Miss M Smitten-Downes, Miss M Smitten-Downes,
Hunted and famed in the shire of the Quorn;
How bravely you’ll carry our flag on the night
When the songsters of Europe engage in their fight.
Will ‘ten points’ or ’five points’ resound to your voice?
Will Finland or Azerbaijan like your voice?
All I know is I’ll be there, of course sitt’n’ down.
Hardly able to watch you, Ms M Smitten-Downes.
(with apologies to the master, John Betjeman)
If you’re feeling poetic today (as you should), you could try to beat Matt’s corker.
Why does the otherwise apparently civilised Prince William go to Spain to shoot stags and wild boars, presumably for pleasure?
Can’t he find any amusement to his taste
a) with his family?
b) in England?
c) without killing animals not required for food?
The English, the English, the English are best, I wouldn’t give tuppence for all of the rest.
The rottenest bits of these islands of ours
We’ve left in the hands of three unfriendly powers.
Examine the Irishman, Welshman or Scot
You’ll find he’s a stinker, as likely as not.
Och aye, awa’ wi’ yon Edinburgh Festival
The Scotsman is mean, as we’re all well aware
And bony and blotchy and covered with hair
He eats salty porridge, he works all the day
And he hasn’t got bishops to show him the way!
The English, the English, the English are best I wouldn’t give tuppence for all of the rest. Read more…
It is widely acknowledged that the Danish gubmint coudn’t ring a change in a bell tower.
As for attracting home-grown investors in their oil and gas biz (DONG), no luck since 2008. Until now, but curiously the minister responsible omitted to publicise his plan to do a deal with a consortium led by Goldman Sachs until after it was ratified by the finance committee.
So, not to put too fine a point on it, the excreta has well and truly hit the ventaxia. Which means that in the last year, six of Helle Kinnock’s ministers have jumped, fallen or been pushed – leaving her dangling on a thread herself.
There’s a general election next year but the speculation is whether she can be bothered to wait, when she knows there is a cosy commissioner’s office awaiting her in Brussels.
According to the British media, Nordic = good, whether it’s life-style, politics or telly programmes. But one’s supicions are aroused when it is reported that the Scottish renegade tendency actually fancies joining the Viking club. There must be some facts about the Norsemen that would make for less positive press – which the Fat Controller doesn’t want us to find out.
Luckily the Grauniad hastens to our aid with a tasty piece of reportage about the real Scandinavia; written this time by a hack who just possibly understands something about the region, being married, like me, to a Dane.
I see that Cameron’s barber has been awarded the MBE for services to hairdressing.
What next? Ks for shoe-shiners? Peerages for bed-makers?
With the imminent influx of yet more European immigrants into urban Britain, the pundits are once again (mis)quoting the admirable Enoch Powell who foresaw local difficulties with the integration of new arrivals, albeit on a much smaller scale than we are witnessing today.
Powell was of course a classical scholar and teacher and probably assumed that the rest of the population would recognise his allusion to Vergil’s words – Thybrim multo spumantem sanguine cerno - I see the Tiber foaming with so much blood. He knew, but failed to mention that the speaker was the prophetess, Sybil of Cumæ, pointing out that Aeneas’ new Rome would struggle to assimilate Italy’s warring tribes before it could prosper.
A telling analogy for ‘sixties Britain. And equally relevant today, for those who live in the cities.