Tag Archives: Poetry

Post No. 17 in which things go from bad to verse


Hello. I’m back

Those 2b leads were a long time coming. I’ll have to find a shop a bit closer to home.

In times of domestic upheaval and malcontent, I’ve always found it best to get your revenge in first. Although this is a hollow and short-lived victory, inevitably followed by total annihilation, it can offer a shred of comfort to a no-win situation.

So without further ado, here’s one called:

My Wife




My wife’s a lazy bastard

She never does a tap

And now I think she’s mastered

The twenty four hour nap

I’m looking at her now

Snoozing in a chair

A half eaten doughnut on her lap

And greasy matted hair

She’s a mistress of inaction

The children think she’s dead

But I’m sure I saw a reaction

When a fruit gum hit her head

The ironing’s piled up six feet high

The sink is full of pots

The kids are chasing round after a fly

And they’re caked in grime and snot

The carpet needs a hoover

The cupboards are bare of essentials

But she’s just out to prove her

Feminist credentials

It’s a classic case of brinkmanship

It’s her or else it’s me

The house is like a fucking tip

And I’d love a cup of tea

The bedrooms could do with fettle

But who’ll be blinking first

What? Me fill up the kettle?

I’d rather die of thirst


Well there you go.

Please don’t think me bitter or sexist. I know I’m just as bad and like I said, hollow and short-lived followed by crushing defeat (more of which next time).


Post No. 15 : In which Johnny gets a bit fed up of the radio


Hello again

“Tell me people am I going insay-yay-yane” a Black Sabbath classic.

Well that’s a definite yes from me Ozzy. Over to you Shazza.

The thing that’s driving me insay-yay-yane at the moment is listening to radio shows with phone-in, text-in, facebook-in, twit-in, twat-in, sections discussing the hot topics of the day.

The main protagonists appear to be middle class, middling age personages who always manage to slide “When I was at yooni…” into the conversation. The other mob are largely made up of doddering reactionaries who, while slightly more endearing, are no less idiotic. They all share an unshakeable certainty in themselves and their opinions and a total lack of self-awareness.

Why do these people feel a need to spray their self-important diatribe all over the territory of the unsuspecting listener?

“Ah” you may say “But isn’t that what you do with your stupid blog?”

Well yes, that may be true but in my defence I’m quite confident that hardly anybody reads this stuff so the impact and discomfort caused will be minimal compared to a radio show with millions of listeners.

Here’s one called:

Dear Jeremy Vine


Dear Jeremy Vine
I think we ought to hang the swine

 We need a government with some clout
To kick these awful gippos out

 In my day we’d rather spend twelve hours shovelling shit
Than claim a penny in benefits

The way to beat the Taliban
Is to let the tyres down on their van

There’s a message just come through on twitter
It’s from Pete. He’s angry and bitter
About Birmingham council’s stated intent
To give the immigrants cheaper rent.

The reason the economy is up the creek
According to a memo on wiki-leaks
Is that Gordon Brown, so we’re told
Sent all our reserves to Cash for Gold.

E-mail Vine@bbc
Here’s one about the E.E.C
We beat the Germans in the war
Now they’re taking over through our back door
Some of them seem pretty decent chaps
But I’m still not sure I could trust the Japs.

I’ve heard you go on about doctors rotas
Government cuts and fishing quotas
But the issue that really drives me barmy
Is should trannies be allowed to join the Army
I’ve nothing against them and I’m sure they’re courageous
But their camouflage paint will take them ages.

Now we’ve got Alice on the line
A care assistant from Blaydon-on-Tyne
Hello Jeremy it’s about the woman who put that cat in a bin
I’ve checked in the Bible and it isn’t a sin
I know this type of behaviour shocks
And God would be pissed if she’d binned an ox.

And lastly an e-mail from someone called John
He says why do you let these nob heads on
They talk a load of tommy rot
They should be rounded up and fucking shot.

Well that’s that  for now. The pictures are getting a bit sketchy so I’ll be back when my 2b leads eventually arrive

Post 14: In which Johnny goes shopping


Hello again

Here’s another one.

