In a room full of academics

Lost souls and cyanide

Is all there ever is

In that room of preponderance

At least the librarian

Was worth talking with

Enticingly shy

Comely lass

Pity she looks down

Rather than wear scarlet

But then who am I to pass judgement?

Certainly no back-peddling genius

Give me the company

Of harlots and gambling men

Then I shall paint you

A masterpiece



Cleopatra’s much fabled derriere – surely it cannot be!

Originally posted on The League Of Mental Men:


“Whatcha got there then H?”

“This Ron me old mucker is nothing less than a snap of the sand sculpture of Cleopatra’s much fabled rear end taken shortly after that tragic moment with the asp back in the day – a sort of death mask for the her fabulous (albeit subjectively) harris if you like to name it thus.”

“Where did you find that then H?”

“Interesting you should ask Ron for there I was having a jolly good rummage in the wheelie bins at the great pyramids in Egypt whilst holidaying there only last week with Mavis – who I might add cannot boast an arse such as this in part or at all the fat cow. Anyway the second I spotted it I knew in an instant that this was special. In short I’m popping up to The British Museum with it this very afternoon to get it…

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“Nice to see you again Frank. Sorry for the wait I’ve had more clients in here today than you could shake a bloody hair dryer at. Anyway what can I do for you today mate?”

“Ted don’t give me that old flannel. You only do the bloody ‘pudding basin.’  As you yourself have pointed out on many an occasion if it’s not a ‘pudding basin’ your level of hairdressing skills are insufficient thereby limiting your bouffant variations to just the one. Your salon is I might add ‘pudding basin’ central no less – not even a hint of short back and sides!  Plainly, armed with such knowledge I am here for my usual ‘pudding basin’ as that is the very style of cut I, as I have for this past decade, had you do for me.”

“True Frank, true. Just thought it would be polite to ask….you know manners and all that. Anyway how’s the wife’s gash?”

“Pardon me…….oh right I’m with you now. Fine Ted it’s completely healed over now – thanks for asking.”

“Do what? Crikey mate has it been that long. Must leave you short changed on the old conjugal front so to speak?”

“Not at all. I mean to say she had one hell of an open wound upon her.  Talk of the town it was yet thankfully the surgeons were able, by using the wonders of micro surgery, to stitch together the torn flesh running the entire length of her thigh following the shark attack off Bondi Beach whilst we were holidaying in Oz last summer.”

“Where you off to on holiday this year then? Oh hold up for two ticks whilst I place upon your bonce this ceramic pudding basin thereby allowing for a balanced and even cut…..sorry back to your holiday.”


“Well after last year’s debacle we thought we’d play safe and holiday in a caravan down Camber Sands way. I’ll let the wife grab hold of me rod and tackle and teach her a thing or two.”

“Blow me down with moulding putty I didn’t think anything like that was allowed at a caravan park – sounds ever so Bohemian. Sounds worse than dogging to me.”

“What are you on about Ted? I’m going to teach the old trout the ins and outs of sea fishing, nothing more.”

“Right Frank that’s you done. Best check it out in the mirror. By the way are you desireth of a little something for the weekend if you know what I mean?”

“No mate you can take it as read I’ll be mowing the lawn.”

For what it may be worth we have more lunacy at the Soz Satire collaboration;


As well as an online magazine at;



STAPLE MY TONGUE TO A GATE POST – A piece of ‘silly’ verse!


Staple my tongue to a gate post,

For it is my fatal flaw,

My tongue you see talks instead of me,

And that’s not what it’s for.


My tongue should obey my command,

Not let loose on its own,

My tongue should learn to be polite,

And never make me groan.


We were comrades in arms once my tongue and I,

Yet we had a falling out you see,

And now my tongue it doth decry,

All that I hold dear to me.


It has become an unwelcome guest,

That tests my very sanity,

To the extent that on occasions,

It gives rise to profanity.


My tongue used to be my virtue,

At no task would it scoff,

But now it just annoys me,

So I shall cut the bastard off!






This is one I made earlier for the Soz Satire collaboration that is THE LEAGUE OF MENTAL MEN! Drivel? Certainly – Good drivel – Lord only knows!

Originally posted on The League Of Mental Men:


“Well what you got there then H?”

“Ron my friend I am so glad you’ve turned up for I can hardly contain my excitement. I do believe that following a hard days rummaging in the public lavatory in North Cheam I have come across the legendary snapshot of Mother Teresa on the occasion of her 28th. birthday bash no less! Cop a gander at this; it will blow your mind. She’s the bird on the right by the way.”

