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.Reuse content