Passages from Tiree: 2014

LIFE IN LIMERIX: PEOPLE, POLITICS AND PUNSTERS

2012 - September 2014

composed by

Donald E. Meek

FLYING FISH

King Alex is up extra high,

And soon he’ll be learning to fly:

He’ll be the first fish

To wing a good dish

To gourmets who love salmon pie.

KNOT SO GOOD

To cut a great Gordian knot,

Find a Gordi to give it a shot:

He knows how it’s made

And just the right blade –

He’s a gaffer to beat the whole lot!

SOMETHING BETTER

We remember in seventy-nine

How the light that was going to shine

Was covered in thatch,

And we were no match

For the knights that came up the line.

ADVICE FROM THE NEW HEBRIDES

The way to win the wild tribes

Is to offer some beautiful bribes:

Give them some beads

To wear on their weeds,

And they’ll eat off your hand with good vibes!

DELPHIC PROPHECY

Will the vote be a NO or a YES?

I’ll give it my very best guess!

It could be a NO,

But could also go

To a YES, if the NO will show less!

MEDITATION

When I feel that my brain has gone dead,

I find it helpful to stand on my head:

That reverses the flow

Back up to my toe,

And relieves feet that are easily lead.

FAIR GAME

One of golf’s glitterati is Rory,

Who's stroking the tees in his story,

Driving each shot

To just the right spot,

Hitting eagles and birdies with glory!

THE BATTLE OF NOYSE

The Brig has lined up his troops,

The Cap has Marines on the poops:

Weapons are ready,

Aims are quite steady –

Let’s fight till each ‘How-is-yer’ droops!

JUICED DESSERT

Nick Clegg has lost all his juice –

It’s been stolen from under his hoose:

He’s been low on fuel

Since he opted for dual,

And the cap on his tank’s been quite loose.

SKELETON ADDICKTION

Said Skeleton Dick, ‘I’m in gloom,

As Leicester will host my new tomb:

I tell not a porkie –

I’m really a Yorkie,

And its Minster would give me more room.

‘For half a millennium I lay

Under tar in a grim parking bay:

Some even would wee

Over fine royal me –

And do worse if they got their own way.

‘Leicester is where I went bust

When my innards crumbled to dust:

They thought that the Boss

Was not Worth a toss –

For tourists I’m clearly a must.’

MAN OF THE MATCH

The Commonwealth star in my book

Is the wonderful Wellington Duke:

The flashy new cone

On his cranial bone

Gives Glasgow a winning new look!

I’ve no time for Kylie Minogue

And Lulu is long out of vogue:

But that man of metal

Preserves his fine fettle –

And tops all with his beautiful brogue!

TROUPING ALL TOGETHER…

Just to think of old Jimmy Troup

Still makes me fear I will poop:

His shouts and his bellows

Against females and fellows

Made bulls seem a docile group.

If he heard any noise at the door,

He would belt outside with a roar,

Pull in the villain,

Give him a grillin’,

And knock confidence out of his core.

DEER DROPS

Said a Sámi to his wife, ‘Have you seen

Any reindeer out on the green?’

To which her reply

With a twinkling eye,

Was, ‘Not a single drop has there been!’

FIN AND DANDY

A trader who lived in Killin

Developed a large dorsal fin:

When he swam in Loch Tay,

His neighbours would say,

‘He was really a shark deep within!’

CHINA CABINET

The great cabinet fell on the floor,

And old Tobies flew out the door:

The need for nice lookies

Is met by the rookies –

China dolls that all voters adore.

VINTAGE RESPONSE

How thoughtful of dear Sarah Vine

To fire grapeshot at Dave up the line,

While others make plain

They’re drinking champagne

Since the fizz has gone out of Mike’s wine!

ANDYCAP

A dangerous app is an andy,

For, though it delivers the candy,

It’s best in the morning

And carries a warning

That its p.m. performance is bandy.

GETTING THE BIRD

Labour’s pledge to deliver an owl

Causes twitchers to call it a ‘foul’:

But out in the woods,

Where JSA broods,

You can now hear a hoot and a howl.

FAKED ALASKA

The American Dream is now palin’

Amidst some capitol wailin’:

Wise John McCain

Said without strain –

‘Ah’ll aska to come for some sailin’’

COMING TO TERMS

What a terrible term is ‘extremist’

When uttered by one who’s ‘supremist’,

Who just will not see

That it’s really he

Who could truly be termed the ‘extremist’.

SAD DAMNATION

First undeserving Iraq was Sadammed,

And now Shia al-Malaki’s slammed:

Good for the West

At its meddling best –

If McCain has a brain, then I’m damned!

NOTE

In the twelve pages of fact-free answers to FAQs sent to me by Blair’s snivel-servants in the Iraq Policy Unit in May 2003, the following FAQ appeared:

‘Are you worried about a Shia takeover in Iraq?’

Answer: ‘No. The coalition is working closely, and successfully, with local clerics of all denominations as the process for delivering fully representative government for Iraq continues.’

Looks as if the ‘process’ is continuing – and most successfully too – eleven years later.

What a ‘policy statement’ this is! Well worth keeping for posterity. If I hadn’t seen it, I wouldn’t believe it could possibly have been written. You couldn’t make it up – but someone did. I definitely found WMD – the World’s Maddest Document – inside the Iraq Policy Unit.

PS John McCain thinks that al-Malaki should now step down or resign. Just the time to articulate such helpful thoughts – on target as always. Good on ya, John. It’s your country, isn’t it?

BUZZ WORDS

When Nicola saw the new bees,

She said to King Eck, ‘If you please,

I’m now a ‘has been’

As they have a Queen,

And my sting’s not as strong as all these!’

YES, PRIME MINISTER!

How thoughtful of dear Mr Blair

To appear like a ghost from thin air,

To help us remember

On eighteenth September

How We May Dispose of his scare!

HORSE TROY-ALS

The horse that they had in old Troy

Was a foal compared with the ploy

Of Gove’s fine stallion

With its big battalion

Of Ofsted inspectors – what joy!

STRICTLY NO GASSING

A day-tripper who tripped to Tiree

On the ‘Clansman’ became sick at sea:

It appears he was gassed

In the Bar as he passed

Because of vehicle fumes from Deck C.

ALL RIGHT

The problems that thrive in old Brum

Give Dave good cause to be glum:

Two Michaels now fight

About which one is right –

And Theresa’s right there in the scrum!

NOT MAY, GOVE

A peculiar concept’s ‘extreme’,

As it’s the ‘other’ who’s always off-beam:

But now we have two

Who really know who

Is extremely extreme up in Bream.

NOTE

The poet thought that it would be distasteful - not least 'metri causa' - to use the vulgarism 'Brum' of that noble city, and he decided that 'Bream' was aesthetically a little bit more up-market. Poets are normally conservative in their use of diction, but this bard is somewhat counter-cultural.

WRITING ON THE WALL

There was a young man from Dalbeattie

Who was addicted to writing graffiti:

One night the daft dude

Wrote something quite rude –

And then a sentence from Sergeant McVeetie!

