Drasty rym dogerel, 25/4/2011

Pastoralia

'Neath verdant bowers all ensconced,
By nature's beauty all entranced,
On fields to all horizons gazing,
Cattle roundabout all grazing,
Sat the master, weary, lazing,
Lazing here in Tuscany.

Sitting in sweet atrophy,
Reading antic philosophy,
'Neath the verdant bowers, sipping,
From an earthen wine-cup, dripping,
On to Spring's first new buds, thirsting,
Soon to be fresh flowers, bursting,
Bursting into panoply.

Drasty rym dogerel, 20/4/2011

[Caveat lector: This poor composition was assembled as a Satyr in a previous age, and, being no longer of present Topick, its author, this humble Scribe, begs that his audience will treat it therefore as it is, a memorium to the Public Sentiment of its time.]

Do they gobble granny’s savings, Mr Clegg,

Where they read old Cato’s ravings, do they, Clegg?

Are they, farting, drinking, moaning,

Eating up our nationhood,

Do they profit us yet nothing,

And corrupt the public good?

Are the Classics such a danger,

Is it thanks to linguists that we beg;

Is it they that us endanger, is it, Clegg?

Is it playwrights dodging tax, Mr Clegg?

That requires such attacks, Mr Clegg?

Is it all the fault of singers

That our finances are parlous?

Was it they who took our tractors,

And invested them in harlots?

If the Arts were but less funded,

If the banker’s book more thick,

Would our economy be healthy,

Would it, Nick?

It would greatly, I would own, Mr Clegg,

Please me if you left this well alone, Mr Clegg.

In the matters of our bread you will fight your case and win,

But preying on the arts is a hiding looking thin;

If the voice of Murdoch falters,

If with universities we’re thick,

We’ll be on our way to Bedlam,

Will we, Nick?

Drasty rym dogerel, 17/04/2011

[Caveat lector: This poor composition was assembled as a Satyr in a previous age, and, being no longer of present Topick, its author, this humble Scribe, begs that his audience will treat it therefore as it is, a memorium to the Public Sentiment of its time.]

The Clegg-Cameron Clapped-Rap
Well, I'm hipper than hip
And I'm cooler than cool
And you'd never believe
I was at public school.

I'm relevant
'Cuz I'm cool as can be,
Even if I don't have
No sound policy.

I'm up to the minute
With the trends of late
Even if my music
Is ten years out of date.

Now my background and wealth
Might just cause some friction,
'Cause I'm just as rich
As is implied by my diction.

Well I dress like your granddad,
And my slang's like his too,
But if you think I'm a square
Then I pity you, fool.

I'm down with the kids,
And I'm in with the crowd
Even if I do find
This music too loud.

Just cause my Daddy's an earl,
And my uncle owns Norfolk
It don't mean I ain't down with the poor folk.

And when I get back from the hood
With the vote-pulling done
Well you'll find me chillin'
Back at the Bullingdon.

Notebook From Nowhere, 15/4/2011

the smithfield muses, Little Quinisext’s most ineffectual indie band, have once again played to a packed, near-empty Relapse pub this week. The viola-backed trio’s audience were, in general, positive. Barmaid Sandrine described band leader Ned Stringey as “an all-right guy, basically”. Much Wyttring-based accountant Tom Lacksides, who attended the concert, later described the music as “all right, I suppose. I mean, if you like that sort of thing.”

Speaking to Jim Flinkey outside the newsagent, Stringey described the gig as the band’s most successful yet, saying it “didn’t go too badly, really”.

“We got through our whole set this time”, he added.

Nerdsley-educated Stringey, 19, the band’s vocalist and founder, established the group three years ago with the help of viola-player Jim Crating, and accountancy student-turned-drummer Pete Flake.  The band’s website describes it as ‘the post-pop indie-punk phenomenon of the decade’.

The band’s debut single, So Farewell Then, EJ Thribb is not expected out in the next few decades.

***

inspector clap of the West Scurvy Police has turned once more to writing on his pet subject, the archaeology of the M40. The new volume in his seven-part work, published by the Much Wyttring Conservation Trust, is entitled Wilson: The Burtley Wood Years, and charts many of the key journeys the Prime Minister who founded the highway might have taken on it, had it already been built.

Of particular interest to incompetent amateur historians everywhere is his interview with Gwyn Smethwick, who ran the renowned post office in Tyldely-By-Lizard where Wilson famously nearly got out to buy stamps but didn’t. Col. Blight, chairman of the Much Wyttring Conservation Trust, described the work as “covering essential ground in dismantling the Conservative myth of the failure of the Wilson government”.

***

fr. thaddeus, the enthusiastically pastoral parish priest of St John the Apostate, Little Quinisext, once again faces ‘a period of reconciliation and healing’ with parishioners this week, following another innovative, forward-looking Palm Sunday liturgy.

Parishioners were said to be “disappointed” by the new liturgy, composed especially for the occasion by the renowned local composer and liturgist, Reg Monteverdi. Amongst the least successful elements according to the Parish's Non-Executive Pastoral Review Council Liturgical Subcommittee, The Introit, entitled Hit Me With Your Hyssop Stick, was damningly voted a rating of “pastoral”. Worse, 82% of parishioners,  however, are said to have found the use of a water-pistol at the start of the Mass “unpastoral”. Marjorem K. Kalypso, chair of the Liturgical Subcommittee, said that the liturgy was “not satisfactory”.

Ms. Kalypso said: “It is the considered opinion of the Non-Executive Pastoral Review Council Liturgical Subcommittee that the limited accompaniment for the liturgical music, consisting of a drum-kit and only two trombones, was deeply unsatisfactory, and gave little room for active participation. We are most disappointed by Mr. Monteverdi’s setting, particularly in light of his previous, exemplary work in pastorally sensitive, liturgically charismatic music up until now.”

Fr. Thaddeus was unavailable for comment.

Drasty rym dogerel, 15/04/2011

[Caveat lector: This ode was written as a Satyr in a previous age, and, being no longer of present Topick, its author, this humble Scribe, begs that his audience will treat it therefore as it is, a memorium to the Public Sentiment of its time.]

The Love-Song of J. Gordon Brown

Let us go then, you and I,
When the deficit is spread sky-high
Like a nightmare, predicted by Vince Cable.
Let us go through ancient, muttering retreats,
The dusty old defeats,
Of bills, and acts, and Question Time ordeal,
And failure that no-one dare conceal.
Our manifesto wanders like a tedious argument,
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming Problem;
O, do not speak to me of mores:
Let us go, and blame the Tories!