This one’s about toys and it’s imaginatively titled:

Toys R Us


I’ve just made a trip to Toys R Us
The car’s not taxed so I went on the bus
A bit cautious I hear some of you say
But I tell you, you can’t be too careful these days
And I don’t want some nosey busy bod
Texting my details off to the plod

 After what seemed to me like an endless trek
I was met by a twenty foot poster of Shrek
Inside the door there was one even bigger
And I threaded my way to the action figures
The aisle was untidy, in fact it was messy
I tripped over boxes of Woody and Jessie

 I’m looking for something I can afford
My son wants a Retrofire Megazord
I find one on the second shelf
It’s not something I’d have picked myself
Fifteen quid! My eyelids bat
For a lump of gaudy plastic tat
It looks like it could have somebody’s eye it
Says age 4+ so like a twat I buy it

Now I’m wondering if this is this the worst toy ever
Recommended age? It should say never

 I started to trawl through rest of the junk
There’s a Randy Orton and a CM Punk
At a tenner a pop it’s plenty to pay
And to be honest these wrestlers all look a bit gay

There’s Transformers and Mega Blocs Daleks and Droids
I feel like I’m staring out into the void
I stand there and squint I take my specs from my jacket
Unpronounceable names in unopenable packets
That new range from Lego’s a bit hit and miss
But the guys from Bakugan are taking the piss
Ziperators in green, Zukanators in red
This stuff was conceived in an idiot’s head

I spotted a guy in a Toys R Us hat
I shouted him over, said what the fuck’s that?
He said I think it’s some plastic they spilled on the floor
And they’ve called it a Dragonoid Battle Star

There’s a bin full of discounted Pokemen
Star Wars figures and one from Ben 10
Benwolf his alien mate with five legs
The question then gets on it’s knees and it begs

 Why do our children like all this shite
And how do the marketers sleep well at night.
Would kids really believe that the world was in danger
If we melted down their Power Rangers
And whatever happened to Grandads in sheds
Knocking out scooters and cute doll’s house beds

 Later that evening I got a bit bored
And started to play with my boy’s Megazord
As I sat there I developed a plan
A fight to the death with my own Action Man.

Well that’s that for now.

Back soon with some more tripe about a radio phone in show.

Post No. 13 In which religion, science & money collide


Hello again.

Well that poem a day lark didn’t work out very well did it ?

I’ve often been accused of being profligate but no-one can ever call me prolific.

That last post was around Easter time, now it’s Ramadan and I can’t eat during the hours of daylight.
I’m not a Muslim, it’s just that I’m broke and have to wait until it gets dark before I can break into the local pie shop.
If I ever make some money from being an artist I’m going to spend it on drawing lessons.

That little intro brings us nicely onto today’s topic : Religion v Science.

It seems that the bien-pensants of the day like to treat anyone who believes in religion as some sort of  anachronistic dunce. It’s all Darwin this, Nietzsche that and Dawkins the other.
How they express their disdain depends on what their opponent happens to be carrying at the time. If it’s a hymn book and a packet of custard creams then they will unleash the full force of their anti-religion diatribe. If it’s a kalashnikov and a bushy beard, they tend to choose their words more carefully (and quietly).  Now there’s an idea for the General Synod.

No.  I wouldn’t advocate violence, agnosticism is a very peaceful religion.
Although I don’t  know whether or not I am an agnostic.

One thing I would like to ask the evolutionists is when did stuff stop turning into other stuff ?
I’ve seen pictures of people, animals and plants from ages ago and they all look the same as what we have now.
When did fish decide to stop coming out of the sea and walking about?
Did one of them catch sight of prehistoric man’s gas bill and think fuck this I’m going to keep my cold blood and take my chances with Captain Birdseye.
Scientists do lots of  cool things but one thing they are not good at is, after spending years of research and then theorizing in depth about a subject for which there is no empirical proof,  admitting they don’t actually know for sure. They just stamp their feet, embellish their findings and call non-believers idiots.
Just as religions deviate from moral guidance and alms for the poor into supernatural speculation for which, again there is no cast iron evidence.

So what do we do?
The scientists have never found the missing link (although my missus would disagree) and the religious brigade have never proved the existence of even one of the many Gods on offer.