TASTELESS COOK

An unscrupulous cook from Loch Ness

Served Real Monster Pie with some cress:

When patrons protested,

She quickly confessed it –

‘There’s no meat, and the taste is a guess!’

‘CELT’ IS IT, EH?

I’m delighted that I’m not a ‘Celt’,

To be dug from a bog for my belt,

To be misunderstood

By the wise of each brood,

Who proclaim that they know how I felt!

NOTE

Attributed to Versatilitix, the Great Celtic Bog Bard. According to painful poetic scholars and grubby literary excavators, he excelled in maintaining the Bardic Bog Standard. His like will never be exhumed again. For that at least, we may be grateful.

ZIMMER OF HOPE

Prof Meek will become Prof Zimmer

The moment he catches a glimmer

Of the glorious fame

Bestowed by that frame,

When age makes his roots appear slimmer!

LATHA DUBH

Thàinig leabhar de bhàrdachd an-diugh,

Agus bha e cho dorcha dubh,

’S gun duirt mi rium fhìn,

‘Nach grànda a’ bhinn

Air bàrd bha cho grinn na chruth.’

THE RAIN IN SPAIN

The forty-year torrent of rain

Is stopping over yonder in Spain:

While tumbling down,

It’s swept off a crown,

And thrown some poor wrecks on the plain.

POWER DRILL

When the sea gave ‘LOTI’ some whacks,

She was quickly told to make tracks

To a Mersey dry-dock

And wait for the shock

Of the Birkenhead Drill in her cracks!

LOST AT SEA

As the ‘LOTI’ went past Tobermory,

A passenger cried, ‘I am sorry

The ship doesn’t call

At this port at all.

Is the next one Craignure or Creagorry?’

QUEEN VIC

The ‘QueenVic’ is no beauty at sea:

An ugly block of apartments is she:

Impressive in size,

But hard on the eyes,

And not a patch on the Second ‘QE’!

STATE OF THE ART

A Professor who worked in Dundee

Said, ‘Scottish art is the top of the tree:

Peploe, Cadell,

JoLoMo as well,

Vettriano, ‘The Broons’, and ‘Desp D’.’

THORNY ISSUE

A green-fingered girl from Montrose

Grew a beautiful, prize-winning rose

Straight out of her head,

Most radiantly red,

With black thorns that arose in sharp rows.

EAU CARNOUSTIE!

A guesthouse near links at Carnoustie

Was considered decidedly fusty:

So a lodger brought Eau

De Cologne for her beau,

And its fragrance is now not so dusty!

BEN THERE…

No mountain can match Bennachie –

A most wonderful profile has she!

The dear Mither Tap

Looks great on a map,

But she is truly far better to see!

MENIE A SLIP

On the lovely landscape of Menie,

Trump has caused trouble to many:

But a turbine array

Standing clear in the bay

Will put a hole in one’s turning a penny!

BELLA VISTA

At Arbroath you always can tell

The height of the tide and the swell:

If you look out to sea,

It’s as clear as can be –

Each rock can be tolled by the Bell!

RAVE’N STONEHAVEN

A yachtsman who called at Stonehaven

Found himself being pecked by a raven:

He said, ‘It’s absurd

To be clipped by a bird,

When my beard doesn’t even need shavin’!’

BACK TO NATURE

An outlandish young man from Montrose

Showed the world that ‘anything goes’:

In a day of great heat,

He stood nude in the street,

And adopted a nonchalant pose.

TROUBLE A-LOFT

There was a mad joiner from Tealing

Who decided to remake a ceiling:

When handling each rafter,

His plans became dafter,

And now his top storey needs healing!

RUM DO

An unfortunate tourist in Rum

Was stung by a midge on the bum:

Though well up to scratch,

He was clearly no match

For the little ‘All Blacks’ in the scrum!

TRAINING SERCO

The Sleeper will now get a tow

From the engine of mighty Ser-co:

From railways to ferries,

It will pick all the cherries,

As down the West Coast it will go.

SPIRIT OF OAKE

Lord Oake has now shott his bolt,

Having failed to cause a revolt,

But, because of the poll,

The bell soon will toll –

The ding-dong will disclose every dolt.

NO POETIC LICENCE

An unfortunate bard is Meek:

He hasn’t developed mystique:

His verse is too clear,

And we greatly fear

That he must be de-barred from our clique!

Obscurior P. Obscurius, OBE,

Transparency Officer

Poetic Licensing Agency

BOOT DOGGEREL

The Green Welly Stop has a poodle

That it feeds on its best chicken noodle:

But it sports a boot,

Tail, tum and snoot,

And now a wag’s made a doggerel doodle.

GREEN WELLY FULL STOP

Without the Green Welly Stop,

My plumbing surely would pop,

But that Burberry jacket,

My wallet can’t hack it –

And I keep welly clear of the shop!

SCOTT NOTES

That dreadful poet, Walter Scott,

Composed profound tommy-rot:

He’d begin at the end,

Write round the bend,

And cover each rhyme with a blot.

HORSE POWER

Three cheers for brave Andy Scott:

His Kelpies now top the whole lot:

Helix them all –

His horses will haul

The Forth and the Clyde into shot!

HALO, PROFIT!

An Angel with outstretched arms

Is raising some mighty alarms:

She says, ‘Come off it!

Your only true Prophet

Is Mammon and all of his charms!’

ANGEL DELIGHT

The Angel of the North is glad

At the prospect of getting an ad

To tell consumers

The finest bloomers

Can be purchased at Morrison’s pad.

RACE HISTORY

When Roger ran down the stairs,

The banister broke unawares;

All records he smashed,

Till he finally crashed

Into history’s tape for old squares.

NOTES

It is hard to believe that sixty years have passed since Roger Bannister ran the mile in less than four minutes. In my boyhood, he was the hero of the hour.

SUB TEXTS

GENDER BALANCE

Lady Lieutenants on subs

Are bound to brighten these tubs,

Enhance concentration,

Improve navigation,

And give Davy Jones’ Locker less rubs.

NAVAL DIVA

A diva who sailed on a sub

Disclosed to friends in a pub

That, during a dive,

At song number five,

Her low notes came out as a glub.

‘TAKE CARE!’

I love it when folk say ‘Take care!’

As I’m a stupid and foolhardy bear:

To make a great fuss,

I leap under a bus,

And play ‘Chicken’ each day for a dare!

TRUMBERRY

DT has come up for ayr;

Neither East nor West will he spare;

When he’s at the T,

The green grass will D,

And each birdie fly off in despair!

TRUMBINES

Let's build a splendid array

Of turbines out in the bay,

To improve the view

And give Trump his due –

His wind is quite strong, I would say!

PUTIN THE BOOT IN

I hear a great deal o’ bad hootin’

Aboot Alex an’ dear Mr Putin:

But let’s be aware

O’ yon Bush an’ Blair –

They did a fair bit o’ cahootin’.

