Name that tune...

It isn't easy, writing some songs
And counting your money all afternoon long
But wealth's not enough without the poor to walk on

You'll not believe it
So bloody poor all he's got is nice stuff
The poor bugger seems to forget
He shits sitting down just like us

He had to help it happen, it had to change
Crushing the riff raff under his heel
Flying over from New York, enjoying first class fun

So he chose fuck 'em
While pissed up on some subsidised booze
And sending the poor to the wall
We never expected 'owt else

Chorus
Don't cry for Andrew Lloyd Webber
The truth is he's doing okay
His stomach is full
His wallet so fat
He voted that way
'Cos he's a rich twat

And as for fairness, it's such a shame
He never invited it in
Even though it's quite plainly the right thing to do

They are the selfish
They are the ones who tell us cruelty is kind
Although it sounds spiteful to some
They're mantra remains "mine, mine, MINE"

Chorus

Does he have too much?
There's little more I can think they could take from you
Unless they start to tax the air that you're breathing
Or the steam off your poo

J2H.

They're there.

They're there, you know? When you close your eyes

Despite what you've heard, your parents told lies

When they said that there's nothing to give you a fright

When they tuck you in and they turn off your light

There is, there is, on one night they're there

Watching you sleeping and stroking your hair

There they will wait and they'll wait there all night

They've nothing to do but give children a fright

They'll sit on your chest and they'll wait for their prize

All that they need is you open your eyes

For it's then, only then, that they're able to pounce

To stop you from screaming they'll first eat your mouth

All year they have waited and now autumn's here

The night of their visit grows ever near

That wondrous eve when they rise from their tombs

And giggle and whistle and hide in your rooms

They watch and  they wait 'til you flick off that switch

And signal the start of the night of the witch

All that they crave is your precious, sweet soul

To scare you to death and then swallow you whole

Is it too much to ask? They don't take everyone

Just you and your friends, then away they'll be gone

And just to be fair, they've given fair warning

Just keep those eyes shut and shut tight until morning

Now heed my words and heed them well

They'll know you're awake for your terror they'll smell

They're patient, they'll wait for as long as they must

Until the morning's fresh sunlight turns them back to dust

Don't murmur, don't fidget, don't dare to peep

Pretend if you must, but you must stay asleep

And what if you don't? What would happen then?

A terrible fate is in store for you when

Your eyes flicker open and glance round your room

They'll rush from the corners and shadows and gloom

They screech and they'll chatter and rush to your bed

And feed upon flesh of a child, newly dead

So remember, dear children, this story I tell

Remember my words, remember them well

They're waiting for you every year on this night

To see your eyes open before the sunlight

Comes creeping through your window pane

And makes your bedroom safe again

They'll leave the next morning, each year just the same

They'll slither off back to from whence they came

But be assured, children, next year again

They'll come creeping back, waiting for that moment when

You've opened your eyes in the dark and you've seen

The horror awaiting you on...

...Halloween.

J2H.

The elephant in the room.

During the strikes of the 1970s, our house became the most popular house on our street.

Not many people had more than one television, but we did. More importantly, our second television was a cutting edge, monochrome, portable television that my father had acquired from a chap by the name of "Sniffy", a friend of his who was employed as a security guard on the docks.

My mother wasn't best pleased. The huge, crackling, teak clad box in the front living room displayed her favourite shows in glorious technicolour and was big enough to see from her seat on the settee, and so the tiny, black and white set he'd staggered home from the Staff of Life pub with that Friday evening was left on a shelf in the garage. Until the strikes.

Our electricity went off every night. For some reason, though, the television stations were able to remain broadcasting throughout the blackouts. Broadcasting to an audience of folk with no electricity in the 1970s meant very low viewing figures. Unless you lived on our street.

The little, grey television in the garage was carried into the living room, along with the battery from my fathers car. The portable television had a DC socket on the back and, with the assistance of the old bloke who lived next door and a big, cardboard box filled with cables, wires and connectors, our living room was once again bathed in the flickering light of Coronation Street.

The only house on the street with the comforting glow of cathode rays spilling out through the crack in the curtains made our house as inconspicuous as an elephant at a dinner party, and by the time Corrie had ended our living room was packed to the gills with neighbours. It was fucking brilliant.

