In Ireland the Church has long held sway,
It’s been ”listen to Father’ for forever and a day,
Eternally, paternally told to watch what you say,
To blaspheme means you’ve Hell to pay.
Or at least a spell in Purgatory.
But now it’s influence is on the wane,
Soon it will not be a crime to profane,
Though many Fathers will dogmatically remain
Convinced it’s a sin to take Gods name in vain,
And to say so deserves a stint in the reformatory.
Father McEvedy kneels in despair,
He’s been praying hard to Him up There,
But his cassock and faith are getting threadbare;
Christ, what happened to the power of prayer?
Perhaps He’s deaf to old fashioned oratory?
Soon, I swear, you’ll be able to say your piece
And not be forced to confess to the priest and police,
When a quiet oath is not heard as a breach of the peace;
In Ireland, miracles and wonders will never cease.
When your iPhone takes a swim
Chances of it working are pretty slim,
Water sure does take its toll
On an Apple bobbing in the bowl.
The insurance company took the call,
They heard the story of your iPhones fall,
Though insurance is so damned expensive
It sure do pay off when it’s comprehensive.
The cheque for a replacement is in the mail,
Ah, but hold on, this isn’t the end of this tale;
Your tenure with the new Samsung was all too brief
Due to the gall of some light-fingered French thief.
The insurance company took the call, again,
Second time around the loss was easier to explain,
The first one might have taken quite the while
But this time the details were fresh on file.
Then came another whirlwind dash to the continent
Where crashing to the terrazzo the Samsung went,
Another call is made on a phone that’s literally cracking up;
My, aren’t the numbers on these new phones backing up?
Another cheque arrives, with a covering letter
Advising one to look after ones new phone better,
With thanks for making full use of your comprehensive claim
But asking you to please- please not renew it, if its all the same.
Oh, to be back in the sceptred isle on a sepulchral January day,
No, there’s no place like home the old folks unfailingly say,
The rain paints the streets a shade of an all too familiar grey,
Hmm, whatever possessed me to go rather than jolly well stay?
Now I’m thinking of MY home as I trudge through the spray,
Where the rain gently but rarely falls on the sun crazed clay,
That welcoming sun’s calling me back, and no more will I stray,
I’m going home, getting my old Spurs scarf and giving it away.
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.)
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’ll not pay two pounds,
I’ll pay one pound fifty;
Mean as it sounds
I’m keen on bein’ thrifty.’
Talk Of The Stockbridge Tap.
They say the Scots are very tight
But that’s not what I found,
They thanked me generously last night
And all I did was stand around.
Some See The Stars/Half Empty?
Is auld Dunfermline not an intoxicating sight?
The impact of these ancient walls, so profound,
Old stained windows remain a dark architectural delight,
The rusty crusty iron-barred door indominatably solid and sound-
I’m still pounding the old bars at dawns first light,
Dunfermline not forgotten despite all the pints I downed.
Listen, patient reader to the tragic tale that shall unfold…
Into the Gard du Nord the Euro Disney Express rolled…
The Gard du Nord’s a favoured haunt of the light-fingered brigand,
Who was first to spot the three rubes fresh in from Disneyland?
What a delightful introduction to Paree we were swiftly shown,
One near new Samsung departing from my gal’s bag to parts unknown.
Until the bankcard was put on hold, and Police wearily then tearily told
Our day of hopping on the hop-on hop-off tourist buses also went on hold.
True, the view atop the open charabanc was breathtakingly grand
But my mood and the temperature proved f- far colder than that planned,
Swathed in a woolen greatcoat and still chilled to the very bone,
Was it any wonder the Eiffel Tower left me with a face of stone?
Its precisely because my good-natured gal retains her heart of gold
That caused the boiling blood entering THIS heart to emerge icy cold.
As I gaze up at Napoleon, frozen statuesquely, his pose I now understand,
Why, he presses to his heart his phone; (lest it’s whipped from his hand,)
So, I’ve a message for the Gaulish pickpocket who nicked my gal’s phone-
When you receive your call to Hell, may you get a hot spot of your very own.