…GO MARCHING IN…

I’ve met so many great saints,

Ordinary folk with some taints,

That if I were the Pope,

I’d just have no hope –

Ten thousand breaks all Vat constraints!

FEET UP

Someone has broken my clippers,

And my nose no longer smells kippers:

So I think I will sue,

And, if I get my due,

I’ll want to put on my best slippers!

CORNY

Cornwall is now in the ‘Fringe’:

Its culture has got the right tinge:

Life on the edge,

Brings it a pledge –

‘The Celts will get rid of your cringe!’

POST-ROWAN COUNTRY

Rowan is long past his ‘post’,

But likes to appear as a ghost,

To let us all know

He’s still on the go,

And may well be better than most.

CEE BIG IDIOTS….

‘We’re so sorry at the CBI:

We’ve not lost our way – aye, aye!

It’s an honest mistake,

So, for my sake,

Give us time to re-bake the pie!’

SEE BEE, AYE!

I could weep for the poor CBI,

As companies wave it goodbye!

Its vote for the ‘No’

Backfired from below –

And wrote a big ‘Yes’ in the sky!

SWEET WILLIAM

Stratford is making great play

Of William, who, some critics say,

Is no more than a name

Of considerable fame –

But it’s not curtains yet for his day.

In truth, it is tasteless to leer

Or stir a tempest in very small beer:

Mercy’s not strained,

Nor kindness constrained,

If he gets one more shake of his spear.

MAN DISUNITED

When Sir Alex abandoned the boys,

He hand-picked a leader named Moyes,

And scored an own goal

Which unmanned his role –

The net return has exposed all his ploys.

YOU BET, GIB!

When Gibraltar blew up a genny,

The odds were no odder than any:

As the mighty explosion

Crossed the great ocean –

You bet that our Dave spent a penny!

‘Ladbrokes and Hill know the score:

We’ve got them a haven off-shore:

I keep the tax low,

And that way, you know,

My debtors keep clear of my door!’

DEPTHS OF DELUSION

Three cheers for dear monster Nessie!

She’s given us another wee guessie!

She came up to stare,

Blew a bubble of air,

And the papers have got a great pressie!

THERE’S SAMSON ABOUT HAIR…

You can tell by the cut of his hair

That Jong-un has truly great flair:

Great power resides

In short back and sides -

North Korea’s shear joy is right there!

BUZZ ABOUT A BEESHOP….

If you can speak to the bees,

You may well be the person to please

All drones still alive

In humanity’s hive –

Just in time to find honey with ease!

HOLDING UP BANKSY

A generous artist is Banksy

Who likes to play a wee pranksy:

He paints a fine pic

On wood or on brick –

Let us drink to his stealth as a thanksy!

STRICTLY TOO LONG

Brucie is losing his pep,

And has taken a very big step

Right out of the show,

But I’d like to know

What strictly has kept the old chep!

When the ‘Eagle’ would land in Tiree,

In the fifties, when I was quite wee,

I’d see Bruce Forsyth

All chirpy and blithe -

Saying, ‘It’s really so nice to see me!’

INDE-PANDA-NCE

Let’s hope it will not be a guess,

But that Tian Tian will really say YES!

Canny Yang Guang

Has played it too lang -

Will his ‘better together’ impress?

FLAT BROKE

At the Commonwealth Games, what a start!

Don’t go if you’ve got a bad heart!

With a roar and a rumble

The Red flats will tumble –

Scotland’s rubbish is state-of-the-art!

DUSTY PRESENT

The Sahara is sending some dust,

With the texture and colour of rust,

To brighten the fields

And increase the yields

Of England’s crumble-dry crust.

To avoid it, they say, is a ‘must’,

If you are somewhat weak in the bust:

If it goes up your nose

Or tickles your toes,

You’ll be sure to explode in disgust.

FEEDING THE METRE

I’m glad it has not been my fate

To be appointed the Poet Laure-ate:

Andrew’s strong motion

And Duffy’s devotion

Are much meeter for good and for great.

GONE TO POT

When I last had a look in the pot,

A Lamborghini was topping the lot;

But please do not mention

The thing called a pension,

Because that’s what I really have not!

FERRY FINE FOR NOW

‘Loch Seaforth’ will take to the water

And be hailed as Lewis’s daughter;

But in her fifth year

A new tune will appear –

She’ll be a ferry fine sheep for the slaughter!

NOTES

Composed to mark the launch of the new Lewis ferry, ‘Loch Seaforth’, on 21 March 2014.

STAR CLEARANCE

Human life on Jupiter’s moon

Will be visible to all very soon;

My first rocket up

Will give a good ‘trup’

To any star who mars my own tune.

NOTES

On my instructions, only one-way tickets will be available from the Inter-galactic Travel Agency. The intolerance of tolerance is, once again, the name of the game, and those who think that Earth and Jupiter’s Moon are ‘better together’ are in for a big shock.

LOOK WHO’S TALKIN’

Hypocrites are hard a-tootin’

Their horns at dear Mr Putin:

He wants his reign

To embrace the Ukraine -

Not Afghanistan or Iraq - for some shootin’!

TWEET OF THE DAY

Attenborough’s an ancient bird,

Whose croaks are never absurd:

He’s now a great sage,

Like an owl in old age,

And ‘To-weet-to-you’ ’s his last word.

NOTES

David Attenborough gives the regular ‘Tweet of the Day’ just before 6 a.m. His sweet tweet is very appealing in the early morning.

SAY NAE MARE…

London’s magnificent Mare

Is currently grooming its hair:

In Twenty Sixteen,

It could be a ‘Has Been’,

But it could also race Dave for a dare.

THALLA ’S GOC!

Nach sinne gu dearbh a bha boc

Mus d’fhuair sinn stiúireadh bho GhOC;

Gun rian is gun reac,

Mar chú mhúin air sneac,

Ach an-diugh gheibh sinn leasacha loc!

OSCAR’S NIGHTMARE

(as delivered in his tearful ‘Thank you’ speech)

‘What a terrible night for gravity!

I fell straight down a cavity!

Enslaved in chains,

I felt great pains,

Till McQueen killed Monster Depravity.’

NOTES

Everyone, except those on the red carpet, will know that Oscar was the son of Oisean/Oisin/’Ossian’, son of the incomparable Gaelic hero, Fionn mac Cumhaill, known among the vulgar Irish as ‘Finn mac Cool’. He is acknowledged in Ireland as the first cool hero in literature. Oscar was renowned for being hot in battle; so the globe had warmed up a bit by the time the third generation arrived. Last night was bad for his reputation, though, as some say he was rather fool and hallucinating. Not the first time, I should say.

MIND THE APP

My Luddite brain’s in a trap,

Caught in a touch-screen gap:

I scrape like a hen

With soft-tipped pen,

And a message comes up, ‘Mind the app!’

WHO KNOWS

O Doctor, I loathe my nose –

It really does ruin my pose:

Your knife with a skim

Would help me to swim,

Blowing bubbles as my cut-water glows!

STICKY WICKET

Bradford’s own Imran Khan

Must try to leave Pakistan,

And attend the chancel

Or they may cancel

His innings as their Bat-man.