Here’s Johnny with a tale of Biblical proportions about three likely lads who have decided to hedge their bets in:

Down the Collider


I went out for a drink with Richard Branson
At All Bar One in Notting Hill Gate
He was with Laskshmi Mittal and Bernie Ecclestone
They turned up over half an hour late
Branson went to the bar and got them in
He said what’s yours I said I’ll have a cider
I said you’re fucking late Dickie where have you been
He said we’ve just been down the collider

I said what’s that then a lap dancing bar
Where the girls all go round on skates
He said no it’s actually outside Geneva
They make particles accelerate.

We sat by the window the lads and me
It was too cold to sit outside
They were going on animatedly
About making protons and stuff collide

A Sally Army girl gave us a paper
War Cry I’ve not seen that in a while
Bernie got an attack of the vapours
On his face was a maniac smile
Look at this! He nearly choked on his beer
His little body was shaking with mirth
Somebody’s put in this article here
That the meek shall inherit the earth.

We started to talk about formula one
Tivo boxes and QPR
By this time most of our drinks had gone
So I went to the bogs then the bar
I got Bernie and me a pint of beer
Laskshmi and Dickie had Chateau Laffite
I thought fuck me you don’t get much change in here
As I made my way back to my seat

When I returned the guys were on
With much of that same old chatter
About Higgs bosons and synchrotrons
And the rearrangement of matter

I said come on now boys give us a break
I’ve only been gone for a minute
I’ve hardly had time to give the old lad a shake
And you buggers are straight back in it
We were talking about Jensen and Hamilton
And what happened down at Queens Park
Now it’s quantum mechanics and tevatrons
And bloody.. fucking.. quarks

I know you find it interesting but
It’s stuff that I don’t understand
They said go and fetch us a packet of nuts
And we’ll let you in on our plan

The nuts were some expensive brand
I had to pay by credit card
And there was Branson chalk in hand
Writing on the menu board
He drew some circles with lines at an angle
Some dots and some random letters
I said listen Dick my brain’s in a tangle
And I don’t understand it no better
We went back to the table and huddled around
And spoke in conspiracy tones
Bernie said right lads let’s lay our cards down
And get straight into the bones

It’s like this Johnny we’ve got lots of money
These two boys and myself done alright
You’d think with such wealth that our outlook was sunny
But there’s something disturbs us at night.
It’s not only us three that’s in on this game
And I can only give you the gist
It wouldn’t be right to start naming names
But just check out the Forbes richest list.

Between us we own quite a big part
Of the free world’s financial resources
Some spend it on houses some spend it on art
And the arabs just waste it on horses
Throughout the globe our tentacles spread
Our spoilt brat children are wanting for nowt
We control all the media from here to NZ
We have influence and political clout

We’ve mansions and cars and diamonds and gold
We’ve got governments tucked up in our pocket
And if we get bored we can boldly go
For a ride in Dick Branson’s space rocket.
Our banking brothers who took such huge risks
With ordinary people’s money
Are unchastened and still taking the piss
If weren’t so tragic it’d be funny
Everyone knows they should be banged away
But they’re not because we’ve bought off the plod
And now the only thing that stands in our way
Is the sacred word of God

We go out for tea at the Bombay Brasserie
We get Harrods to stay open late
But what troubles us is that we don’t have a key
To get through the heavenly gates

I’m thinking what the fuck’s he on about
And staring down into my ale
This is when Bernie buts out
And Laskshmi takes over the tale

I can see that you’re thinking what’s this got to do
With particle beams quarks and protons
I tell you that I was mystified too
Until I spent half a day down the Hadron
What these people can do with atoms and shit
Would blow your mind away
They gave us a demonstration of it
Way back in the middle of May

They stood us behind this metal screen
Then they vaporised a fly
They shot out some sort of laser beam
And it reappeared right in front of our eyes
It flew straight out of the contraption
And landed on the wall
I checked it to see if any damage was done
There seemed to be fuck all
Now I’d heard about these experiments
But for me this was the decider
We made a deal right there and then
To rent this Hadron collider

I know that old Bernie here likes to digress
To waffle and elaborate
But we’ve been checking up on the boffins’ progress
And that’s why we showed up late
What we want is achievable there’s no doubt
They’ve already done it with mice
We told them to get their finger out
We need it finished before Bernie dies

Now not a word about this on your blogs or your tweets
If you do we’ll just sue you for libel
I’m telling you Johnny this fucker is sweet
We’ve gone and outsmarted the Bible
You can’t imagine what this breakthrough will mean
To the immoral the greedy and craven
The good news for those whose wealth is obscene
Soon the rich man will get into heaven

It’s cost us a fortune it’s drained every cent
We’ve cajoled we’ve had to haggle and wheedle
But at the end of the day it will be money well spent
When we shoot a camel through the eye of a needle

Well would you credit it. The cheeky devils.


