The Subaltern's Swansong

- a rewrite of John Betjeman's The Subaltern's Love Song 

Young Duncan H Dunn was the subaltern's son
Born then withdrawn when the courting was won
Conceived in the back of the subaltern's car
His dad had not planned on it going so far

Hot Flush

by Donna How-I'm-Gonna-Cope-Come Summer

Sittin' here sweatin' my heart out waitin'
Waitin' for my temperature to fall
Tried about a thousand remedies lately
Want to bash my head on the wall

The Girl from Clapham

Ever wondered what Squeeze's Up The Junction might look like from the woman's point of view?

I never knew it was Gordon
The guy who came from Morden
His face was cute and handsome
So that's when we began some
Adventure most romantic
Impassioned snogging antics
He said I wasn't common
His chat-up lines were rotten

Sunday Times: Janine is a "self-identified Marxist socialist-feminist"

Janine Booth Sunday Times 4 February 2018

<Sarcasm alert> Today, in an astonishing piece of investigative journalism, the Sunday Times shocks the world with the revelation, based entirely on material already in the public sphere, that I am really quite left wing and that other left-wing members of a left-wing party do not object to this. Whatever next, I ask?!

Click the pic for the full and shocking details ...

Don't You Want Me, Henry?

You were flirting with a racist in a cocktail bar
When I met you
I picked you up, I turned and you walked out on your wife
It really was quite easy to do
Then two months later on my racist texts were exposed
Embarrassing as fuck for you
But don't forget that UKIP put you where you are now
And they can put you back down too

Requiem for Carillion

Once Thatcher sold our silver for a song
Our telephones, our water, power and steel
The vultures were not satisfied for long
They wanted snacks to follow up their meal

The public body's stripped, its clothes torn off it
So next they chopped its limbs off piece by piece
And tossed them to the hounds that sought to profit
And let the corporate speculators feast

Busted

Carillion’s
Made its billions
Now its debt is so big, its account’s in vermillion
With coldness reptilian
It dumps on civilians
Rides off into sunset; the Tories ride pillion
If it were not so serious, it would be vaudevillian

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