NOTES

There is apparently some concern that the world-famous, universally-admired, globally photogenic cricketer, now politician in Pakistan, namely Imran Khan, is not attending the Graduation Ceremonies at the University of Bradford. Well, if universities will insist on disparaging academic learning and giving Chancellorships to celebrities and Princesses with dubious academic credentials, they can take what they (don’t) get.

NO SKELETONS, PLEASE

Old mother Hubbard went to the cupboard

To get dear Nigel a bone,

But when she got there, he said, ‘Don’t you dare:

U kip out of this, u old crone!’

SLOW GOATS TO CHINA

Dear England will try to comply

With Maths as taught in Shanghai:

Stiff Chinese rigour

Is good for the figure,

And their checkers can sure multiply!

CITY GASSED

Aberdeen will get excess gas

From two bores that well may pass:

Dave rigs a show

To pump out the ‘NO’,

While Alex spouts, ‘YES, we are class!’

CLIP FROM SOCHI

Hairdressers may curl up and die,

But Eve’s curlers reach for the sky;

She keeps a cool head,

And no hair will be shed,

Until her waves have bronze in their dye!

VIA, VERITAS, RY VITA

Glasgow has found a new Rector,

Whose whistle will waken the sector:

On dear Gilmorehill,

His sound will be shrill –

An’ he’s no done yet, that detector!

BARK ON, BERCOW

Mr Speaker is chasing the yobs,

Dave and Ed and their mobs,

The Kilkenny cats

With Public School spats –

The Westminster pack of low knobs.

NO THANKS

I love my dear Comfort Zone,

Where all is familiar and known:

‘Please don’t disturb’

Is my favourite blurb:

Anything ‘Other’ would cause me to groan!

’S FHEÀIRRDE DUINE TÀIRE

Dè idir a thachair don Ghàire?

Na Gàidheil ’s iad cho dùr, mo nàire!

Greann air gach gnùis

A’ cagnadh gach cùis,

’S fiughair ri tuilleadh trioblaid air fàire!

TRAIT OR TRICK

Osborne, Alexander and Balls

Are a union that truly appalls:

They go for our throats,

Don’t give two groats,

And join farces when Dave issues calls!

UPLIFTING CALL

Queen of the Uplift, Ms Mone,

Allegedly uplifted her phone

A little too far

When driving a car –

And the rest has a-rrest-ful tone!

SINKING FEELINGS

As the playing-fields of Eton sink,

Dave the Brave has had cause to think:

‘What a great loss!

We’ll not get a Boss

From the mud, the mire and the stink!

‘And we really must keep the old pound

To bail out the flood-sodden ground:

I’d prefer to get votes

With no need for boats,

To avoid a wettish collision next round!’

SNOW IN THE THAMES

A seasoned newsman is Snow:

His dispatches go with the flow;

He wades in the flood

Without sticking in mud –

The bore of Channel Four is not slow!

TRUMP SHOT

A dictator old Trump will not be:

Scotland has whacked him off tee;

He’ll land on poor Doon

Not a moment too soon –

A long shot is just right for DT!

HARD ANSWERS

Today they want ‘concrete solutions’

To reduce the daily ablutions:

But surely that stuff

Has caused trouble enough –

They’ll be suffering next from ‘con-cushions’!

WADING IN

Westminster has pulled on its wellies,

As coverage is good on the tellies:

Ed’s up to his knees,

Nigel’s fair breeze,

And ‘Cam-shron’ is dooking in Dwelly’s.

NOTES

‘Dwelly’s’ is a reference to Edward Dwelly’s ‘Illustrated Gaelic-English Dictionary’, published at the beginning of the 20^th century – in Herne Bay, Kent. I was amused to hear Dave’s reference to the meaning of his name, ‘Crooked Nose’, when he was making his sporting appearance in the former Olympic Stadium. However, I was particularly amused to note that he made no reference to Gaelic, as that would surely have shown the world that he really did know something about Scotland beyond the usual platitudes.

FLUDDY DUDDIES

Paterson is in a big Pickle;

Critical flow is exceeding a trickle;

The Somerset Levels

Now produce devils,

And Lord Smith is caught on their sickle!

BIT OF A MUG

When the Dook goes dooking for treasure,

He will give Tobermory some pleasure:

He’ll find an old mug

With MacBrayne on its lug,

And say, ‘They owned this ship too for good measure!’

DOOKS AND DUCATS

Dook Torquhil is praying for gold;

So he’s trying hard to get hold

Of whatever old brass

May yet come to pass

From a galleon that’s nothing but mould.

These unfortunate Dooks, the Argylls,

Suffered greatly from having few piles

Of good, ready cash

When needing to stash

Some lucre for their laxative styles.

So each has been dreaming of Mull,

And desperate to find that fine hull,

Packed full of treasure

Far beyond measure –

But the ‘treasure’ so far has been dull!

They’ll search to the end of time

But they won’t find a single dime:

The boys from Spain

Carried arms for pain,

And their cargo of gold was sub-prime!

NOTES

Given that most of my satirical subjects merit only one limerick verse each, my FB friends will understand from the four verses above that I am not exactly thrilled to read of the current Duke of Argyll’s latest ploy. It has certainly been well rehearsed within the family over many, many years – a party piece to give the otherwise unemployed something to do? – and has cost more to mount than has ever been gained. One of my earliest recollections of Tobermory Bay is seeing a grey diving-support ship there in the mid-1950s. Even then, the Duke’s venture was considered a laughing-stock. How many attempts have been made since then by the Dukes to find the legendary Spanish gold? Such evidence as is available from wrecks of the 1588 Spanish Armada in comparable circumstances, e.g., that of ‘La Trinidad Valencera’, discovered in Kinnagoe Bay, Donegal, in 1971, does not suggest that these vessels were filled with gold. They were fighting ships, carrying military hardware which was for use mainly on land (as tended to be the case with such ships at that time). The idea that the Tobermory ship was carrying gold seems to reflect the general association of Spanish ships with South America, El Dorado, and treasure. If there’s anything there, it will be in the shape of weapons (cannon etc.), but not much more.

PHONE A FRIEND

If you’re afraid the Union will end,

Please do phone a Scots friend

Across the far Border

And give her an order

From Dave to stop the bad trend.

OLYMPIC OPPORTUNITIES

While Putin is playing HIS games,

Olympian Dave shares his aims:

‘Be you red, white or blue,

Your Country Needs You –

To cheer Team GB’s Greatest Names!’

BORIS AND BOB

How similar are Johnson and Crow:

Both love to have their own show:

The one flaps his wings,

The other’s hair springs,

And each claims that the other says ‘No!’

STRIKER

Britain has built a stealth drone

With an electronic mind of its own:

This worker strikes

For as long it likes,

And puts an end to life with a groan.

This Taranis is not like the Crow,

As Bob likes a bit of a show;

It makes little noise,

Has considerable poise,

And moves fast with a deadly blow.

