Elvis McGonagall
Elvis McGonagall - poet, twit and armchair revolutionary does the rhyming this week.
Find out more about him on his .
Wordy Rappinghood
It鈥檚 time to bejewel the Queen鈥檚 English
Like a sprachgefuhl Pygmalion
Will Self is in da house. Respect.
Let鈥檚 get sesquipedalian
Hyperbolic Bucolic
Driven out of your townie mind
By the City鈥檚 clamour 鈥榥 clang
You dream of a rose-tinted idyll untouched
By wireless or charabanc
Far from London鈥檚 madding crowd
Where Prada is simply absurd
Where less means more and you mend and make do
Where housework鈥檚 a dirty word
鈥楥os who needs Oxford Circus
When there鈥檚 Flumpton Shaddock鈥檚 Shangri-La?
Who needs Tesco Metro
When there鈥檚 chutney in the jar?
It鈥檚 grow-your-own and bake-it-yourself
It鈥檚 a garden of delight
It鈥檚 birdsong 鈥榥 badgers 鈥榥 bunnies 鈥榥 bats
It鈥檚 a moonlit star-bright night
It鈥檚 cakes and fetes and homemade jam
A sagging roof and a drystone wall
It鈥檚 a market with genuine farmers
Hang on. There鈥檚 Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall
And a fair-trade-pashmina-frappucino caf茅
Where the cows once chewed on the cud
And Alexander-technique-scented-candle boutiques
And Eden鈥檚 now Notting Hill-Under-The-Mud
And The Shuttlecock 鈥榥 Turnip鈥檚 gone gastro
And Crispin 鈥榥 BottleTop have moved in next door
And the vicar鈥檚 delivering pizza
As Chelsea tractors scream by, 4x4
And there鈥檚 no local people so there鈥檚 no local shops
Just second home property pillage
So you really downsize to a tiny wee house
In Beaconscot鈥檚 cute model village
Inspector Remorse
She thought that she lived with plain Jude Law
But it seems that she must have misheard
For the name on the envelope read Sir Jude
Wetherspoon Trouser-Press Cholomondley (The Third)
She smelt a rat. Something鈥檚 fishy, she thought
She decided to ferret out the truth
She鈥檇 read too many Agatha Christies
She fancied herself as a sleuth
A little bit Marlowe, a little bit Marple
Colombo raincoat and Sherlock Holmes hat
A snoop doggy dog sniffin鈥 bloodhound
In a Lord Peter Wimsey cravat
So she ransacked, she rummaged, she riffled
Dusted for fingerprints all through the flat
She took photos like Kojak with a Kodak until
He caught her - interrogating the cat
Cast asunder and dumped on the doorstep
With her dreams and her wedding trousseau
Her fiance鈥檚 last words still burning her ears
鈥淵ou think you鈥檙e Poirot but you鈥檙e only Clouseau鈥
She felt sheepish 鈥榥 shabby 鈥榥 shameful
Lesson learnt, though cut to the quick
For as 鈥淟ife On Mars鈥 copper Gene Hunt might have said
鈥淟uv. It doesn鈥檛 pay to be a right private dick鈥
