Humorous verse: Anna’s mishap

A keen fellwalker having the good fortune to be surrounded by breathtakingly beautiful mountains, I lead a fabulous walking group called the Roamers. Well, at least I try to lead them – but sometimes I do manage to lose some of them. As on that infamous occasion at Easter when traffic was heavy, our parking spot had been unexpectedly blocked and my mobile decided to die on me. Unable to communicate with the drivers of several other cars in our group, I contrived to lose one vehicle with its precious cargo of four Roamers. So much for my being a leader …

 

If you heard my moans and groans,

They were all about the cones,

Traffic cones – I kid you not –

Blocking our parking spot;

With no parking to be found,

We drove round and round and round,

All five cars – and all spread out –

Nightmare, without any doubt;

With my mobile on the blink,

I was flustered, couldn’t think

(You go into panic mode

When you’re missing a car-load);

We then started our hike

Without John, Rose, Pam and Mike;

You could not – not if you tried –

Find a soul as mortified

As I was, but I must say

It was John who saved the day!

Sage and with a brilliant mind,

Our John’s one of a kind:

On his gizmo, also smart,

Our route he did – yes! – chart

And, with deftness and no fuss,

Led his party straight to us!

Dearest John, believe you me:

In your debt I’ll always be;

Your computing expertise

Has now put my mind at ease

‘Cos I know that, with your aid,

Roamers cannot get mislaid!

 

 

Humorous verse: Beast from the East

Recently, we’ve been hit by an icy blast from Siberia, dubbed the Beast from the East. This is my humorous take on it.

 

We’ve been blasted by the Beast,

Blown straight over from the East;

Fed by northern polar vortex,

It would slice right through your cortex,

Landing an almighty blow

With its gales and frost and snow,

Blizzards, whiteouts, drifts and ice;

And there was, indeed, a price

If you tried to brave this storm:

You could not stay dry or warm.

So to end up safe and sound,

You wrapped up and went to ground,

Keeping all essentials handy,

Namely whiskey, rum and brandy;

Soon, your innards were ablaze,

With you swaying in a haze,

Feeling comfy, snug and cosy,

Both your cheeks and nose quite rosy;

This is how (you get my drift?)

Best to deal with Putin’s ‘gift’.

Grammatical howler: Illogical co-ordination

Well, you cannot keep the girl away from her grammar for long, can you? Perusing The Telegraph Magazine recently, I happened on this scientific revelation. Do you reckon the author knew something which the readers worldwide were being kept in the dark about?

 The partners of men over the age of 40 carry a much higher risk of miscarriage, regardless of their own age, and are half as likely to get their partner pregnant as those under 25.

Naturally, it must be devastating to suffer a miscarriage, but at least the female partners of older men are just about able to get their blokes pregnant – at least according to this illustrious publication. Just when we rated the chances of their performing this feat as precisely zero – it must be a scientific breakthrough! Unless, of course, what the hapless writer meant was this:

 The partners of men over the age of 40 carry a much higher risk of miscarriage, regardless of their own age, and such men are half as likely to get their partner pregnant as those under 25.

 

Satirical verse: UKIP Brexit if you want to

As my Brexit-inspired satire continues, here is my mini-glossary for those reading this post outside Great Britain.

UKIP stands for the UK Independence Party, which is a Eurosceptic and right-wing populist political party in Great Britain. The party strongly opposes immigration, pledging to reduce it to zero within five years. Incidentally, the wife (alluded to below) of the party’s former leader (who is a great fan of President Trump) is German.

Brexit refers to the British exit from the European Union, narrowly voted for in the 2016 EU membership referendum. Brexit has bitterly divided the country, and even the government cannot seem to agree what sort of Brexit it wants. Needless to say, Europe is baffled …  

 

We don’t want no immigration

To pollute this brilliant nation;

We were once the purest race

Which this Mother Earth did grace

(Sorry, there is one correction:

German wives are an exception),

 

But the EU plots and schemes

To extinguish our dreams

About being alien-free

In this land of ours – see?

Our challenge is immense –

We must mount a bold defence.

 

When we seal our porous border

We’ll restore all law and order,

And, to pick our fruit and veg,

We will summon good old Reg

(He is 80 – did we mention? –

This will help him boost his pension).

 

We will stop most foreign aid

And engage in global trade

Beyond EU neighbourhood

(North Korea would be good),

Plus, in line with our agendum,

We will rule by referendum.

 

Also (you’ll be filled with glee),

We will let you park for free*

When you do your weekly shop

(We don’t reckon it’s a sop:

As an ordinary Brit,

You’ll be rather badly hit**).

