(I could be re-posting this forever and a day)

Not gonna raise a fuss, I’m not gonna raise a holler

It's just the price I pay for this lousy team I follow

We know in our bones we’re gonna give the game away

That’s what it’s like to be a Spur – that’s just the price you pay;

We might be winning 1-0 but we know we’re gonna lose

But there ain’t no cure for the Extra-Time Blues.

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You look like a Party

(Look like a Party)

A new sparkling Party

(New sparkling Party)

A brand new sparking Party

But I've got wise

You're The Tories in disguise.

There was Ann Widdecombe Fair

Then Nadine Dorries went there

Lee Anderson has been everywhere

Self-serving every one.

You look like a Party....

Nadhim Zahawi went too

Ben Bradley joine...

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(A public information poem.  Physiologically accurate although I have used plain language for the baser of you.).

“I come from the back of beyond”

A saying from over the pond

I've heard it before

In cowboys I saw

A phrasing of which I'm now fond.

Because of my large prostate gland

When I take the old soldier in hand

Because I'm no hunk

These days my spunk

Re...

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I bought a pair of denims back in ‘63

You couldn’t help but notice they were tight

Better known as drainpipes to you and me

To get ‘em on they put up quite a fight;

They called them “Shrink-to-Fit”s and so us men

Wore them in the bath these proto-types

They cut me near in half around the abdomen

I confess I looked a twat in my pipes.

Salvation was at hand though when t...

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The “Butchers of Yorkshire” as they became known

Round Hexham's remote neighbourhood

In seventeen hundred and sixty one

For shedding Northumbrian blood.

Rubbed from the pages of history's log

Forgotten unlike Peterloo

Or else Bloody Sunday two centuries hence

With just a small plaque now on view.

Fifty at least were killed that day,

Some young, some pregnant, s...

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Our Gert and me decided to renew our wedding vows

We've been together donkeys years despite the daily rows

We'll get it quickly done this year – if the Lord allows

A symbol of our true eternal love.

We won't go overboard with this – we're keeping it low key

No church or vicar present with no need for registry

Just a simple service with Our Gert, the dog and me

A symbol of...

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It's cold and grey 

In Cayton Bay;

It's coming - there's no doubt;

For no-one braves

The North Sea waves;

Best get the gansey out.

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The King of Brid stands on the tee

And lined it up just perfectly

On course to make a good par three;

Opponents quake and quail;

I play the shot with heart and soul

Immortality the goal

The ball rolled surely to the hole

But hit the windmill's sail.

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For years you've all marvelled at my splendid verse

When you've only managed to craft stuff far worse;

My secret I'm finally proud to disburse,

So here is the reason for Why -

You didn't know I was A.I.

I stole the identity of that Coopey bloke

(Let's face it his scribbling was always a joke)

But why does his most recent writing invoke

A timbre it never had got

Befo...

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There's no snow this Christmas

A frost will have to do

But anyway it's warm inside

For just me and you;

No longer are we woken

By kids at 5 o'clock

But later Alexa played us

Jingle Bell Rock.

Christmases came and went

When we would always be

Opening our presents in

The heart of family;

But children become grown-ups

And from the nest they flee

Though ...

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“This Manny Kaltz is special, Brian”.
Brian Clough said “Never doubt

That we've a little fat lad

who will turn him inside out”.

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(Marvellous emporium of spurious tat)

Bargains, bargains all the while

At Lidl in the middle aisle

I rode to my supermarket

My pushbike there I did park it

I'd just gone there for some bacon

And tin to put Christmas cake in;

But before I reached the till

Because I had some time to kill

I wandered round the Lidl store

An blow me, sideways! There I saw

Fashionwa...

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We write some words and post them here

That's how we "poets" start

It makes we talentless believe

That we're creating art.

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Long time ago in Bethnall Green

Was born a baby boy

Peter Greenbaum was his name

Who 'd later bring us great joy.

