Saturday, 3 December 2011

A man lives in the Village

A man lives in the Village, his name is Mr. Babbage,
He plays a little Cribbage, and grows a little cabbage,
He empties out his garbage, and eats a little porridge,
He sits outside his cottage, and wonders how he'll manage.

He used to work at Dulwich, as a porter for the College,
Swept the hall and passage, dealt with all the baggage,
But now he's done with all the knowledge, and time has done it's damage,
So he sits outside his cottage, and wonders how he'll manage.

Friday, 9 September 2011


Just because it never goes away...

Thursday, 8 September 2011


Just because he's right... (And at 5.05, a hilarious story!)

Wednesday, 7 September 2011

Friday, 5 August 2011

Death Penalty?

Reinstate the death penalty?

Well, okay, but only for treason.

I can think of 650 treasonous bastards that I'd quite happily see hanging..

...From London lamposts...

...With piano wire..

Yeah, you know who you are..

Monday, 2 May 2011


If you believe this, then you are an idiot.

That is all.

Thursday, 10 March 2011

Norman and Saxon

Norman and Saxon - Rudyard Kipling.

“My son,” said the Norman Baron, “I am dying, and you will be heir
To all the broad acres in England that William gave me for share
When he conquered the Saxon at Hastings, and a nice little handful it is.
But before you go over to rule it I want you to understand this:–

“The Saxon is not like us Normans. His manners are not so polite.
But he never means anything serious till he talks about justice and right.
When he stands like an ox in the furrow – with his sullen set eyes on your own,
And grumbles, ‘This isn’t fair dealing,’ my son, leave the Saxon alone.

“You can horsewhip your Gascony archers, or torture your Picardy spears;
But don’t try that game on the Saxon; you’ll have the whole brood round your ears.
From the richest old Thane in the county to the poorest chained serf in the field,
They’ll be at you and on you like hornets, and, if you are wise, you will yield.

“But first you must master their language, their dialect, proverbs and songs.
Don’t trust any clerk to interpret when they come with the tale of their wrongs.
Let them know that you know what they’re saying; let them feel that you know what to say.
Yes, even when you want to go hunting, hear ‘em out if it takes you all day.

They’ll drink every hour of the daylight and poach every hour of the dark.
It’s the sport not the rabbits they’re after (we’ve plenty of game in the park).
Don’t hang them or cut off their fingers. That’s wasteful as well as unkind,
For a hard-bitten, South-country poacher makes the best man- at-arms you can find.

“Appear with your wife and the children at their weddings and funerals and feasts.
Be polite but not friendly to Bishops; be good to all poor parish priests.
Say ‘we,’ ‘us’ and ‘ours’ when you’re talking, instead of ‘you fellows’ and ‘I.’
Don’t ride over seeds; keep your temper; and never you tell ‘em a lie!”

... This isn't fair dealing.

The political classes need to tread very carefully now..

Sunday, 26 September 2010

Saturday, 3 July 2010

Close Enough.


He thought about you alot
A constant memory that could not have been forgot
Never came close enough
He played it cool because he didn’t want to look a fool or make a fuss
Keeping his feelings withheld deep inside
Somewhere below the surface, somewhere they could hide

Was it real, did the pair of you almost share a moment back in 2005?
Although he wasn’t feeling confident that he could be the prize
The one you really wanted, maybe that night?
Would it have really been so wrong, as you turned off your light?

Just a quick kiss on the cheek after he walked you home
He never wanted you to go it alone
Did the two of you ever come close, but not close enough?
He always thought of you, that you were out of his league
He didn’t think he was what you need

He recalls the night, you scored that date with another
The guy who turned out to be a joke
As you shared a laugh about it at the bar as you two, later spoke
He told you in not so many words that he always wanted you
But the timing was always wrong, there was nothing you both could do
Although maybe you both should have done
Maybe it would have been a lifetime of love, you both could have won?

Now some years have passed, they seem to go by so fast
And he still wonders if you felt the same?
Or was he just another face, just another name?
Would you have ever have grown close, close enough?
Made it through the storm when the going got tough?
How does it feel, Knowing that he still thinks about you?

Skelly Makaveli (c) 2010

Thursday, 1 July 2010

Words, Wide Night.

Words, Wide Night.

Somewhere, on the other side of this wide night
and the distance between us, I am thinking of you.
The room is turning slowly away from the moon.

This is pleasurable. Or shall I cross that out and say
it is sad? In one of the tenses I singing
an impossible song of desire that you cannot hear.

La lala la. See? I close my eyes and imagine the dark hills I would have to cross
to reach you. For I am in love with you

and this is what it is like or what it is like in words.

Carol Ann Duffy.