“Don’t look much like Mother Teresa to me mate – anyway where’s her legendary sandals? I’ve heard tell she even slept in them. I personally think you’re barking up the wrong tree here H.”

“Ah, but that’s just it Ron. Her passion for sandals didn’t take her fancy until much, much later in life.”

“How could you possibly know that H?”

“Raj down the Indian takeaway told me –…

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“I say Carruthers I do believe my knob’s just fallen orf!”

“Well I’ll be blowed old chap that must be a first for medical science. How on earth did that happen?”

“Lord knows. One minute it was there next a clunk as it hit the flooring with a wallop.”

“With a ‘clunk’ you say. Surely even a stallion’s knob would only make a dull thud of a noise. I do find the word ‘clunk’ a poor choice on your part. Should I call for assistance….an ambulance perhaps?”

“What are you on about? There I am beside myself with worry that my desk drawer will now not open thereby allowing me to remove from said drawer the top secret documents the PM has requested and now not a hope in hell of me gaining access.”

“Oh I see, you meant the knob thing on your desk drawer. I could call Perkins that maintenance chappie up from the basement. I feel sure that he will know what to do what with him being as common as muck and all that.”

“No point in that. Perkins does not have security clearance. And moreover I really cannot risk him copping a gander at the secret files and all can I? No a better plan is needed here.”

“Whatever paper does the old boy upstairs want then? Must be hideously important?”

“’Tis so I’m afraid to say. You see by our calculations should it prove to be the case that that awful nationalist Alex Salmond man from the Scottish province of this great English nation of ours achieve his long held desire for an independent Scotland it seems we will for all intents and purposes be left without an army.”

“Surely that cannot be the case.”

“Oh trust me on this one – I can assure you that it is very much the case for all our cannon fodder squaddie type low life soldiers, to a man, herald from the tenement’s of that hovel of a place Glasgow. True all of our officers are Surrey men born and bred but you really cannot for one moment expect them to actually fight Jonny Foreigner should the shit hit the fan. Plainly Surrey men are far too important for any of that malarkey. The thing is all the bleddy facts and figures are in that damn top secret document.”

“I see your dilemma now. How on earth will we ever go to war without a legion of sweaties* to die and get maimed on our behalf. Difficult one I would say – dashed difficult.”

“It gets even worse than that, for the PM is rightly concerned that the Scots may upon gaining independence actually have the temerity to invade us – and there’s us without a fighting man to our name. Bit of a worry I can tell you.”

“God if that lot invaded we would all likely be eating deep fried Mars Bars before you could say Jack Robinson – or should I say MacRobinson.”

“No laughing matter I’m afraid to say. It’s a risk I know yet my secretary Tiffany is a practical gal and although without the proper clearance I think I’ll take a risk and get her to sort this bleddy desk out. Perhaps we could go for a snifter at the club whilst she sets about the task?”

“What a jolly good idea. By the way is Tiffany still dating that Russian diplomat fellow as well as the Home Secretary?”

“Do you know I believe she is the naughty girl. Still she is but young and personally I cannot see anything wrong with her sowing her wild oats thus.”

  • A ‘SWEATIE’ is rhyming slang for the Scots in case you did not know.

For more satire of a similarly piss poor standard take a gander at;


And, I am writing for a sozsatire collaborative ‘blog’ The League of Mental Men along with Sir Daniel Aloysius Soz 7th. Earl of Whitechapel & The Squire of Hayling Island aka Gary Ronaldo Hoadley. 


Today sees the introduction of THE THOUGHTS OF HARRY PRATT THE RUMMAGING OLD TWAT featured thereon! Harry is a good old soul you will maybe like!



Lunacy I say…..utter lunacy no less!

Originally posted on The League Of Mental Men:


“What’s your poison today Lenny?”

“Well today landlord I shall be quaffing the drinking man’s ‘light and bitter’ namely that brew that is better known as a ‘Ram and Special.’ A 5 per cent alcohol cocktail of bottle and pump that constitutes the master brewers art at its very finest.”

“Right here’s your beer. By the way a terrible thing in the paper today Lenny….you know the tragedy of those poor Vietnamese boat people lost in the Pacific. Poor sods.”

“Too true Landlord. How I feel for them. Of course I have my own unique tale to tell of my bewildering time as a boat person trying to seek out a better life yet getting thwarted at every turn by the actions of the greedy and of those with little compassion in their souls. Awful it was; truly awful.”

“How so Lenny?”