 

Even if our gut gets busted,

We want to be done and dusted

By the end of next year – max;

See how neatly all this stacks?

(We can – by all indicators –

Trust our clever negotiators.)

 

To take charge of our laws,

We must rally to the cause

With a zealous incantation:

“We are here to save our nation,

And, in Donald’s dazzling vein,

We’ll make Britain great again!”

 

*For at least 30 minutes

**In your pocket

 

PS

 

Wanna know – that’s by the way –

What folk Googled the next day***?

“What’s this construct called EU?”

You are laughing? It is true;

Still, we say: “You know the score,

That’s**** what you have voted for.”

 

***After the 2016 referendum on Britain’s EU membership

****Whatever that is; if the government still (at the beginning of 2018) can’t agree about what sort of Brexit it wants (hard, soft or anything in-between), you can jolly well make up your own wish list and announce that this is exactly what you have voted for – hey ho!

 

Satirical verse: The globe-trotting Brexiteer

Readers from countries other than Great Britain may wish to note that this satirical verse is about the current British Foreign Secretary, who is an ardent Brexiteer (a person who is in favour of the United Kingdom withdrawing from the European Union).

 

I am a one-nation Tory

Who cares not a jot for glory,

Am your quintessential Brit

Appreciated for my wit

And a slightly raffish look;

I know how to write a book

And draw lots of nice red lines,

Am a connoisseur of wines,

And I never, ever never tire

When suspended from zip wire.

When our greatness is at stake,

I will (always) have my cake

And will eat it – hence my girth

(Please contain unseemly mirth);

Round the world I widely roam

(Though, sometimes, without a comb),

And I think you ought to ditch

Your displeasure with the rich;

In a nutshell, that is that;

Let me tell you where we’re at.

(I mean our negotiation

Re the freedom of our nation.)

I’d had not a drop of Marnier*,

When I told this old chap Barnier

He could go and jolly whistle;

Fair enough: he didn’t bristle

But came out with poppycock

About loudly ticking clock;

We are not, so as you know,

Giving Barnier any dough;

Of this there can be no doubt:

After all, we’re getting out,

So you can now go and chill;

What? We’re paying 20 bill.???

Nah, not on your blinking nelly!

(I’ll repeat this on the telly),

Not if I can … wait a sec,

PM’s waving a fat cheque …

It says 40 – but that’s double!!!

Grrrr, we really are in trouble:

That’s the dosh, I acquiesce,

Promised to the NHS;

Payout wasn’t in our plan –

Things are going down the pan;

But fear not (I’m being frank):

With a tiger in my tank,

I will cut us such a deal

That you’ll think it is a steal;

I’ll outshine the other stars

And put Elvis – yep – on Mars**!

 

*Grand

**An expression Boris Johnson used to describe the likelihood of his becoming Prime Minister

 

Satirical verse: Supplication of a Pole in Brexit Britain

I have now started writing political satire (in verse) inspired by Brexit. To those reading this outside Britain, this country has voted (albeit narrowly) in favour of leaving the European Union. This has provoked much controversy and created deep divisions between the supporters and opponents of Britain’s membership of the Union. I believe that one of the reasons behind the vote to leave was the desire to curb immigration. Since I hail from Poland, and am thus one of those immigrants whom many (though, of course, not all) Brits seem to dislike, I am getting my own back by satirising Brexit in verse. Enjoy!

 

With this country set for Brexit,

Please don’t show me to the exit

‘Cos, some misdeeds* notwithstanding,

I could pass for quite upstanding

(Although not when in repose

After vodka overdose,

But I know that it is sinful

Having what they call a skinful):

I will not condone a fiddle

And sit roughly in the middle

On the scale from saints to sinners;

I eat carrots with my dinners,

Take crushed garlic, go for walkies,

Have foresworn soft-centre choccies,

And I’m also (fancy this!)

Upping my Omega 3s**.

I did pay my taxes – once***

And have grabbed at every chance

To perform a kindly deed

When I spied a soul in need;

Have you ever even tried

To become a helpful guide

To a dear old lady who

Looked confused and lost to you?

I’d be in there like a shot,

Never mind how hard she fought …

But there are (I’m shy, don’t clap)

More fine feathers in my cap:

I have never been a chancer,

Smuggler, banker, spy, pole dancer

(Although I’m a dancing Pole),

I have tended to my soul

And renounced the deadly sins****,

And I’ve used recycle bins,

Plus, I never did striptease …

Can I stay then? Pretty please!

