Theresa May, Boris Johnson, Donald Trump all set to collide in an uneasy meeting of the minds.

Hands Off.

Poor Theresa May is finding this leaving lark tough,
Trump is coming a’calling just when Boris calls her bluff,
Boris’ untimely and boorish approach she should rebuff-
She ain’t no bloody Boadicea, but she’s made of stern stuff-
But she is oh so tempted to hand it to that tousle-haired scruff.

Let Bo take the tiny hand that slithers from the silken cuff,
A pedicured pampered hand, yet a touch… course and rough,
Let them bond over common interests; trade, markets, dandruff?
But Tess does know one red white and blue bastard is quite enough,
So she’ll smile, lie and try to think of England and not stalk off in a huff.

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The soccer/football World Cup, England, the semi-finals, and finally, a reason to believe?

Getting The Cross In.

It was months and months of Sundays back I began to doubt
The words Father McEvedy would by rote routinely spout,
But this July St George has never seen anyone so devout,
For it feels the world is about to end
When your World Cup hopes depend
On England miraculously winning a penalty shoot-out.

So many years as a lapsed Catholic and an avowed atheist,
The cold comfort of the confessional, all too easy to resist,
Yet I’m rattling the old rosary, praying, hoping for an assist,
Perhaps He might help out Southgates squad-
Argentina don’t need a helping hand from God,
Good Lord, what better reason to prove You exist?

England go to the world cup with no expectations, but perhaps this time hopes might not fade away, like the last time, and the time before and the time before that, and… (Best wishes and good luck from the Antipodes.)

Reboot.

I woke this morning, from a fevered dream,
My mind had dreamt of a winning England team,
So I shook my woolly head, threw off the duvet,
Rose to face the reality of watching England wilt away.

But this game had a result few could anticipate,
A smile wreaths the dial of gloomy Gareth Southgate,
I shake my stunned head, I stroke my gaping jaw,
Am I dreaming still or is this England in the final four?

Was it half a century ago Geoff Hurst won our hearts?
When the pop of ‘Mothers Little Helper’ topped the charts?
Dare I dream of those good ol’ days, of glories long gone,
Of 1966, since when all but the Rolling Stones have rolled on?

Oh, this is something long hoped for, if truly unexpected,
High time for the faded old red white ‘n’ blue to be resurected?
So, up to the loft I’ll go to disinter that trusty dusty back-pack;
Lets see if time’s been kind to a cheap-jack souvenir Union Jack?

Scott Priutt walks away from the smoking crater that is the EPA. Now, what caring conservative minded conservationist will Don wheel in in his place?

A Bright Shiny New Day For The EPA.

Who did Don choose when Scott Pruitt ‘chose’ to resign?
Another wheeler-dealer, another diamond from the mine,
A lobbyist who has a heart and soul
Hard as anthracite, black as coal,
Dredged up from some dank place the sun don’t shine.

Scotty (Freebie) Pruitt, the Environmental Protection Agency’s administrator, resigns due to ‘unrelenting pressure.’ About a dozen ongoing ethics inquiries have nothing to do with him bailing.

Toxic Environment.

The time to resign has finally come for Scott Pruitt,
The story has long been ‘not if, but when’ he’d do it,
Don had had high hopes for his EPA chief,
He had handed Scott his working brief
For the EPA, knowing full well Scott would screw it.

I guess I’m gonna have to eat my words. Don wuz right about this fake news stuff after all. Iran, citizenship, Obama, lies- hard to believe, I know!

Foxing Around The Edges.

From his Great nights sleep Don slowly stirred,
He switched on the TV, to the channel preferred,
Some find Fox’s hyperbole hilariously absurd
But the President truly takes ’em at their word.

What a fine story greets the Great One on waking,
A secret Obama/Iranian dodgy deal Fox is breaking,
What a deplorable dirty tale Don can see, in the making,
The candor of Fox’s journalism is, frankly breath-taking.

Ain’t it a pity for Don truth was all the fable lacked,
The news he gleefully Tweeted Fox can scarcely retract,
The whole sorry story was false, FAKE NEWS, in fact;
One wonders if Don wants those Fox fibbers sacked?

Annapolis newspaper the latest in the kaleidoscope of craziness that continues on despite ‘thoughts’n’prayers.’

The Latest Report.

‘Crazy Jarrod is what they all said,
The lies in that f… fake newspaper I read!
This is all their  fault, they made me see red,
And now all over this paper my story’s spread.’

How my grievances hit the front page,
Jarrod, famous, is standing centre stage,
My word being ignored was the real outrage
So I punctuated my point with a twelve gauge.

Back to my safe secure cell I’m silently led,
There to to contemplate my sins on my single bed,
Oh, to say I’m sane or blame the ‘voices’ in my head?
Option One leaves the NRA legal team in mortal dread.

(This is not meant to be flippant, its more with a sense of weary resignation.)