The strikes didn't last forever, and once our neighbours had gone back to looking down their noses at my packing case maker father and cashier girl mother, the television was once again redundant and I became the first child in Salford to have a television in my bedroom. I felt like a king.

The TV was installed atop the drawers in the corner of my room and I began watching all those shows I'd not been allowed to watch in the past. They were shit.

Try as I might I could find very little of interest to a five year old boy, no matter how late I stayed up, on any of the three channels available. It was most frustrating. "Maybe," I thought, "the good stuff is on in the daytime". That made sense, selfish grown-ups putting the good stuff on when we urchins couldn't watch it. I formulated a plan.

Whilst my mother was preparing a healthy, nutritious breakfast (A bowl of ReadyBrek with half a pound of sugar dumped on it) I held my palms against the radiator in the lounge. Whenever I could hold them against the surface no longer I placed my palms on my cheeks, over and over until I was flushed and clammy. Then I stuck my fingers down my throat.

Sufficiently convinced, my mother sent me back to bed for the day.

That day was the longest day of my life. Daytime television in the 70s was approximately eight times more shit than the evening stuff. Open University, some gardener bloke, the bloody news and no remote control. Oh, the humanity of it all.

At some point, I watched a show about three blind beggars in India and an elephant. Filmed in stop-motion, it told the tale of the beggars being led, one at a time, into a room with an elephant in it. Each was asked to touch the beast and to describe it. One felt the elephants leg and thought it a tree. The second felt it's tail and thought it a snake. Finally, the third felt the trunk and declared it to be a hosepipe. God, it was boring.

But, as tedious as it may have been at the time, the message got through. It's all a matter of perspective. That day I drank a lot of Lucozade, watched shit television, vowed never to pretend to be poorly again and learnt that you should always have the full picture. The end of the elephant in the room show demonstrated that, once the three men had spoken to one and other and having shared their own individual experiences, they realised they'd been examining an elephant. They cooperated and, as a result, knew the truth.

Some of you may have become aware of a Facebook post that went viral. Authored by an American visitor to our shores, a Mr. Scot Waters, it sums up his experience of Britain. It's brilliant. (If you've not already read it, you can find it HERE.)

Now, like a blind beggar being experimented on by an Asian emperor, I've undertaken to expand on his work and offer a different perspective for a few of his points.

1. "Almost everyone is very polite."

Thank you.

2. "The food is generally outstanding."

See #19.

3. "There are no guns."

There are no guns.

4. "There are too many narrow stairs."

I think you'll find there are just the right number of narrow stairs to reach the tops of the narrow staircases.

5. "The reason they drive on the left is because all their cars are built backwards."

Actually, it's so we can practice our jousting on the daily commute.

6. "You'd better like peas, potatoes and sausage."

...but if you don't, there's always #19.

7. Refrigerators... ...are very small.

See #43.

8. "People don't seem to be afraid of their neighbours or the government."

We're afraid, where appropriate, but fear is nothing to be afraid of. Stiff upper lip, old chap.

9. "Their paper money makes sense, the coins don't."

Your cents make money.

10. "Everyone has a washing machine, but driers are rare."

Clothes won't wash themselves, but left to their own devices they'll dry. See #13.

11. "Pants are called "trousers", underwear are "pants" and sweaters are "jumpers.""

Trousers are called trousers, underwear underwear and sweaters are what we call our MPs whilst they're being audited.

12. "Fanny" is a naughty word, as is "shag".

My Aunty Fanny would disagree with half of that statement, and she'd admonish you for saying "shag".

13. "Doors close by themselves, but they don't always open."

Occam's razor. See #10.

14. "They don't seem to use facecloths or napkins or maybe they're just neater than we are."

At least once a week I have to tell Dickfingers that she has pie crust or sausage roll in her hair.

15. "The wall outlets all have switches, some don't do anything."

Those that do nothing are actually wall safes. We keep our tiaras and monocles in them.

17. "Black people are just people: They didn't quite do slavery here."

We did, and we made a fair few quid out of it as well. We're every bit as bad as everyone else.

18. "Cookies are "biscuits" and potato chips are "crisps"."