BAD BOY

‘Michael, you must write a hundred lines:

I’M SORRY MY BEHAVOUR DECLINES:

And may I just mention

That you’ll get detention

If your excitement develops worse signs!’

GREEN CORRIES:

In honour of some BBC Radio presenters

How greatly I miss Charlotte Green!

Her voice had a beautiful sheen.

She now reads the scores

For footballing bores,

But the News has become a ‘has been’!

Yet still we have dear Auntie Corrie,

Whose tones, when low, I am sorry

To say they’re so deep

They send me to sleep –

Like the wind sighing round an old corrie.

No newsreader can beat Susan Rae,

Whose voice resembles the Tay:

The sounds of Dundee

Bring us much glee,

As she recites the gloom of each day.

Sarah Montague wakens my clay

With public-school tones that say

‘I’m sure I am right;

Ha, ha, I will fight

With Humphrys about the time of the day!’

John in the meantime has slain

Another Demon with mighty disdain:

‘Do you mean to say

That you cannot stay

Till I’ve drawn the last drop from each vein?’

NOAH SOLUTION

A wonderful Captain was Noah:

His ship was a ferry fine go-a:

It conveyed man and beast

In pairs, west and east,

Until the flood was considerably lowa.

ALONE, ALONE, MY KINGDOM…

There once was a Queen of Tonga,

Whose books would balance no longa:

‘What does one do?’

She cried, ‘Must one too

Solicit a gold sovereign from Wonga?’

STOKE’S BLOKES

That the girls who live down in Stoke

Shave in the Plough is no joke:

Their room has a socket

That would power a rocket –

Their electrickery beats every bloke!

CEREAL KILLERS

A breakfast of fruit and fibre

Helped Romans to swim the Tiber,

And Julius Caesar

To catch every geezer

Who made trouble north of the Khyber!

NOTES

This was composed this morning in a Fawlty Towers motel in Stoke-on-Trent. I’m still trying to find poetic words to express my confusion yesterday morning, when I discovered that the shaver socket in our bedroom wasn’t working. The pull-cord had broken ‘at source’. When I went to reception to ask where I could find a WORKING shaver socket, I was told by the /duty officer’ that the only one he knew of was in the LADIES! I joke not – at least, not intentionally. I replied, ‘My goodness, you must have some ladies down here!’ Anyway, I went into the LADIES, and there, sure enough, was a working shaver socket. I had to set a guard on the door. I will go through the same procedure again tomorrow. In the meantime, the fine breakfast menu has inspired the above effusion, and I’m sure my experience in the LADIES will produce an equally fine b(e)ardic gem, when my PTSD settles down.

NOYES AND NONSENSE

I feel sorry for poor Rabbie Burns:

Daft Scots now take it in turns

To make a daft guess

If he would say YES

Or NO in Referendum returns!

NOTES

The end of NOYES campaign can’t come quickly enough for me, as it has shown so much downright silliness and shallow thinking. It has also stirred many noisy and pointless antagonisms. Trying to work out the mind of Burns on the matter of the Referendum is the latest stupidity. Then was then, and now is now. I don’t give two hoots whether Burns or any other poet would have said YES or NO. Nor do I care what he thought THEN about the ‘parcel of rogues in the nation’ in his own time. We have different ‘parcels’ NOW – and we have to make up our own minds.

BIEB, BIEB…

I race my red Lamborghini

When I’m at home in Tireeni,

I show my best smile

To my fans in that isle –

And I love it when cops interveni!

UP HULLY AAARGHH….

Alas for the fine ‘Hamnavoe’,

Now trashed by that ghastly Ser-co!

A grim Viking thug

With an ugly blue mug

Adorns her white hull with dire woe!

SOUND THE TRUMP

The news that stout Donald Trump

Is about to stand on the stump

Will make gravity shake

And stability break -

We’ll awake with the quake of his thump.

NOTES

The quake will be followed by a major tsunami in the Atlantic. The Hebrides will need to look to their coastal defences, and make sure that all necessary precautions are in place before the arrival of great splash from the half-Lewisman.

FOXED

A fox that fell out with a cleg,

Got a nasty sting on his leg;

But the fox bit back,

The cleg got a crack,

And had to buzz off to his keg.

WRECKED OR…?

Time to get out the detector!

Snowden is keen to be Rector

Of dear Gilmorehill

Where his spying will thrill

Our Anton who succeeded old Hector!

NOTES

Who could ever remember (I mean ‘forget’, of course) the glorious reign of Sir Hector Hetherington, father of Alistair of the Beeb? Happy days at the Principal’s Lodge when Hector was at home. It was Sir Charles Wilson in my day.

Even happier now, I believe, and I am sure Professor Muscatelli, the current Principal, will welcome the excellent news about Edward Snowden’s willingness to stand as Rector on behalf of the students. Wow! It will be like having Jimmy Reid as Rector all over again. Let the sit-ins begin….

LATEST IN ‘LE MONDE’

A fortunate man is Hollande,

Of whom all the ladies are fond:

But fool would she be

Who reckoned that she

Was the only one in ‘le monde’!

SIGN’S OFF

As Cambridges sign’s drop the ‘pos’,

Grammarian’s grieve it’s sad loss:

Confusion will reign

In many a brain,

With compensation thats bound to be gros’s.

BURY MY CAT AT WONDROUS TIREE…

A London dame with a cat

Once found it dead on the mat;

She said, ‘I must flee

To furthest Tiree,

And bury it where it first sat.’

So she set off with her shovel

To perform a rite that was novel;

The cat flew in a box

Through security blocks,

And was soon in-tiree-d in the grovel.

GOING BANANAS

The world has gone truly bananas!

Monkeys must stop their old mannas!

That fruit is too sweet,

So they can’t get a treat –

They now have to live with banned-anas!

RIGHT ROYAL BANK PUSS

‘Today’s the day for our bonus –

So please don’t bother to phone us:

We’re having a pause

To sharpen the clause

That makes you pay, since you own us!’

SEANN NÒS

Is toigh leam fhìn an Seann Nòs,

‘Bogey Roll’ bh’aig na bodaich nam òig’:

Bu duirche an toit

Na ceò às a’ phoit,

’S e a’ fiaradh gu ciar do na neòil!

Bidh farpais ann aig a’ Mhòd

Feuch cò as motha nì ceò,

A’ deoghal na pìob

Le lasair mhòr bhrèagh’,

’S gheibh am fear ’s duirch’ am Bonn Òir!

PECKING ORDER

How do you live as ‘First Lady’,

If the Boss is a little bit shady?

If you’re No. 2,

Can you make do

When the First Man acquires an up-grady?

NOTES

Well, there’s nothing new in that question, is there? I am reliably informed that it was common (sorry, I know it’s not the right word, given the context) enough among the ‘high heid yins’ at one time, and that it was also a trait of the ‘royals’ that some of us admire so passionately.

RUN, BABY, RUN…

Young Jessica’s now on her way

With a baton that’s hard to relay:

Nine months on the road

In marathon mode –

But the last lap will be worth the delay!

