Category Archives: France

Notre Dame, you’ll be the ruination of me. Consider this a rather un-PC silly and frivolous french folly.

Merde Feu.

What a damnable shame,
Seeing grand old Notre Dame
Fired up and aflame.

Due to the fire
The ol’ Dame does require
A bigger better spire.

When the roof fell
It left Gods glorious citadel
Blazing like merry Hell.

With the roofs falling
The conflagration became, frankly appalling,
For the French, galling.

Above the gathering crowd
Arose a bitter Gauloises cloud-
Smoking oughtn’t be allowed.

One man, eyes a’stinging,
Amongst klaxons blaring, bells a’ringing,
Stands hunched, hands a’wringing.

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The ways of Emmanuel and Don’s diplomacy are strange to behold. Their meeting and greeting had all the elements of a french farce.

International Men Of Mystery.

Is it not great to see the blooming Bromance
Between the Presidents of the great States, and France?
First chummy handshakes, then Gallic hugs and air kisses
On cheeks that turned to receive more hits than misses.

My, don’t those two guys get on well?
There is a kinship there, can’t you tell?
As they clown around like kid and older brother
Their wives look quizzically on, one to the other.

Brigitte’s beginning to wonder if she’s lost her mystique,
Melania’s inclined to believe Dons Stormy denials after this week,
Now Mrs Trump and Mrs Macrom may call to console Mses Clinton and Merkel,
Their two jerks ain’t inclined to invite many woman into the Old Boys circle.

Paris, city of romance, where love blows through and clings to every corner of the city’s richly historical air.

High Expectations.

Of Paris’ Bohemian quarter Lonely Planet has enlightengly writ
Even in it’s darkest corner it’s denizens look well lit,
This is one part of Paris they highly recommend you hit.
(Not recommended if you can’t face a toxicology kit.)

Low Expectorations.

Outside the Cafe Rouge we found a place to sit;
Parisiennes are a passionate people we’ll readily admit,
Young lovers stroll by, clasping hands, or tit,
Sucking face and Gauloises wherever they see fit,
Here, french kissing doesn’t mean you have to quit.

Then, when they come up for air, they breath, smile and spit!
Their aimless nonchalance does Parissiens little credit,
All this phlegmy frenchness is begining to wear, a bit,
Ah, the French have style and culture, who could doubt it?
But as I wipe my sleeve, I believe I could do without it.

I’m singing in the rain, just singing, and whinging, in the rain.

That Little Sprinkle Of Magic.

On a cold December Disney day best suited for galoshes
My wife and daughters smiled as I surveyed my trendy trainers,
This dude-of-a-dad don’t care for flat caps and Macintoshes,
For me, style over comfort is the simplest of no-brainers.

True, the pavement looked a trifle wet,
But I was lookin’good, feelin’ fine,
I stepped out, did a passable pirouette,
When you’re in style, who needs sunshine?

And so our delightful Disney day began,
How we cavorted, singin’ in the rain.
I swanned around exuding panache and elan,
Nike clad feet completely numb, so I couldn’t complain.

By nightfall I was lagging behind, dragging my feet,
Ready to walk away but la femmes dug their toes in,
They wanted the lights and fireworks, then, to make the night complete
They frolicked home endlessly singin’ the chorus to frikken ‘Frozen.’