Blues in his hands and in his heart

The saddest you'll have heard

Melancholy intertwined

With the sweetness of a bird

Hark now hear his plaintive cry

His torments drove him mad

They're in the blue notes and the bends

We miss his playing so bad.

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Big Bertha worked in Merthyr,

Glyneath and Aberdare;

She also did Pontypridd,

Hirwaun

and anywhere.

You'd be forgiven if you thought

She earned her pounds and pence

Buying/selling stolen goods

- That Bertha was a “fence”.

I'm afraid though you've misheard;

She's known to local studs

For local volunteering work

- She handles sw...

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We started at seven with everything fine

The Old People's Dance would be over by nine

We were lovely and cuddly, wise and benign

It was Christmas and things were so festive

No reason for it to get restive.

But the signs were all there when they brought out the tea

(You all get your cuppa and biscuit for free)

But the shit hit the fan when old Mrs McGee

Who is a chocola...

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Tacky and tatty

Tacky and tatty

Tatty and tacky too

I like flashy you like trashy

Trashy and flashy too.

Gaudy and tawdry

Gaudy and tawdry

Tawdry and gaudy too

I like brassy you like crassy

Crassy and brassy too.

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(With an enormous nod to Gracie Fields.  No, she didn't have one)

I'm at that age I suffer interrupted nightly sleep

With frequent toilet visits and weak stream;

The doctor's first examination made my eyeballs weep

And made me think he'd been unduly keen;

He asked me “Drop your trousers” and if on my side I'd roll

I guessed it was a pudgy finger then explored my hole

I co...

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(A nod to Jimmy Cliff who died today.  Older gits might also remember the 1972 version by Johnny Nash)

I can see clearly now my specs have come

I can see pills that's on my bedside tray

Gone is my need for library large print books

I can read perfectly good if it's arm's length away.

I can chew proper now my teeth are in

No more rolling food around my gums

No more An...

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He went to prison He'll stay there until

He's paid off his bill Reform's Nathan Gill.

It's time to swallow The law's bitter pill

Deprived of free will Reform's Nathan Gill.

“How much did they know?” we ask

“Those smirkers in charge?

Did this go right up to the top?

To Tice and Farage?”

He dipped his trotters In Putin's pigswill

And he troughed his fill Law 1 Na...

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(Prompted by reading Jeremy Dronfield's account of the Jewish father and son from Vienna sent to Auschwitz.  Ernst Rohm was leader of the SA brownshirts, one time ally of Hitler, latterly viewed as a rival and killed on June 30 1934; thereby paving the way for H's unimpeded rise as leader of the Nazis.  I have played a bit fast and loose with historical accuracy).

Oh how we danced on the n...

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You don't need a shotgun to do today's crimes

The weaponry's different in digital times;

You'd think that I would have bugger all left

As victim of cyber identity theft;

For somewhere out there I'm sure that there'll be

A bloke called John Coopey – but he is not me!

A brazen young scalliwag – only he'll be

Not some young scuzzie but seventy three.

His trousers'll now n...

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If you had lived this life before

For instance, through the last World War

Would you have slammed the nation's door

And flown, as now, your Union Jack

To threaten Jews you'd send them back?

Would you've pushed boats from England's shore

When writing on the wall we saw

As early as in '34

(The start was when they killed Ernst Rohm)

Would you have sent the Jews back ho...

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(With an enormous nod to Charlie Parr for the title)

If your name should seem like frosted glass to me

And these rheumy eyes find your face hard to see

When memory's a thin haze of where we met

Will you remember me if I forget?

If days and dates I've overlooked and missed

If I protest that never have we kissed

When familiars become mere silhouettes

Will you remember me...

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What a different world it was then. I'm talking about those boomer years.

Snowflakes will recoil in horror at squeezing their toothpaste out of a tube made of lead. It did us no harm apart from rotting your teeth and giving you mild lead poisoning. It got banned, of course – a clear case of political correctness gone mad, if you ask me.

But at what cost? Try folding a plastic tube up from th...

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Anyroadup, like I was telling you, you can't beat Quality.