ME SPHINX

A wonderful beast is the Sphinx:

It scratches its block and it thinks:

It lifts its big hands

Out of the sands,

Wags its stone tail, and blinks.

It runs to the Nile, and it drinks,

But when it steps in, it sinks:

‘This is not fair, O!

‘Dum spiro, spero,

But I fear this fine river now stinks!’

NOTES

The Sphinx has seen a lot in its time, and has learned many languages, including Latin. ‘Dum spiro, spero’ means literally ‘While I breathe, I hope’ (= ‘Where there’s life, there’s hope’). It has to speak in terms familiar to itself, of course, and I can only presume that its reference to ‘pyramid’ may be a veiled allusion to the political structure of the present day. Of course, the Sphinx doesn’t like modern architecture either, and we may be better to read this ancient poem at face value.

This last line is based on a reading in an ancient papyrus which has recently come to light. A more recent papyrus reads: ‘But I fear this new pyramid stinks!’ Scholars have suggested emending ‘pyramid’ to ‘government’.

BUY BUY TEXT

Dear Marks & Sparks will be vexed

That Meeks buy their breeks from Next:

It’s surely the brand

That has to be grand:

At the heart of a textile is – text!

BORDER LINES

Our old friend Nigel Farage

Is going to build a barrage

To stop the Huns

Afflicted with runs

From swimming across for triage!

THAT WORD ‘ROYAL’…

There once was a bank called the Royal,

To which we were all very loyal.

It’s now doing fine,

With six in a line –

How’s that for being downright disloyal?

BRISTLE ROYAL

Prince Harry is now bristling a beard,

And One says, ‘It’s just as We feared:

He needs a close shave,

So We’ll sharpen a stave,

And push to have his thistles all cleared!’

HAIR LINES

Dave’s barber is dyeing with glee;

He’s been given a gong as his fee:

‘If you deco-rate

My balding pate,

I’ll decorate you – MBE!’

COOK STRAIT

No rest for the wicket from crashes:

England’s hopes are reduced to ashes.

How sad it must look

To old Captain Cook –

His namesake’s poor crew getting lashes!

SNOW DUN BADLY

Edward Snowden has reached a peak

By giving the world a wee peek

At the devious ways

The USA plays

‘I Spy’ and ‘Hide and Seek’!

THE PITS

‘We don’t have a list of the pits!

Scargill’s betraying the Brits!’

So said Mrs T,

But now we can see

Her game-plan for seventy hits!

NOTES

And our trust in politicians goes even further down the mine-shaft. If gold rust, what shall iron do?

THE EVEN BETTER LIFE

Margo is now a great Dame:

Penelope has achieved her aim:

She and old Jerry

Made us so merry –

But Barbara was really my flame!

AN DÀ MHAGAIDH

Fhuair sinn sàr-fhacal bhon t-sàr,

Tè bhog nach eil eòlach air blàr,

Seach an tè iarainn

A sgriosadh na ceudan -

Tè a bhreabadh gach tòn air a bàrr!

NOTA

Nach ann oirnn a thàinig an dà Mhagaidh!

SPANKING OLD….

Somewhere there’s always a Maggie

To clobber the world with her baggy:

So please do not spank

Your kids for their prank –

Just leave it to dear Baggy Maggie!

NOTES

’Atkins off to her!

HOGMANAY TWEET

If TV’s Hogmanay’s still dry,

I hope Jackie the Bird will fly

To a land far away

For a very long stay,

And give the old year a GOOD bye.

I think I have long had my Phil

Of Cunningham’s doting key-drill,

Drooling with pride

On Auld Reekie’s backside–

I’ll go daft if I must see him still.

FERRY AMAZING

Raise a glass to the gallant ‘Heb Isles’

For beating fierce storms in the kyles:

Tiree was amazed

When, nothing fazed,

Norman berthed her at Gott with big smiles!

FERRY COST-EFFECTIVE

Here’s to the heroic ‘Heb Isles’,

The best-looking ferry by miles!

Since leaving the Ouse,

She has paid all her dues,

And has brought in the money in piles!

IT’S ALL IN THE NAME

Dame Eliza Manningham-Buller –

Could any name be a syllable fuller?

She ran MI5,

And no-one alive

Should imagine that s/he could fool her!

HOT DINNER

Said Auld Nick to Biggs, ‘I can tell

That you dined out on your fame very well;

You had a toast

On an alien coast,

So I’ve prepared you a roast in Hell!’

THE LAST HOLD-UP

Ronnie Biggs, in his grubbiest suit,

Stopped the ‘Stiffs Express’ on its route:

Driver Death said, ‘Board,

Yourself and your hoard –

I want YOU as part of MY loot!’

NO SHOW

Let’s now eat, drink and be merry,

For the Mallaig-Lochboisdale ferry:

She’s had a bad blow

And seldom will show,

But she’s on paper – and that’s worth a sherry!

GOTCHA!

Dave’s glorious Afghan win

Will surely make everyone grin:

The Taliban too

Will welcome his view,

As his words are a triumph of spin.

GO, GAIA, GO….

Goddess Gaia has now left the earth,

And was last seen on high over Perth.

Good luck, Milky Way!

You can have her to stay!

Her absence from here leaves no dearth.

MINNIE HAPPY RETURNS

Happy sixtieth, Minnie the Minx!

Your fans will buy you some drinks!

Your roary red hair

Is in perfect repair,

And you still keep your readers in kinks!

JOE BLOGS….

We’ve just arrived new on Tiree,

And we’re happy as happy can be:

We’ll write in our blogs

About natives with clogs –

On islands we’re experts, you see.

BORIS LANDING

‘Boris Island’ will be one of our gems:

It will adorn the mud of the Thames:

Let’s hope for a splash

And a mighty big crash

When the Mayor lands flat on the flems.

THANK YOUR LUCKY STARS

The stars, when receiving more prizes,

Make speeches full of surprises:

They offer their thanks

To all in their ranks,

To the world and his wife – and Devizes.

NOTES

My thanks go to Sir Bradley Wiggins, who made the announcement, to the BBC for sponsoring the Sports Personality of the Year, to the voters who voted for Andy Murray (a huge surprise), to Martina Navratilova for going out of her way to take the trophy to Andy, to Andy Murray for receiving the trophy so graciously and for making such a thankfully boring speech, and to you, my dear FB friends, for putting up with my thankless limericks. Without you, I just wouldn’t be where I am today, i.e. on Facebook. Please don’t thank me – just thank yourselves. PS Is there anyone else I should have thanked? PPS Devizes is the biggest of the surprises.

NOT AT ALL BUNNY

The dear old Man in the Moon

Is not in good Christmas tune:

The Rabbit has landed

As China commanded,

And will dig up his carrots quite soon.

NOTES

How many carets are there in moon dust?

INNSE GALL

I met a fine toff with a drawl

Who spoke about ‘urban sprawl’:

I resisted a smile

Since this distant isle

Will quite soon be part of it all.

NOTES

People don’t always think about how their presence may, in the long run, defeat their aim in seeking out the solitude of islands.

