A View From The Lanterne Rouge

Would Jubilee Eve It?

Regular readers of my assorted drivel and tripe will be aware that I am something of a benign republican. It strikes me that inherited titles, let alone the inherited right to be crowned a Head of State, are anachronisms in the 21st century irrespective of the (usually) high regard in which the UK’s current Queen is held.

Anyway, I’ve just refreshed my memory on some of the 60 Thoughts About Turning 60 that were penned a few years ago in the Graun by Ian Martin, probably best known as the writer of TV’s The Thick Of It. He summed up his view of our Royalty in quite a succinct way (but do click on the link above and take note of his thoughts on some other matters, numbers 17, 18, 49&50 and 56 in particular!):

54. The royal family. Bunch of trust-funded hippies. Good riddance.
55. But not quite yet. I respect the Queen. I do, honestly. She has been Queen for as long as I have lived. Good effort. Once she is dead, though, enough’s enough. The idea of my grandchildren having to stand up for organic sausage king Charles III or any of those other doughnuts, ha ha, come on.

That seems fair to me, so, how does my ‘benign’ republicanism evidence itself in other ways? Well, apart from not discussing the matter with the family’s royalty-loving matriarch (neither of us likes to argue as we get on too well for that), I slept through the wedding of His Royal Highness Prince Charles Philip Arthur George, Prince of Wales, Duke of Cornwall, Duke of Rothesay, Duke of Edinburgh, Earl of Chester, Earl of Carrick, Earl of Merioneth, Baron of Renfrew, Baron Greenwich, Lord of the Isles and Great Steward of Scotland, KG, KT, GCB, OM, AK, QSO, CC, PC, ADC in 1981 as I was a student on a summer-long research expedition to the northern rain forest of Trinidad. (I well remember our local contacts’ bemusement at the fact that none of the University of Dundee staff or students on the research trip could be a***d to watch it!)

I also possess a pair of signed, limited edition royal wedding sick bags; the first of which I was given to ‘celebrate’ the wedding of His Royal Highness Prince William Arthur Philip Louis, Duke of Cambridge, Earl of Strathearn and Baron Carrickfergus, KG, KT, PC, ADC.

I bought the second one myself to complement my other ‘goody bag’ on the occasion of his brother’s wedding (that would be His Royal Highness Prince Henry Charles Albert David, Duke of Sussex, KCVO in case you need reminding. The fact that Harry doesn’t want to be known as ‘Prince’ Harry and, like Elvis, has left the building – or at least that part of it that associates him with his father and brother – didn’t stop him signing himself as ‘His Royal Highness’ on his daughter’s birth certificate despite having bailed out of the Royals!).

Thirty years after successfully avoiding Charles’ wedding, I was fortunate enough to be hidden in a cave 500 metres under Ingleborough during William’s espousal and, thus, avoided it too (it was planned that way!). Firstborn accompanied me, also to hide from the event.

Sadly our plans to hide from Harry’s union, by zip-lining through the slate caverns under Blaenau Ffestioniog in the heart of Snowdonia, came to nought (although both Firstborn and I still managed to avoid embroiling ourselves in the national cap-doffing-to-royalty pantomime).

So, how to avoid today’s Jubilee jamboree without upsetting the royalists amongst us (or at least those that haven’t read this encyclical)? Well, I’m going to hide in my shed and drink tea whilst wearing my baffies.

The only problem is which shed?

And here’s the limerick…

The Jubilee fills me with dread
‘Cos I’m not a big fan of inbred
And entitled Royals
Or their troubles and toils
So I’ll hide for the day in my shed!

A walk in the pork

Some lines inspired by a recent article in the Graun…

Although Rome is a place you’d adore
With cafés and snack bars galore
You should never embark
For a meal in the park
‘Cos picnics can be such a boar!

News from the Parish Council

I have to hand it to the UK Government’s ‘honourable member’ for Tiverton and Horneyiton for creating a parliamentary first when caught perusing pornography during a parliamentary debate.

Neil Parish MP, for it was he, explained that, originally, he was looking at tractors on his smartphone, but inadvertently opened a porn site.

Such an excuse seems a bit ‘iffy’ to say the least, but he then acknowledged that a subsequent perusal of wanton lewdness was intentional, before resigning his seat in the House.

If such an event is, indeed, a ‘first’ for the House of Commons, it is neverthless underpinned by a more disquieting reality. As reported by the BBC, “56 MPs are under investigation for sexual misconduct, and that includes three of his [Boris Johnson’s] Cabinet ministers”. Fifty six!

Despite that, the Government’s response to the Parish news was inexcusably lame. John Crace, the Graun’s parliamentary sketch writer, put it rather well:

So it was Ben Wallace’s bad luck that he was the minister given the short straw of explaining all this on the morning media round. The defence secretary did not cover himself in glory. A simple “This is unacceptable,” and “All women should be treated with respect,” would have done. Instead he chose to play the “long hours, hard-working, late bars” card. As if that was somehow an excuse and any man who worked late and then went to the pub couldn’t help but revert to a naturally sexist self. Clearly some MPs must congratulate themselves for getting through the day without sexually harassing anyone.

Here’s the limerick:

An MP it seems tried to peer
At a rather attractive John Deere
– An American tractor –
But was shocked by an actor
In tumescent flagrente, t’would appear 

You wait ages…

… for a willy limerick (see previous post) then another one arrives soon after!

My excuse is that although I didn’t see much of the Winter Olympics, I did see the following news article…

Bizarrely, on reading the complete article, you find out that it was the second time it had happened to him – some folk just don’t learn, do they?

Here’s the limerick…

A skier who was ever so Nordic,
Loved the cold, in fact he adored it.
But his willy then froze
Which was not what he chose
‘Cos he then ended up with a sore dick!

A hard sell…

One of you lovely readers (yes, there is more than one) challenged me to come up with a more traditional ‘double entendre’ limerick, so here are some non-biographical lines inspired by the multitude of adverts that populate the minor TV channels and their apparent preoccupation with, er, dysfunctional males:

A lothario felt nothing but strife
When his pecker lost interest in life
But the cure that he chose
Was a Viagra dose
Which must have been hard on his wife!

I’ll get my coat…

Inside every old person…

…is a young person wondering what happened – Terry Pratchett.

Here are some lines inspired by (i) an Instagram post that I recently saw and (ii) a one hour metcon circuit session today, followed by a 45 minute spin class followed by a 30 minute jog…

My mind thinks I’m still twenty five
But my body is sure that I’ve
Got a mind that’s insane
Cos it fills me with pain
When I try to engage overdrive!

The aforementioned Instagram post was more explicit:

My mind thinks I’m still twenty five. My body thinks my mind’s a f*****g idiot!