National Poetry Month : Poem 5


Well it looks like I’ve failed miserably with my one a day challenge but I suppose it’s better than one a year.

Thanks to  all the people who are following this blog.

I must issue a word of warning that some of the posts will contain language that some people may find offensive. I try to keep it to a minimum and in context but sometimes it just has to go in and I wouldn’t like anyone to be offended or taken by surprise when they see it’s not all about bunny rabbits and pussy cats (oops).  I will try and have a proper home page one day.

I don’t think there’s any swearing in today’s offering.

So Maggies gone.
Far be it from me to diss the recently departed, but as everyone and their grandmother seem to be offering some sort of critique, measured or otherwise, I might as well throw in my two pennyworth.

Before we start I would like to point out that I find the organised celebrations of  Baroness Thatcher’s death unedifying. In fact totally disgraceful. However the syrupy platitudes are also disingenuous if not totally dishonest.

I suppose that her lasting legacy is that the country is now subject to the whims of psychopathic spiv bankers and foreign conglomerates. Sold off and sold out.
One of the more disturbing consequences is the way the police now deal with legitimate protest by employing intimidation and indiscriminate violence . I was at Orgreave and saw what really happened and how the media and television news twisted the facts. A few years later and just a few miles away 96 football supporters, men, women and children, died as direct result of this new “let’s get tough on the plebs” policy for crowd control engineered or at least encouraged by Thatcher. Again the facts were falsified by the police and the media with collusion by Mrs T herself.

Maybe the people celebrating Thatcher’s demise should save some of their ire for the duplicitous Tony Blair who had every opportunity to right some of the wrongs done to the communities he claimed to represent. He didn’t and even went so far as to multiply the body count exponentially by becoming involved in another war which could have and should have been stopped before it started.

I’ve tried to look for something positive to say but as far as I can see, the only good thing she ever did was to abolish that awful school milk.

So with apologies to the late great Burl Ives and the late, and perhaps not so great, Maggie Thatcher here’s:

There Was an Old Country That Swallowed a Lie

There was an old lady who was a Prime Minister
Until her own party finished her
She was a Prime Minister

 She became a Prime Minister to stop the kid’s milk
Of Tory ilk
She stopped the kid’s milk

 She became a Prime Minister to punish the workers
She thought they were shirkers
So she punished the workers

Perhaps she’ll die

 There was an old lady who was a Prime Minister
Her agenda was sinister
When she was Prime Minister

 She became a Prime Minister to sell council houses
Selling off houses is what she espouses
For this she was blessed with plaudits and thanks
For putting more folks in the pockets of banks

 She became a Prime Minister to shut down the mines
Leaving communities lagging behind
Their counterparts in the prosperous south
Generations hand to mouth

 She became a Prime Minister to sell people shares
In industries that were already theirs
The next day the rich men just hoovered them up
The public couldn’t believe their luck
A washing machine or a fortnight in Spain
Thirty years later we’re feeling the pain

 She became a Prime Minister and took the Falklands back
Put hundreds of men in body sacks
News of casualties made her cry

Perhaps she’ll die

 There was an old lady who was a Prime Minister
Megalomania diminished her
When she was Prime Minister

 She became a Prime Minister to court the U.S.
Dancing with Ron in her best party dress
America was happy to nurture this bond
For as long as we housed all their nuclear bombs

 She became a Prime Minister when Britain was flagging
Gave Johnny Frenchie a right good handbagging
But if you look closely the evidence shows
That she sold off our country from under our nose

 She became a Prime Minister to empower the police
To bring the miners down to their knees
Once famous for fairness and total neutrality
Now driven to acts of naked brutality
Impunity for the thick blue line
She bribed them with hours of overtime
This was their culture now not a quick fix
And it led to the deaths of the ninety-six

Perhaps she’ll die

 There was an old lady who was a Prime Minister
And they all try to mimic her
Even Labour Prime Ministers

 She became a Prime Minister to set an example
For all those that followed but oh what a sample
They try in vain to follow her lead
With a programme of asset-stripping and greed
Now the country is bankrupt and it’s going to get worse

She’s dead of course

 Well there you go. As they say it’s grim up north.

