Comment: The Weekly Muse

In spring a young man's fancy...

An older one won't bother though,

Just slings a battered jacket on,

Whistles his dog and out they go

Across the marsh in early spring

To where the sky is Turner-esque

And puts the distance in between

Himself and in-tray on his desk.

The broadsheet papers clang to sounds

Of feministas going rounds;

They joust and clatter to reviews

And one, at least is always news.

Germaine, with Essex residence

As "good owld gel" takes precedence,

For out in Essex Proper here

Her name is rhyming slang for beer

And have too much Germaine, for sure

You'll fall down on the Suzanne Moore.

It's Monica Lewinsky Week

(And Month) - Hysteria hits a peak

Her raven hair, her farmgirl hips,

Cheerleader smile in lolly lips

Her skin suffused in Stepford glow

She's set up now and rightly so

Though media do as media will

They got the goods. She had the Bill.

And Bong "That's it" for News at Ten

We'll never see it Bong again

So after me: "And finally -

The tapir. Who was late. For tea."

Geoffrey Hughes, the bros McGann

As scousers, speak the way they can.

Alan Bleasdale, Cilla Black

Proper speech ain't what they lack.

Regional accents, pass or fail.

Julie Burchill? Jimmy Nail?

Try to sell them elocution

There's the way to revolution.

Local culture left to rot,

London syphons off the lot

Now you'd take our accents too?

Beryl Bainbridge, shame on you.

"Police Warn of Illegal Clones"

And now patrol the twilight zones.

But what's the charge? And in whose name?

And why do policemen look the same?

You mark my words, they're using clones

They started it with traffic cones

And steadily worked up the chain;

Do check that warrant card again.

Too sci-fi for my muddled brain

I need a pint of best Germaine.