TRAMATIC EVENTS

Auld Reekie has raised a few drams

To honour its long-delayed trams;

Down Murrayfield way

Before break of day,

They managed to avoid some grand slams!

WHAT FLOATS YOUR BOAT…?

Dave will ‘turn the “Brit” round’,

Like a tanker in old Plymouth Sound:

But is his big boat

Well and truly afloat,

Or is she high and dry on bad ground?

NOTES

There are certain contemporary words and phrases which I hate. Another of these (in addition to ‘toxic’) is ‘turn (a)round’. Cameron claimed (again) on ‘The World at One’ a few minutes ago that he is going ‘to turn Britain around’. What exactly does he mean? I hear his colleagues telling us that they are going to ‘turn our economy around’….and so on. Preserve us from such glib, repetitive, fashionable, parrot-talk! What can they not say, ‘We hope to address our economic problems in the following ways…’ Dave is certainly turning Britain round, and his heading is very much East. Does he mean that he wants to ‘turn the country into a wholly-owned subsidiary of China?

WALL’S TREAT

Mrs T. brought down a big wall,

And the east had a mighty hard fall;

But Dave in the east

Cares not in the least

If the Great Wall should stand taller than tall.

BAILING OUT

'Britannia' wallows to lee,
Held up by the great China Sea:
That eastern ocean
Will now be her potion -
Dave's bailing her out on his knee!

YUAN YEN

'It's the Yuan, not the Yen, Mr Dave;
It will save you from having to save:
We're ready to come,
We'll count the sum -
To bank on our checkers you crave!'

CREW CUT

A ship once moored at Shanghai,

Had masts that reached to the sky:

Her crew on the shrouds

Disappeared in the clouds -

Shanghaied up on high in Shanghai!

PLATFORM WON

As High Speed arrives in Bejing,

Dave opens the doors with a swing:

‘Please come aboard

To deposit your hoard:

My yen is the same as your zing.’

CA’ IL MAC?

The Raasay folk welcome the ‘Hallaig’,

But alas for Lochboisdale and Mallaig:

South Uist folk say

On a calm, peaceful day,

‘Cà’il Mac? Chan eil a’ LOTI a’ callaig!’

KNIGHT SKY

What a star is Angela Night!

In darkness she burns so bright!

There’s plenty of choice

So let us rejoice –

Press the switch, and turn on the light!

NOTES

The last time I heard Ms Night, she was trying hard to make sense of the banks, and to hold up all the burnt-out meteors that were falling from that star-spangled sky. Now she is training her flare on the energy pulsars, making sure that they will achieve critical mass, and won’t suffer the same fate as Ison. Armour shining in the night, rather than a knight in shining armour!

DOODLE BUG

She's there wi' her braw rolling-pin,
Hingin' oot, wi' a big cheesy grin;
'When Ally comes hame,
Ah'll gie him the blame,
An' land him a crack oan his chin.'

BACKING BRITAIN

The eye's on the mirror - rear view:
The gear-lever's gripping the screw:
For the past we all yearn,
So it's full speed astern;
But I'd prefer to go forward - wouldn't you?

NOTES

This was inspired (if that is the right word) by the sight of that tired, old slogan from yesteryear, 'I'm backing Britain', appearing as part of the 'No' Campaign. So original, so meaningful, so novel and fresh. Boy, am I weary of the Yes/No game!

OFF THEIR ROCKERS

Is it an attempt to provoke,

Or just another wee joke?

Spain’s little ship

Is merely a blip,

But brave Brits are going for broke.

‘Ambassador, tell us right now

Why YOU have created this row!

As we own the Rock,

You mustn’t knock

Britannia’s wreath on her brow!’

NOTES

Jolly good, what? They’re at it again, and we’ll have to recall the ‘Illustrious’ from the East, what? Or else get CalMac to send the mighty ‘Clansman’ down with some hardware to scare the pants off the Spannies? Arf, arf! Another cigar, Admiral Rodney-Nelson-Cameron? Try your three barrels this time, and given them what for, eh?

TURBINE GOLF

Chez Trump can surely combine

Golf with a distant tur-bine:

Drive with great might,

And hit it just right –

‘Holes in one’ will soon wreck the line!

NAME FOR RECYCLING?

Between Rumsfeld, the Duck and Trump,

Poor ‘Donald’ should be put in the dump;

The once-worthy name

Has been covered in shame

By a fool, a quack and a grump!

FLOWER POWER

If you’re good at arranging your Flowers,

You’ll be seen to have blooming fine powers;

You can grow on a bank,

Indulge a wee prank,

And be refreshed by the best of the showers!

HORSE’S MOUTH

The Princess is wanting some mare,

Though her taste in meat is quite rare:

A kick in the ham

Will spice up her spam,

With a polo to round off her share.

SCUPPERED

Pompey’s been buried in lava,

Causing much pain and palava;

The price of the ‘No’

Is beginning to show –

The ‘Union’s’ holed, but Govan will have a!

WHERE ARE WE EDDING?

Two Eds may be better than one,

But I’d prefer to have none,

Than to lose my brains

To show my disdains –

And fire dud balls from my gun!

FAIR ENOUGH

Here's to bright Teneriffe,

Where a year is only too brief,

And fair Lanzarote

Where nothing is grotty,

And sunshine dispels all your grief!

NO CANARIES

When we thought of Teneriffe,
Someone said 'Ton o' grief',
And for Lanzarote,
They said 'Lanzagrotty' –
So we decided to head for Crieff!

ENERGY CLAUSE

Energy really does matter,
According to political chatter,
But the overall aim
Is always the same –
To make the fat cats a lot fatter!

PHONEY NOISES

What is that noise on my phone?

Angela, please leave me alone!

O, it’s you, Barry?

I thought it was Harry,

Just checking my thoughts on the throne!

REVVING DOWN

I remember dear Father Flash,

Who cut a bit of a dash,

With his fast cars

And drinks at the bars,

Until his collar came off in a crash.

NOTES

Not a literal ‘car crash’, please note, but one which was, in his terms, quite a bit worse.

VAT CAT

There once was a Bishop of Bling

Who enjoyed a bit of a fling;

He smiled at the VAT,

And his livings were fat,

Until his Patter put paid to his zing.

NE'ERVANA

He said he'd found his Nirvana
Somewhere to the west of Canna;
By way of reply
I said with a sigh,
'I've searched all my days, but Ah canna!'

YOU TOPE, EE, AAH...

Please come to the happiest Isles,
Where people always wear smiles;
Where neighbours don't fight
And transport is right,
And 'empties' are not seen in piles.

NOTES

This is my considered response to the recent survey which concluded that the people in Na h-Eileanan Siar, Orkney and Shetland were the happiest in the UK, while the denizens of Stoke-on-Trent had the lowest levels of life satisfaction.

GREENTRAX

Dave’s beautiful huskies and sledge

Have gone hurtling over the edge;

Some dirty green tacks

Were spread on their tracks –

Now they barely hold on to the p-ledge!

ONE TOOT AND...