Back to the proper chronicles soon.

National Poetry Writing Month : Poem 3


Well its day 3 and I must admit I never thought I’d get this far.

The days are getting longer and the poems are getting shorter.

Here’s one called:

Korean up the Apocalypse


Kim Jong-il
Kim Jong very-il
Kim Jong die
Millions cry
Kim Jong’s son
Kim Jong-un
Mushroom clouds
Shops have no food
They only sell shrouds
He could be thinner
He looks like a boy who enjoys his dinner

Will we make it to day 4?  Not at this rate

National Poetry Writing Month : Poem 1



I’ve just heard about something called National Poetry Writing Month where you have to write a poem a day for all of April.  I don’t really know how this works so I’ll just shove some stuff in and see what happens.

I’m a day late starting and probably have no chance of keeping it up but here goes anyway.

We’ll kick off with a heart-rending little number called :

The Saddest Sound

I’ve heard the toll of a solitary bell
The cries of a kitten stuck down a well
My little girl with a poorly tummy
A baby whale that’s lost its mummy
The heart-breaking strains of someone sobbing
The screech when a cat got hold of a robin
The voice of a lover saying goodbye
The haunting howl of a lone wolf’s cry
A tearful toddler that’s over-tired
I’ve heard my boss tell me you’re fired
A favourite band’s new song with something lacking
The thin ice I’m walking on creaking and cracking
A drunk lamenting a wasted life
Silence from an angry wife
A wallflower weeping after the ball
But really the saddest sound of all
The one that stops me dead in my tracks
Is the sound of a pound in an auto vac

Well that’s the first one. Better get off and do another to try and catch up.

Post No. 7 : In which Johnny goes on a date with a super-model


Hello again. It seems like ages since I’ve posted anything  which is probably because it is ages. Must try and do better for my reader.

The best advice I’ve ever been given, is to always look for an unattractive girlfriend. There are two very good reasons for this:
1. She is unlikely to leave you
2. If she does leave you, you won’t be that bothered.

The worst piece of advice I’ve ever been given is to “Just be yourself”.

On with todays offering.
I was going to start with some rambling diatribe about good-looking people getting all the attention and breaks in life but it’s very late and I’m sure people don’t reckon much to that bit of the post anyway. So straight in with Johnny’s latest tale of woe in a cautionary story about:

Naomi Campbell

clithero 016

I once had an affair with Naomi Campbell
Well I say an affair it was more of a fumble
I think that I caught her in a bit of a lull
And just happened to be there when she was out on the pull

She was wearing a pendant made from a blood diamond
Said she had an apartment somewhere near Richmond
She gave me her number and we arranged a date
She said don’t turn up early and don’t turn up late

When I got there she said that she fancied some grub
So we set off to seek out a nice gastro pub
As we strode up the road it was just like a dream
I felt like the cat who had taken the cream
She was drawing admiring glances from men
And I wanted to snog with her right there and then
She had on these hot pants with white ankle socks
And I dragged her into a telephone box

She’d just had a cold and was still a bit phlegmish
I looked at her face and noticed a blemish
I said darling I think you have a teeny-weeny spot
She said how dare you, you bastard I fucking do not
She ripped the pay-phone off from the wall
Smashed it on my head then kicked in my balls

While I sat there waiting in A and E
I thought that just about fucking does it for me
And as the nurse wrapped a bandage around my noddle
I swore to keep clear of super-models

Well that’s it for this one pop-pickers but we’ll be back before you know it with some more rubbish in a similar vein

Post No. 6 (In which Johnny becomes annoyed by show off celebs collecting for charity)


Hello everybody.

