel

1. When your biscuit isn’t Nice Or your bourbon is disturbin’ Or your custard “cream” is more a custard “paste”; If your fig roll isn’t rollin’ Or your hobnob’s not hobnobbin’: Please don’t let your broken biscuits go to waste. … Continue reading

Posted in art, humour, occupation, poetry, writing | 2 Comments

Tonight, Matthew, I’m going to be… John Cooper Clarke

I went to a fancy-dress do for new year’s eve. The theme was “80s rock”, which made me wonder if I could get away with punk rock. In fact, I wondered if I could get away with being punk rock … Continue reading

Posted in art, christmas_2013, cotswolds, diary, entertainment, environment, experience, geography, humour, lancs, location, made_our_own_fun, parties, poetry, seasons, time | 2 Comments

I am not, and have never been, Fun Bobby

I’m not a very sociable person. Although I’ve never been diagnosed with any kind of problem, I find I reach the end of my social tether quickly. After socializing for some time, especially with casual acquaintances, I can feel sections … Continue reading

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Cotswolds bad driver ode #2

A M Bailey Makes you turn pale-y Swerves into Bird-in-Hand Like a flatulent gale-y

Posted in art, cars, poetry, transport | Leave a comment

Cotswolds bad driver ode #1

Cyril Hicks’ Drivers are dicks: Van full of vegetables; Head full of bricks.

Posted in art, cars, poetry, transport | Leave a comment