Cookies are indeed biscuits, that's just generic, and potato chips are what we call crisps when we want to pay over the odds for them.

19. "HP sauce is better than catsup."

HP sauce is better than EVERYTHING!

20. "After fish and chips, curry is the most popular food."

I'm generally far too full to eat a curry after my fish and chips. See #43.

21. There are no guns.

There are no guns.

22. "Look right, walk left. Again; look right, walk left. You're welcome."

I just tried that, it makes you walk like a hieroglyphic.

23. "It's not that hard to eat with the fork in your left hand with a little practice. If you don't, everyone knows you're an American."

Honestly, even if you didn't do that we'd still know.

24. "There's no AC."

It's fucking freezing.

25. "Instead of turning the heat up, you put on a jumper."

We prefer onesies. Dickfingers has a pig onesie, mine is Elvis - the Vegas years. Rhinestones and everything.

26. "You don't have to tip, really!"

You don't have too, but you should. Really!

27. "Scotland, Wales, Ireland and Cornwall really are different countries."

Cornwall is a different PLANET.

28. "Only 14% of Americans have a passport, everyone in the UK does."

That's because the rich take lots of holidays and the poor want to be ready in case they get the chance to escape to somewhere nice.

29. "Their TV looks and sounds much better than ours."

Yes, but to even things out you chaps made Breaking Bad.

30. "They took the street signs down during WWII, but haven't put them all back up yet."

We discovered all we had to do was tell our kids what the streets are called.

31. "Everyone enjoys a good joke."

B'dum, Tsssh.

32. There are no guns.

THERE ARE NO GUNS!

33. "Dogs are very well behaved and welcome everywhere."

My German Shepherd is a bastard and most people hate him. That said, he is German.

34. "There are no window screens."

A window IS a screen, isn't it?

35. "You can get on a bus and end up in Paris."

Yep, that's one stag-night I'll never forget.

36. "Butter and eggs aren't refrigerated."

That's because we have little space in our tiny fridges.

37. "Excess cider consumption can be very painful."

It's not the consumption that hurts, it's the cessation of consumption. Consume more.

38. "The money is easy to understand: 1-2-5-10-20-50 pence, then £1-£2-£5-£10, etc. bills. There are no quarters."

I've always thought, if you chaps bother with a 25c coin, why haven't you done a $25 note?

39. "Many doorknobs, buildings and tools are older than America."

I'm pretty sure there are one or two Navajo that would disagree with you on that one.

40. "By law, there are no crappy, old cars."

Which is why Dickfingers and I can't afford one.

41. "Soccer is a religion, religion is a sport."

IT'S FOOTBALL, FOR FUCKS SAKE! How many times do we have to point out that a game played predominantly with your hands isn't bloody football?

42. "Europeans dress better than the British, we dress worse."

Technically, Britons ARE Europeans, but you're right.

43. "There are far fewer fat English people."

See #7.

44. "Displaying your political or religious affiliation is considered very bad taste."

Only if you're a Tory.

45. "Every pub has a pet drunk."

Pleased to meet you.

46. "Their healthcare works, but they still bitch about it."

We love our NHS, what we're really bitching about is the destruction of it by big business and government.

47. "Cake is one of the major food groups."

To paraphrase one of your most famous fellow countrymen, "Mmmm, caaaaaake!"

48. "Their coffee is mediocre but their tea is wonderful."

Granted, except when Dickfingers brews up. Her tea is shit as well.

49. "There are still no guns."

There are no guns, except the ones that were secretly being aimed at the unarmed protesters in my home town last week.

50. "Towel warmers!"

Radiators!


J2H.

J2H does... The foul chicken.

The latest of my stories that rhyme, and this one's another of the child-friendly variety.

"The foul chicken." 

on Audioboom and YouTube.

The rabbit, Warren.