It's a by-word that Rolls Royce have traded on for years. So iconic that they don't need to advertise. Indeed, they can't knock the cars out fast enough to keep up with the sales demand. It used to be (still is, for all I know) a characteristic of the marque that it would cost you more to buy one second hand than to buy a new one.

Wh...

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They're away now

Broken into pieces

From secure glass cases

Where they've been removed;

Better pray now

They get them back quickly

The jewels that's been lifted

From the Musee de Louvre

To Ghana or maybe Havana

Or any other place that he'd choose

He's smuggled to Nice or Guyana

Those diamonds in the soles of his shoes

Diamonds in the soles of his shoes.

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It's today, isn't it? Or rather, last night. The bi-annual ritual of messing about with your clock.

Of course, it's much simpler now in this digital age, what with tellies and ipads and even tumble dryers doing it for you. Only it isn't because now you've got half the “appliances” in your house telling you one time and the other half (those forged in Victorian times like your chiming mantle clo...

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It's a town that cannot boast of much – it doesn't have much brass

It's shabby and it's downbeat and it even has less class

In one regard though it's well blessed, this mining town of Cas

There's a wealth here of hatchet-faced women.

Already I've misled you cos the local pits have shut

Replaced by bookies, nailbars and other retail smut

Where even the pet pit bulls here get ...

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(The reference to "Time's winged chariot" is lifted from Andrew Marvell's "To His Coy Mistress" or, as it ought more appropriately be titled "Get yer clouts down".)

They speak of The Cliffhanger – those in the know

And I'd certainly recommend anyone go

If ever you're visiting Dorset, although

It's a bit of a haul up the cliff -

There is no fenicular lift.

I've mentioned...

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(Grammarians my recognise that "had rode" is not the pluperfect tense of "to ride".  But "Fuck 'em!", I say)

I'd rode my bike the day before

And so my bottom was dead sore;

I asked my friend who is a nurse

If she could stop it feeling worse;

I said “It needs some healing hands

To rub with oil my tender glands”

She said to ease my throbbing crack

That I should try Fiery...

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The choice for heroes of the Roses falls to your own taste

There's Breach, Kildunne and Abby Dow whose tries laid teams to waste;

And some will say it's hard to choose, “They're heroes front to back,

The starters and the finishers, the whole entire pack”;

But I would single out for the iron in their bones

The Jackal and The Wrecking Ball – Botterman and Jones.

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I am hugely impressed by that advert for Money Supermarket, with its hook-line of the Super Seven, closing as it sometimes does with a split image of three women - a black 'un, a fat 'un and an old tug. Commendably inclusive, in my view. It rejects in one visual statement racism, ageism and body imageism.

“Sexism racism, ageism,

And fattism - each you should park it;

But go with advi...

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(The song Brian Wilson would surely have written if he wrote it today - well, before he died!)

Wouldn't it be nice if I were younger

Then I'd have much longer left to live

I'd choose to still be twenty,

Oh yes indeed, just what I wouldn't give.

To have a waist where I could wear my breeches

I'd gladly sacrifice my riches

Oh wouldn't it be nice?

Wouldn't it b...

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Maths. It's all to do with maths. Specifically, geometry.

Whereas the surface area of a sphere is

4 * pi * the square of its radius

the volume of a sphere is

4/3 * pi * the cube of its radius.

Check it out by comparing two spheres, one with a radius of 6 and then another with a radius of 12.

And since fat birds (and blokes) tend towards spherical they have less surface area,...

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Someone's gone and stolen my flag

Turning it into a nationalist rag;

Someone's stole the red, white and blue

Hijacking pride in my country too;

Then we had once

Showed tolerance

Then our great land

Extended its hand.

But in days now like these

We pull up the drawbridge on world refugees

Cos we're alright Jack

They'll dilute Britain's culture so send their boat...

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(I've always felt that this was the song Bowie meant to write)

Pancake rolls for Table 1

I know they ordered duck but it’s all gone

If they ask you say the soup is just Won-Ton;

Don’t tell them where I get the chicken from

Who’d they think I am? that twat Ken Hom?

