Kate Shrewsday went and blogged about the Canons of Westminster being deprived of Hyde Park by Henry VIII, so she takes the blame for this:
The Canon he was playing round;
Got Bishops up in arms
For lots and lots of girls, they found,
Kept falling for his charms.
Those Bishops had a meeting and
They called the lad to task:
‘To stop it, you must understand
Is not too much to ask?
‘The congregation isn’t there
For Canons to seduce;
It is bad form, we do declare,
This sexual abuse!’
The Canon, though, had got to like
His totting up of scores,
And so he sent them on their bike,
And also said, ‘Up yours!’
The Bishops then got very cross
When by these words inspired,
So raged, ‘Indeed, you’ll be no loss,
And, forthwith, you are fired!’
‘Oh really?’ said this naughty man,
‘Well, I am going to sue;
I’ll make you broke; I know I can -
This action you will rue!’
And sad to say that, as his word,
He was indeed as good;
Cleaned out, they squealed, ‘This is absurd!
We didn’t think he could!’
So this will clearly demonstrate
That you can but aspire
A lot of damage to create,
Loose Canons, if you fire.
And a re-working in rhyme of the old classic:
For queens who have a baby,
They fire a salute,
And for princesses, maybe,
Some guns they also shoot;
But if a nun should have one, though,
The situation’s dire;
They do not shoot a gun; oh no -
A Canon’s what they fire!
© Colonialist July 2013 (WordPress/blogs24)
To use ‘Contact us’ on this site
Is certainly not very bright –
The act of a loon!
Effectiveness that it will give
Equates with the use of a sieve
Instead of a spoon;
I’m sure a baboon
Could get things a great deal more right.
My message went into a void;
For an age nothing much could be hoid;
Just silence, instead;
Eventually one has come back:
Of sense having serious lack –
‘Deleted’, it said;
‘Without being read’;
No wonder one gets most annoyed!
© Colonialist June 2013 (24.com)
Adele was a bit of a freak;
One thing she did do well:
To make a meatball was her treek;
She called it Freak Adele.
And when she got up every morn
She’d make a sausage course;
And out of this habit there was born,
‘To go from bed to wors.’
Her siblings all fail to survive -
The plaits of them are neat;
Fried, dunked in syrup, they derive
A koeksuster sweet treat.
© February 2013 Colonialist (WordPress/Blogs24)
Commuters in Umlazi get
Put under lots of strains,
And to express displeasure set
Alight offending trains.
A bunch of this lot’s breth’ren stole
Some cable from the track
Which sends the signals up the pole
Until it gets put back.
The manual system that is used,
When current there is none,
Seems rather to have been abused -
For practice there was none.
And thus two trains met nose to nose,
With something of a crunch:
Collision which quite clearly shows
Some brains were out to lunch.
The blockages upon the line
Caused other trains to run
Extremely late; commuters whine
That waiting is no fun.
And so, they threw some rocks at trains -
Quite logical to do;
Much better than if one complains,
And exercises, too!
This didn’t seem to do the trick,
So next they did aspire
To show, of waiting, they were sick,
By setting trains on fire.
In Africa, if horse won’t go
Because it has a fetter,
You simply kill it with one blow
To get it going better.
© January 2013 Colonialist (WordPress/Blogs24)
Harmony has posted a series of drawings by Trevor Romain vividly depicting some of the things one might remember from growing up many years ago in the suburbs of Johannesburg and ‘The Witwatersrand’.
The one above includes a place which holds a special place in our hearts. The Doll House. This was a scene of visits when driven there by parents, and later over a number of years it saw us in all the stages of growing up from teenage to young adulthood.
It was there that I passed out after having been dared to do a ‘boat race’ or ‘down-down’ on half a bottle of whiskey after many other drinks at a work party. Fortunately my girlfriend, after wondering if the corpse would ever be revived, and how she could drive my sports car home when her feet wouldn’t even reach the pedals, recognised a cousin’s boyfriend as a late visitor to the roadhouse.
He was also far gone, but sobered up immediately when he saw me. He drove me home in my car while girlfriend drove his. Then I was marched up and down outside before being injected into the front door. I woke up the next morning with no memory of the party or its aftermath and a hangover from hell. I didn’t touch a drink for a good couple of years after that!
Surprisingly, that girlfriend didn’t dump me, and the Doll House saw many more visits from us over the years of our courtship and engagement.
In due course, when we were visiting it as newlyweds, all we had to do was draw up and a minute or so afterwards two Cokes, in glasses for dipping, and three ‘Frozen Dolly’ ice creams, would be delivered to our window. I would be dipping two-handed. One Frozen Dolly would be slurped by me and the other held over my shoulder where our Siamese, Thai, would be sitting on the backrest telling me loudly to get a move on with it.
I can imagine the howls of protest at the thought of feeding a cat Coke and ice cream, but he loved it as passionately as we did, and showed no signs of not thriving. He went everywhere with us, and he gave me the inspiration for my character Tabika’s dog-riding exploits when he rode a notorious cat-killing German Shepherd, who had escaped from confinement and come looking for trouble, all the way down the road, digging pins energetically into its back and hindquarters. The dog was so petrified it left a trail of … ahem!
After that Thai would often sit on the gatepost, head moving from side to side as he hopefully looked for any more dogs to chase or ride.
Anyway, a less pleasant memory of the Doll House was when we ran our budget too tight, and I went to work in the kitchen for a while wearing glassless spectacles and a false moustache – my employers frowned on moonlighting. It was extremely hard work, and without the tips enjoyed by the front line staff was poorly paid.
Nevertheless I look back on that roadhouse with great fondness.
Thanks for the inspiration, Harmony!
© January 2013 Colonialist (WordPress/Letterdash)
It can be extremely vexic
When I tend to be lysdexic -
If you ask for Pentas seeds
I may bring you centipedes.
Should you say the chores need doing,
You would find the doors I’m chewing
And if asked to warm a fish,
I might simply form a wish.
You would find I’d bought a wattle
When the list said water bottle;
And if told, ‘You! Listen here!’
I’d respond with hiss and leer.
If you wanted scones, well battered,
All you’d get is bones, well scattered;
And, instead of eating grapes,
You would find me greeting apes.
Don’t ask me for stunt that’s cunning –
The response might send your running;
Also, not to fry a tart
While inside; it isn’t smart!
She gets food; I see her nanny …
Hang on! This is getting ban-ny!
I must back off quite a bit,
Lest I get to shuck or fit.
© January 2013 Colonialist (WordPress/Blogs24)
January 11, 2013 in Really Awful Rhyme
While it is heartening to see
This site still has survival,
Suppose it far too much would be
To hope for an arrival
Of all the vast activity
In days of yore that we would see –
And it is quite a mystery
It suffers such deprival.
© January 2013 Colonialist (Blogs24)