The king of all rabbits, King Flopsy the third
Sat on his throne watched by the herd
He yawned and he lifted a kit by his scut
Said "I name this rabbit Fluffy" and kissed his left foot

He handed each child back to it's mother
Who stepped away smiling, replaced by another
More and more children, his day had dragged on
Then a buck with a book said, "Sir, here's the last one"

He held up the kitten but, for the first time
As hard as he tried, no name came to mind
Each that he thought of he'd given before
He'd used all the names, there weren't any more

Flopper and Tufty and Cotton-tail Jill
Fluffy and Bunny and  Lop-eared Bill
Bella and Topper, Tufty, Snowball
He had no more names, he'd now used them all

He looked left and right and up and around
Until, suddenly, inspiration he found
He smiled at the mother who'd brought him her son
And announced to the world, "I'll name him Warren"

The king of all rabbits made his way through the crowd
As the does did their curtsies and the bucks bowed their bows
And the trumpeter sounded the royal fanfare
Leaving young Warren's mother just stood standing there

Now, young Warren's mother wasn't best pleased
She thought that her son would be mercilessly teased
With a name so outlandish what would others say?
So she spoke to the book buck about her dismay

"But Mrs. McFluffykins, I can't change his name
The king, he has spoken, the name must remain
I've written it down in my book, anyway
And I've not got a rubber on my pencil today"

Kits are like kids, they can't half be horrid
But Mrs. McFluffykins needn't have worried
The others did tease him, though he teased them back
Along with his best friend, a rabbit named Jack

And it didn't last long, before many years
Warren became the kit known as "big ears"
An insult to some, but not to this bunny
Water off a duck's back, he thought it was funny

Warren grew quickly and Warren grew strong
And grew into those ears before very long
Handsome and smart, quick of wit and of mind
Both caring and strong and above all else kind

Then came the day that the old king did die
All the bucks, does and kits in the kingdom did cry
Then, once the old king was placed in his crypt
A new King of all Rabbits had to be picked

The contest was held in the time honoured way
On the top of the hill on the first day of May
The oldest and wisest doe held aloft a stopwatch
And began the contest with "Ready, steady, HOPSCOTCH!"

Thousands of rabbits set off down the hill
Leaping and bounding and racing until
Just the two fastest were left in the race
Hopping and scotching and red in the face

Neck and neck as they neared the finish
Warren and a buck by the name of Spinach
But just as they were about to cross
The line poor Spinach trod on a wasp

He shrieked and tumbled to the ground
Tears in his eyes as he rolled all around
A one rabbit race now that Spinach had fallen
Warren must win, even if he were crawling

But, no, he stopped short, turned around an returned
To the rabbit now sobbing as his poor, stung foot burned
He smiled as he crouched down beside the poor buck
And said "Here was I thinking our feet were good luck"

He put vinegar on Spinach's wound and checked the wasp was okay
Then helped the stricken buck to his feet and was cheered upon his way
When finally had Warren crossed the finishing line
He'd spent so long being kind he was a hundred and eighty ninth

The wise, old doe that held the stopwatch
Met the pair at the line and exclaimed "That was top notch!
You'd already proven yourself the most fast
But the King of All Rabbits needs far more than that"

The trumpeters fanfare filled the air
As the buck with the book stepped forth and declared
"The race has been run and the new king selected
Now let's have a party, get the marquee erected"

You've never partied 'til you've partied rabbit style
The conga alone was over a mile
The carrot cake was delightfully light
A jamboree running right through the night

The new king slept with his crown on his head
Yawning and tucked safe in his royal bed
So proud of himself that he felt he might burst
The King of All Rabbits, King Warren the First

J2H.

The foul chicken.

Racing 'cross meadows and forests and streams

Chasing away the dark and our dreams

The warm, golden fingers of the morning's new sun

Telling the chicken the day had begun

He fluttered his feathers and puffed out his chest

Perched on the gatepost, his back to the west

And signalled the start of a day that was new

With a hearty cock-a-doodle, a-doodle-cock-do

His day's toil over, his job being a doddle

He went down to where the ducks quacked, flapped and waddled

He strutted and clucked his way through the crowd

Of ducks gathered there and announced rather loud

"There's a pond needs be swum in and quacks to be quacked

Now get to work or I'll see you all sacked"

The same every morning, he'd appear with his frown

Squawking his orders and making ducks down

He bullied the cows, was a swine to the pigs

Got on nanny's goat and upset her kids

He scared all the lambs by shouting "mint sauce!"