Theresa's fancy removal van
Has been given a lifelong ban;
She's declared SORN,
And can't toot the horn
At those silly jay-walkers who ran!

JACK IT UP

How fine to hear that the Jack

Will never come under attack,

Nor will it flag,

Unravel or sag,

Until the Union one day gets the sack!

NOTES

Is it a ‘Jack’ or is it a ‘Flag’? That was the great question that confronted the vexillologists, who have now pronounced that it can be either! Banner headlines indeed.

DANNY BOY

Whatever has happened to Danny,

That chap who would sell his own granny?

I thought he was strong,

But clearly I’m wrong –

He’s a wee, cowering back-door sort of manny!

DOMINANT MAIL

A fellow whose name is Paul Dacre

Is King in his own little acre;

He is the ‘Mail’

Who never will fail –

A confident mover and shaker!

FAT MAIL CATS

Today the dear Royal Mail
Is going for a mighty big sale;
This great flotation
Will rip off the nation -
Fat cats will get cream in the Pale!

GAS BAG

Paterson may step on the gas
To bring his slaughter to pass;
He'll not lack supply
In the Big House down by -
Guff and puff form most of its mass!

NET LOSS

If you badger a brock in its sett,

He'll give you as good as he'll get;

Paterson's shot

Has now gone to pot,

And he's put an 'own goal' in the net!

CULLERFUL LANGUAGE

The Brocks have won the first sett

By moving the posts and the net;

Owen shouts ‘Fowl’

Like a dreary old owl –

‘Team Badger – TB – ’s hard to get!’

WEEL, WEEL

Buck House in the baton has sent

A message with splendid intent,

To invite to the games

All men and dames -

Hoy spoke weel o’ the Glasgow event!

GAMES HOYJACK

The message has been sent via Hoy,

Which could be a dangerous ploy;

The Old Man could say,

‘We’ll do things my way,

And hold them in Kirkwall with joy!’

BAT ON A BIKE

It’s rare to see a bat on a bike,

With a message that most folk will like;

Put a spoke in his wheel

To help common weal,

And ring his bell frae north o’ the Dyke!

NEIGH BACKING OUT

A horse in Lewis is in danger

Of losing its luxury manger;

To a semi-detached

With service unmatched,

Gray Lady Too is no stranger.

The ‘Mail’ is sending a hack

To the horse’s mouth up in Back,

To grab a great tale

While holding a pail –

Let’s hope that the horse has the knack!

The owner is truly most noble,

And also a little bit global,

But CNES’s old nags

Have torn her to rags –

Human rights for a horse are ignoble.

CANE SUGAR

Lord Sugar is not always sweet;

He’s in trouble because of a tweet;

Less of the cane

And more of the brain

Might help him when out on his beet.

MARVEL IN THE GARVEL

The ‘Lewis’ has gone to the Garvel:

That she sails at all is a marvel:

Since she switched to peat,

There’s been nothing but heat –

So she’ll now be re-rigged as a carvel!

WHO NOSE, BOBBY?

As everyone in Edinburgh knows,

The Bobby has got a black nose;

But now it shines white,

And Greyfriars at night

Is lit by its glit as it glows!

NOTES

Greyfriars’ Bobby’s black snout has been a cause of the greatest concern to his many admirers. Sadly, the tip of that incomparable snout, possibly through constant stroking and other expressions of the deepest affection, lost its authentic hue and turned pale, thus desecrating the great legend of the loyal hound. So the fine nose was repaired recently by the application of black lead. The lead had scarcely dried than the nose began to shine white again, possibly through the intervention of advocates of the ‘Nos’’ campaign. Who nose?

SWEET DEPARTURE

The 'Muirneag' brought Bounty at night,
And Kit-kats too got their bite;
But now nothing Mars
Her path to the stars -
Her future's a Turkish Delight!

NOTES

The celebrated CalMac cargo-vessel ‘Muirneag’ served Lewis (alongside the ‘Isle of Lewis’) for many a long and weary year, plodding back and forth between Stornoway and Ullapool during the night, with all the essentials required for life in that part of the Utter Hebrides. In 2013 she was sold to interests in Turkey, and left Stornoway for good, much to the sorrow of the people of Lewis.

PANDAMICK

The embryonic Referend Um
Is stuck in the panda's tum;
With no sign of 'Yes',
We'll just have to guess
When the cub's independence will come!

NO HARES APPARENT

Caolas – township of millionaires,

Great Lords and Ladies with airs,

And a couple of ‘locals’

Wearing bifocals,

And beating the grass to find hares!

NOTE

Perhaps we should read ‘hares’ as ‘heirs’? Who knows where this re-reading might run? What I do know is that my native township of Caolas, Tiree, has been transformed during my lifetime from a community of Gaelic-speaking people to one with only a tiny number of Gaelic speakers (less than half a dozen). The native stock has all but died out. In their place, some non-native year-round residents have arrived, but more marked is a wealthy holiday-making elite with summer houses. Their mansions now fringe the Caolas coastline. If this change were to be replicated across Tiree over the next fifty years, I would expect the population to drop to perhaps no more than 100 native Tirisdich, and a resident non-native population of perhaps 200 (not stable in the longer term, as many are in retirement), with a seasonal increase of 500-700 related to windsurfing etc. in summer. It is no surprise to me that the loss of population for the decade 2001-2011 has been so serious. What does amaze me is that there seems to be no comment in ‘An Tirisdeach’ from anyone in a position of leadership in the island, assuming that the island does have a leader or leaders, of course. Declining population will affect the viability of the current senior secondary school, the ferry services, the care home, and much else – so it is a very, very serious matter, and needs to be addressed. It is not pleasant, believe me, to live through the death of a Gaelic-speaking community, as I have done…Plenty of hares, of course, though there are few heirs!

ED THE RED

Can you tell me the colour of Ed?
As a Brit, he's blue, white and red;
But to be in the pink
He’s now had to think -
And keep crimson as part of his thread!

SEEING RED

Ed has developed an itch
To play with the energy switch;
But bosses have said,
'The light is at red;
You will not get a green from us, titch!'

BLOOMERS

UKIPpers are whipping up froth,

Laundering all their political cloth;

A shower of smuts

From one of their sluts

Stained their bloomers as they looked for their broth.

NOTE

Their broth was in a dirty fridge. The English language is sure causing some daft politicians a lot of trouble these days. The world has gone mad. I didn’t realise that the word ‘slut’ had changed its meaning so drastically that its use now, even as a ‘dirty joke’ (!!) in a political environment, merits the withdrawal of the whip from a member. I think that sort of reaction deserves the application of the whip to a certain backside. ‘Faragery’ needs to find a place in the dictionary – or the use of the word ‘Farage’ should be banned, on pain of execution.

MARRIAGE OWLER

A wise owl, entrusted with rings,

At a wedding spread its broad wings;

To wit, not to woo,

It snoozed out of view –

It doesn’t give a hoot for such things!

Passages from Tiree

Tuesday, 9 September 2014

LIFE IN LIMERIX 2012-September 2014