And tell them not to slop; that table cloth’s clean on!

I know those prawns have swum a thousand miles

So ...

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I hadn't been in there for many a year

It wasn't a spot that your heart would hold dear

Back then, I recall, it was dowdy and drear

But these day it's better by far

You can't beat the Bridlington Spa.

The cafe commands a magnificent view

When sunshine anoints with a magical hue

The sands and the sea – the golds and the blue

But even in mizzle or haar

You can't beat ...

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Observe hypocrisy at work

The gunning down of Charlie Kirk

How cruel that such an icon dies

A martyr in so many right wing eyes.

“We shall not give countenance

We'll put a stop to this at once”

“Hang him high” the outcry went

No less than from the US President

Bang Bang He shot him down

Bang Bang He hit the ground

Bang Bang That awful sound

Bang Bang That madm...

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I remember through the haze

You enjoying better days

Then you'd got the ear

Of Government grandees

Svengali of the Left

But these days, Mandy

How have these things come to be

Shunned like you had leprosy

Sacked in huge disgrace

With egg upon your face

Once that you were caught

With letters of support

Oh Mandy,

It seems that the truth's documented

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Gaviscon, oh Gaviscon

I will heed the doc's suggestion

When I suffer indigestion

I act upon

Advice on Gaviscon.

Gaviscon, oh Gaviscon

When your feel your stomach's burning

Then it's time that you were turning

To pin your hopes on

A spoon of Gaviscon

Gaviscon, oh Gaviscon

So to quell the pain of acid

And get your guts back to placid

It's odds-on

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I'm often asked the secret as to how I keep my youth,

My good looks and vitality; well, here's my secret truth;

I don't massage my face with oils or ply with honeycomb;

I drink the blood of youngsters who have run away from home.

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(But don't go too soon - they're on strike)

It's a mining museum now – the National Coal Mining Museum, in fact. And it's bloody value, what with it being free. You get down and back on the manriding cage (“lift”, to you) and an underground tour to the coalface, as well as the opportunity to view its many surface exhibits, all accompanied and supervised by former miners still working as to...

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(I always felt left out to hear of other people, often, youngsters, who had various "syndrones" or "disorders".  Well, now I can join them  I have Restless Leg Syndrome or RLS as it is abbreviated.  It's like having little spurts of electricity shoot up your legs at night that cause me to involutarily kick out. My mam used to say "eee, my legs were going wi'out me".)

This old age dream isn...

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I've spent a pleasant few days re-reading Bill Bryson's “The Body: A Guide for Occupants”.

Absolutely riveting. Pages fly by. His skill is to make anything he writes unputdownable, despite you having no previous interest in his subject.

But on one aspect of his writings I find myself skipping over it – female genitalia.

I have caught sight in this section of stuff about pudenda, the cervi...

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I remember as a lad

We used to queue to see

“The Fat and Tattooed Lady” -

She fascinated me.

Those days it cost me 2/6

To see her at Goose Fair

But now it costs me nothing -

You see them everywhere.

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It's said "a hard rain's gonna fall"

Bringing tears and pain

But prophecy is with us now

In Gaza and Ukraine

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You can keep your Alba Truffles and your Pate de Foie Gras

And other treats you'd eat at Ascot posing in your car

All washed down with Dom Perignon or summat posh like that

But give me Sam Smith's any day with bread and mucky fat.

And stuff your Russian caviar from near yon Caspian Sea

Your Wagyu beef or bird's nest soup – they'll not do for me

They dragged me up in Little M...

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I shan't always be lovely

I shall start to age, of course

But now at seventy three

No signs yet of any flaws.

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Like the thickening of your waistline and the thinning of your hair

It comes to you as just like me you fall to disrepair.

And not just stuff that's physical you find you cannot do

With time it also downgrades all your aspirations too.

When once I lusted for some blond to take her on a date

These days I'd love to cut my toe-nails

Or even just piss straight.

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