Then went to the paddock and sat on the horse

Watching and waiting for that moment when

He'd catch a glimpse of that lovely, plump hen

The one that he'd fallen for, hook, line and sinker

Who just couldn't stand him, who thought him a stinker!

He saw her and called out, "cock-a-yoohoo"

But she just called back "Can't stop, things to do"

The horse looked around at the bird on his bum

And said "Tell me, chum, why you looking so glum?"

The chicken didn't answer, just stared hard and long

"What's up?" Asked the horse, "Did the cat take your tongue?"

"Oh my word," The chicken did squawk

"I had no idea that horses could talk?"

Now, the horse had been horsing around and about

Long before the proud rooster had cracked his way out

Of the egg that his mother had laid on the floor

Older and wiser, he'd seen it before

"Go on then, old timer", the chicken enquired

"She really should like me, I'm cock of the yard!"

The old horse just snorted, "If you want my advice

Learn to be nice or she'll never look twice"

He thought it a long shot, but well worth a try

Tomorrow he'd be a far nicer guy

That night he slept with a smile on his bill

And woke as the sun rose from behind the hill

He knocked on the door of the farmer's old house

Then whistled and wandered over to the little duck-house

Popped his head through the door and called quietly

"Cock-a-doodle-doodle, a-doodle-cock-dee"

All that day long he kept a smile on his beak

And took extra time to stop and to speak

With every farm animal, the great and the small

He smiled and was pleasant to one and to all

Silly songs he sang and silly jokes he told

All about chickens crossing a road

He'd struggled at first, he'd have to admit

But by that afternoon he'd got the hang of it

He went back to see his new friend, the old nag

Who stood in the field with his nose in a bag

"I did it, I've managed to be nice all day"

"That's great" said the horse as he munched on his hay

"And was she impressed with the new, nicer you?"

The chicken said "Impressed?  Impressed with me who?"

So busy being nice to the pigs in the pen

He'd forgotten all about the lovely, plump hen

A voice from behind, "cluck cluck cluck cooee

I'd heard you'd be here, waiting for me"

He stammered and stuttered, his cheeks flushing red

Lost for words, he nodded his head

"There's a barn dance tonight, I hear you'd like to go"

"I'd love to", Said the chicken, "but how did you know?

A cough from the horse, he looked over his shoulder

The horse smiled and said, "It was me who told her"

The barn didn't dance, but the barn-dance was great

The cock and the hen danced until late

They giggled and laughed as he walked his date home

He said he liked her eyes, she said she liked his comb

Then she said goodnight with a peck on the cheek

And ensured his new smile would last for a week

The cock of the yard strutted home to his bed

And dreamed of the chicken that one day he'd wed

The farmer's far happier with his new alarm call

As are the cows, the pigs, lambs and all

Each morning's now lovely if you're a duck

And, after a while, the chicken's smile stuck

Now older and wiser, each morning he wakes

And sets off for work as each new dawn breaks

A peck on the beak as he walks out the door

The cock of the yard, foul fowl no more.

J2H.

Games without frontiers.

Playing a game, we're playing a game

He'd told me when the day to leave came

And so began our epic fun

Just me and my daddy on the run

He smiled and he joked as we walked through the night

He promised me soon that all would be right

We talked as we walked and we walked as we talked

Until meeting a van where the dusty road forked

We clambered within and joined playmates new

Who shared with us water and laughter and food

Songs sung and chats chatted along the ride

'Til we finally arrived at the windy seaside

To the boats for our final intrepid expedition

Just this one more peril upon our mission

To leave behind those sandy shores

And find a brave, new world to explore

Smiling and laughing as dad held my hand

We set off for the promised land

We're nearly there, he promised me

As he pushed my boat out into the sea

He and two others clung to the back and paddled the boat with their feet

As I sat with new brothers and a half dozen others and dreamed of the food I would eat

When finally at the end of dad's game I could stop and take a rest

Maybe watch some Sponge-Bob and fall asleep with my head upon his chest

Our little boat was tossed left and right

Giving me and the others a terrible fright

But I'd worried not when that last great wave came

Because, after all, this was only a game

As that wave struck I was tossed from the boat

And salty water filled my throat

Playing a game, just playing a game

Though the deep, briny sea took my life all the same

J2H.