A big thanks to the people who have read, liked and followed my stuff so far. 

I noticed many years ago when Thatcher sold off all the council houses, that the first thing that the people who bought them did, was to re-paint the front door in some bright gloss as far away on the colour wheel as it was possible to get from the councils drab tones. Maybe a gold letter-box, an ornate door knocker and a trendy, indecipherable number. This was to show the outside world that they were no longer council house plebs but bona fide property owners on the up with aspirations, kudos and money. So fuck you.
In a similar vein when someone makes a load of cash these days, the first thing they do is install a shiny new fifty grand (minimum) set of ultra-brite white teeth. You see them nearly every day on such as Dragons Den, X-Factor, The Apprentice etc, clicking away like a coked-up crocodile while bullying the fuck out of some hapless wannabee.
Do they have to be so big? Do they have to be so white? Do they have to be so menacing?
Little Red Riding Hood wouldn’t have a prayer.

Anyway on with today’s topic… Charity
Or rich people  showing off by publicly giving ridiculous amounts on radio or television, dwarfing the efforts of those who have to actually do something to raise a bit of cash.
The adoration and veneration of the obscenely rich, mainly by each other, is quite prevalent these days and it seems to be gaining popularity in the world of the charity-a-thon. First you hear of terrible poverty and deprivation, in England of all places, and by the way didn’t Mr Gladstone put a stop to all that in the 1800s, then they play a record, then some chirpy fucker from the Home Counties comes on the phone who just happens to have £140,000! to spare to play a game of golf with a D-list dickhead.

Here’s Johnny with…

Children in Need

I’ve been priced right out of children in need
I heard it on the wireless
It’s not for the likes of you and me
In fact they couldn’t care less
About the ordinary Joe with his pound or two
To boost the target figure
They’re just interested in the rich folks who
Will offer something bigger
I’ve ran fun runs dressed up like a clown
And carrying a bucket
But the BBC has let me down
So now I just say fuck it

There’s Wogan and Evans going on
About themselves and their wealthy mates
Thousands for a session with Gok Wan
So why should I donate
No Mr Evans I don’t have the means
To drive in your Ferrari
So I’ll just sit in a bath of beans
While you bathe yourself in glory

One forty K for a round of golf
It’s staggering. It’s crackers
Now there’s not much point in German Rolf
Waxing his chest and knackers
The forty-two pounds from the local brass band
Starts to look a little shabby
When someone else pays thirty grand
To walk round Downton Abbey

The kids on the street have been baking cakes
They’ve been selling them for ages
But what difference will their pittance make
When what for most is three years wages
Is laid down on a whim by Tony from Tring
He’s a hedge fund bloke or a banker
He gets to hear Sir Tom Jones sing
And drink champagne with a wanker

I may be being expedient
But would it do me any good
To claim tax relief on ingredients
For the world’s biggest yorkshire pud

Many of you will see this rant
As laced with spite and envy
And to be honest I don’t understand
What brought about this frenzy
Was I annoyed by Chris Evans
Being in my vicinity
Where others saw benevolence
I could only see obscenity
Perhaps the crowing ginger nut
Put my nose right out of joint
And he’s raised a lot of money but
Have we somehow missed the point
So Britain’s no longer a super power
I think on that we’re agreed
But surely a country as rich as ours
Shouldn’t have children in need

Well it’s been very nice to have this talk
But now I have to leave you
I’m off to do a sponsored walk
Done up like a fucking Emu


Blimey is that the time!

Post No. 5 (in which Johnny misunderstands a policeman)


Hello Peeps.

No preamble or disjointed ramble today.

Just a shorty called….

Stopped by a Cop


I got stopped by a cop the other day
He said I’d driven through a red
He said where are you going anyway
I said I’m going home to bed
He said I haven’t got my breathalyzer gear
It’s at the station with my stab proof vest
But I suspect that you have had a beer
So you can do a little test
Walk down the road as far as those lights
And keep to a straight line
I reckon you’ve had at least five pints
You’ll get a ban and a fuck-off fine
I set off he said what’s your name
I said John, what’s yours he said Ralph
He shouted out You’re staggering
I said thanks… you’re quite handsome yourself

Back soon with some more stuff