“Well I was raised in a bivouac atop…

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‘VALHALLA’ – The Dream of Michael Gove


The 1960’s witnessed

The dying embers

Of a class driven

Education system

Where the rich

Whatever their

Academic attributes


The exceptionally gifted few

From the lower classes

Were awarded

Their chance in life


The rest were consigned

To the scrap heap

That was

The secondary modern

Education system


At such institutions

The offspring of masses

In number

Of the few

In power

Were ‘trained’

In blue-collar tasks




Kept fit

Made ready to be

The cannon fodder

Of hierarchy

Just in case


At 11 years of age


The vermin

Duly dispatched

To the Secondary Modern

A place of ‘learning’

A fair reflection

Of the inequitable

Ways of the time


The social revolution

That was to occur

Had not yet taken hold

Though its time was at hand


The Secondary Modern

Boys only

A place of strict

Sadistic discipline

Of inadequate facilities

And for an entirely

Impractical being

Like me

An institution akin

To an open prison


The assembled consignees

To this toxic


Waste dump

In significant part

Were embryonic thugs

Whose modus operandi

The perpetration

Of violent deeds

That is the way of things

When nothing is taught

Save for screwing in



Threat of

Corporal punishment

Meant little

To the hardy sons

Of the proletariat


Knife crime

Acts of savage violence


Or covered up

The levels of violence

Bettered anything since

By a country mile

When testosterone

Runs rampant

Threats of corporal punishment

Serves to increase

Not reduce

Those levels of violence



Italian variety

The weapons of choice

Every boy had one

The knuckle-duster


In regular playground use

Invariably premeditated

Net result

An uneducated populous


Michael Gove

Would have the clock

Turned back

To those days

He views as


The fool



“Watcha H nice to see you propping up the bar again – you’ve been a tad under the weather I’ve heard say?”

“Bloody right I have Landlord. First cause of my ailment was that some twat sneezed in me face in Lidl’s; next the germs past onto moi to incubate over a few days; then the manifestation of the commencement of a flu like virus by way of a sneeze and the final cause a head full of snot and a blinding fucking headache and temperature. I have truly had enough on the old causation front I can tell you!”

“Christ that was a stroke of misfortune H. Anyway the boys were actually hoping you had a bit of new philosophy to lay on them thus giving them a little food for thought twixt knocking back lager and the chucking of a few arrows. I suppose you don’t feel up to it right now?”

“On the contrary Landlord for I was overwhelmed with identifying the main factors in the process of potential realization whilst taking a swift Jimmy Riddle only a moment ago.”

“Oh yeah – spit it out then H.  Gather round chaps H has got a new one for us.”


“Right here we go, ‘The grape is mightier than the hop yet no match for the grain.’ How’s that then?”

“Blinder H, absolute blinder. Crikey I’ll be dining out on that little gem. Nice one. That’s right up there with last week’s one, remember, ‘The roots of lager are bitter, but the slurp is sweet.’ Don’t know how you do it I really don’t.”

“It’s a gift mate even though I say it myself. By the way has that twat Sid Harthur been in spouting off during the term of my recent absence? Can’t stand the bloke personally.”

“The thing is H he don’t speak too kindly of your good self and yes Sid was here the other dinner time giving the boys a brief précised version of his eightfold paths to enlightenment if you must know. I do however think that the guidelines for following a virtuous life was lost on them as it was ‘Topless Barmaid Wednesday’ and they were, to a man, pissed to the gunnels and as voyeuristic as common decency allows.”

“Good. Why don’t you just bar him for we really don’t want his sort in here do we?”

“Difficult one that H. You see I’ve spent a shed load on the green tea he knocks back and if I bar him I’m going to be stuck with it. Can’t see you favouring girlie green tea over the manly Germanic lagers you slip down.”

“Suppose I’ll have to put up with the tosser then. As I have often said myself, ‘No great lager has ever existed without a touch of green tea.’”

“How very true H; how very true – did you get that one boys?”

For what it may be worth I have launched a new character this very day, namely LENNY NOGGINS – LUNATIC ILLEGAL IMMIGRANT!  Lenny, should you wish to read on can be found at the soxzsatire collaboration I am writing with others at;


So, if you find The League of Mental Men ‘following’ you do not be overly concerned ‘tis just me; Sir Daniel Aloysius Soz 7th. Earl of Whitechapel & The Squire of Hayling Island aka Gary Ronaldo Hoadley.  

Whatever, Lenny is a good lad at heart and may one appear in the online ‘mag’ one fine day at;






On the clock of mortality


It was around this time

His dreams

Always vivid 

Oh so real

Since he lost

His very being

Now wholly consumed him

There was no longer

A borderline


Delusion from actuality


Not long now

Not long