 

* We shall not dwell on those, though

**The lovely natives routinely place the apostrophe before the ‘s’, where it’s redundant because ‘3s’ is a regular plural; we may be aliens, but we have studied English grammar – in depth

***Or twice

****Well, at least three of them

 

Comic verse: Sales and philosophy

As notorious as our gales

Are the January sales,

Where you always – yes you do –

Find a bargain, if not two.

When an urge within you surge,

Your account you swiftly purge

(It’s now down to but a dime)

And have jolly, jolly time

Buying all that lovely stuff

Until husband says, “Enough!”

Then you wait, all tense and pale,

Till the February sale,

When you go, with joy and glee,

On another spending spree.

It’s now March – the sale is on,

Blimey, how the time has gone.

Then it’s April, May and June;

All those sales – oh, what a boon!

(Don’t you love the current trend

With the sales that never end?)

When your hubby grabs your purse,

You protest: “It could be worse:

If you think about it, honey,

I am saving lots of money!”

At which point, you hear a groan

And see hubby lying prone;

This prevents a likely scrape,

And you make your bold escape

With a ponder that goes thus:

Why can’t men be more like us?

Here’s to a stress-free Christmas!

It’s been a while, but I’m sure you’ve been so busy you’ve barely noticed. Anyway, I’m back but will be changing course: I’m working on a book of humorous verses, some of which will be posted here from time to time. This one, which comes with warm season’s greetings, is about my stress-free Christmas – hope yours is too.

 

She’s a secret that is murky:

She has never stuffed a turkey;

Christmas pudding and mince pies?

That’s the stuff she simply buys.

She looks forward with great glee

To a Christmas that’s stress-free,

Which, of this there is no doubt,

Means, quite frankly, eating out;

This is why she is so merry

(Though her hubby blames the sherry),

Knowing they will have a ball;

Merry Christmas, one and all!

 

93 – Mini-rant: Dead survivors?

Having been greatly distracted by two momentous events, Brexit and the American election, I’ve been very remiss with this blog. And, let’s face it, language misdemeanours, however diverting, pale into insignificance with what’s going on in the world. But having stumbled across this snippet, widely broadcast by the British media, I’m unable to resist a mini-rant. The revelation came courtesy of an eminent foreign correspondent, who commented on a catastrophic plane crash thus.

There is little hope of finding survivors alive.

Although overcome with an overwhelming sadness, I nevertheless wondered whether there might be some dead survivors – an obvious (to me, at least) interpretation of this tautological statement. As I’ve mentioned in other posts, tautology – saying the same thing twice in different words – is a stylistic fault which is quite common, but the venerable BBC and its reporters might be expected to be above such lapses. What the correspondent should have said is, of course, this.

 There is little hope of finding anybody alive.

Or this.

 There is little hope of finding any survivors.

92 – Frolic: The Trump revelation

“Holy moly!”

“Hmmm?” “How on earth did he manage to keep that quiet?”

“Who?”

“Trump.”

“Donald?”

“The very same.”

“Keep what quiet?”

“That he had transitioned.”

“No, he hasn’t – not yet.”

“But he must have.”

“And how exactly do you work this one out?”

“Well, that’s what it says here – in this week’s Sunday Times.”

“Don’t go believing everything you read in the press. Even if it’s The Sunday Times: the stuff they ha …”

“But he is a man!”

“Of course he is a man.”

“So he must have transitioned!”

“Look, he is only a Republican nominee for now: the presidential election isn’t until November, so …”

“No, no, no!”

“Yes, yes, yes: Americans will be electing their president on November 8th; it’s a Tuesday, I believe.”

“No, no, not that!”

“So what?”

“I had no idea he was born a girl, no idea at all – fancy that!”

“A girl? Of course he wasn’t born a girl; don’t be silly!”

“But that’s what Ivanka Trump said – his daughter.”

“What?”

As a young girl growing up, my father told me I could do anything that I set my mind to.

“Oh this! It’s just her grammar.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look, it’s a very common error.”

“It is?”

“Yep; I call this ‘marketing as’.”

Marketing as?”

“Yep, they are always coming up with stuff like: ‘As one of our best customers, we are pleased to offer you this exclusive deal’; I keep getting marketing literature strewn with such nonsense – so does everybody else.”

“O-o-o, so it was her.”

“Of course it was her; look; what she should have said is this.”

 

As a young girl growing up, I was told by my father I could do anything that I set my mind to.

 

“M-m-m, she would … I mean he would have been too young to father a child anyway.”

“Look, it’s just a misrelated phrase – just like a dangling participle.”

“A dangling participle – what’s that?”

“Another time.”