August 29, 2012

 

 

It’s the way you pull the udders

that gets the milk flowing free.

We’re fighting for our survival.

Here, pass the bucket to me.

 

Every drop of this is priceless.

‘Dairy farming’ is in our genes.

If this lot all collapses,

we’ll have to grow peas and beans!

 

 

 

 

What happened to those long hot

summer days, when we sat around

making daisy chains and looking for

four leaved clovers, before making

our way back home under the seven

arches, without a cloud in the sky to

dampen our spirits, or the sound of any

motorway to disturb our simple joy?

 

 

 

 

 

He used to say he smiled inwardly,

with his face never moving a muscle.

A more boring man there never was,

than Ernest Arbuckle Russell

 

 

 

 

 

A town that I’d never thought twice about,

has come into orbit of late.

Connecting extended tentacles and

proving that it’s never too late.

 

 

 

 

What the butler saw,

to the Press he went to sell.

They crossed his palms with gold,

but his life became pure hell.

 

What the butler saw,

he no more lived to tell.

They pensioned him off with haste,

when, from grace, he fell.

 

 

 

 

 

 

If I could swim

I’d go to him,

but the water’s far too deep.

 

So instead I’ll fly

through a cloudy sky,

and thereby my sanity keep.

 

 

 

 

 

In an argument that she was losing,

she would give me a ‘certain’ look,  saying

‘If you think that you have all the answers,

you should go and write a ruddy book’

 

 

 

 

I can’t come into work again

I’ve been up all night with this cough.

I think it’s turned into consumption,

So I’m taking another week off.

 

We’re having new windows fitted,

So I’ll be on hand to oversee the job.

And at the same time, in the kitchen,

the workmen are fitting a hob.

 

I expect to feel better by monday,

though my head has a murderous throb.

This week sees the end of Wimbledon,

and I haven’t missed a single lob.

 

 

 

August 28, 2012

 

 

The pies and the pasties

The lukewarm tea

The loud-mouthed chanting

Unfit for him at my knee

The queue for the loo

Each man desperate to pee

The cheer from the crowd

The excitement, the glee

The disallowed goal

Scored all in vain

The deafening drumbeat

Of the insane

The missed handball

The Ref’s a ‘gobbin! ’

Sing fifty thousand

Men all sobbin

The desperation

the ‘off-side’ rule

The bloomin’ idiot

The stupid fool

The player was king

A minute ago

Now he’s sent off

for a vicious blow

Then the debut kid

Gets a yellow card

For an eager tackle

Too late by a yard

And at the end

Time’s added on

But by then

Half of them

Have gone

Some ecstatic

Some bereft

The winning goal

Was outright theft

They rant and rave

And say ‘no more’

But come next week

Into grounds they pour

With hopes renewed

And faith restored.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The pace of cricket is changing.

Five day Tests are rare, unless there’s been rain.

Which is sometimes the case in this climate,

And hanging around can be such a pain.

 

The  20/20  game has brought excitement

And with it a new army platoon,

Who along with the ‘Mexican Wave’ mob,

Keep us entertained in the afternoon.

 

When Sobers scored six sixes in an over,

It was a ‘one off’ and something quite rare.

And when our Boyks took root at the wicket

The crowd, at times dozed off in despair.

 

Botham’s era started the revival,

Along with Thommo and Lillee, so fast,

And let’s not forget  the best ‘Windies’ side ever,

When Marshall  and Holding bowled with a blast?

 

Cricket is no longer an ‘old man’s sport,

Or just for ‘anoraks’ clutching the Wisden Book.

It now attracts a much younger audience

And the odd ‘streaker’,  just can’t be mistook.

 

W.G. Grace would have turned in his grave

And John Arlott would have been lost for words.

Whilst Brian Johnston would have talked  pigeons,

He much preferred to watch those kind of birds.

 

But whether it’s a googly or a yorker,

Or a ‘full toss’ caught at silly mid on.

It wouldn’t be summer without cricket

And the ‘Ashes’ Tests are second to none.

 

This game of cricket will outlive us all,

Each generation has its favourite side.

So lets get behind our current team

And help them restore some pride.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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