In Memoriam Kitty's Comment

I tried posting a comment on the 3WW blog yesterday but it never appeared, presumably diverted to the great MacBook in the sky. It wasn't a very interesting comment, something about misreading "beacon" as "bacon", but it somehow seems sad that it's gone forever. So I wrote a verse of ottava rima in its memory.

The wifi casts it to the open air
It leaves reality for cyberspace
A different world, who knows what happens there?
We’ll never get to visit such a place
A virtual maze to baffle and ensnare.
It drifts new paths and leaves no crumb, no trace
It wanders always through the web’s domain
And never is that message seen again

In Search of Adventure

Inspired by 3 word wednesday: beacon, grieve, kindred.

The dawn breaks, spilling soft gray light
We’ve left Southampton’s hectic docks
And now sail under cliffs so white
The Needles' constant, steadfast rocks

The lighthouse shines at ocean’s side
A beacon casting out its beam
It flings its message far and wide
And sends me to follow my dream

But tell my kindred not to grieve
For though I journey far away
Deep in my heart I do believe
That I will return home one day

The Ballad of the Coventry Ring Road

Visiting relatives in Coventry this weekend. The city is home to what one survivor calls "the road equivalent of a fairground ride - frightening but an awful lot of fun"

One morning Lucifer awoke
To a new day in hell
"I had a dream last night," he spoke,
"An idea for a spell
It's time I had some depraved fun
For I'd become quite bored
This new plan's such a wicked one
It has to be explored."

On well-aged rage he based the brew
Then stirred in conc. despair
And extract of confusion, too
Was whisked in with a flair
Five metric tonnes of distilled stress
The potion mixed and flowed
The sum of all this fiendishness?
The Coventry Ring Road.

Now, some minds less innovative
May think this story junk.
The realists alternative:
The road planners were drunk.
Whichever way it came about,
I hope you will agree,
The ring road is, without a doubt,
A scary place to be.

You'd have to be gazelle-like deft
To stop at each red light
And when that sign back there said "left"
It really meant "turn right".
You think you're in the fastest lane
That much, at least, you know
But once you've turned the bend it's plain
You're really in the slow.

The roundabouts all intersect,
A dainty looping chain
You think you know what to expect
But then you're lost again.
This great ouroboros-like snake
Defies logic or plan,
You realise with a double take
You're back where you began.

The final word on this subject has to go to h2g2 "One of the features of the Coventry Ring Road that appeals to a great many people...is that it provides access to high speed roads that lead away from Coventry"

Grouches, hypocrites and Keira

The world's a mess. Absolutely. We've fucked it.
So why not just sit back and deconstruct it?
Martin Crimp- The Misanthrope

I went to see Moliere's The Misanthrope at the Comedy Theatre this week, starring Damien Lewis (that guy from The Forsyte Saga) and Keira Knightly. The acting was fine, there was nothing wrong with it, but it was the script that blew me away. I'm going to confess that I'm not entirely familiar with the original, my seventeenth century French being not all that it should be, but Martin Crimp's translation was a rhymers delight. Two solid hours of rhyme! I was in heaven...

People will speak highly of a pile of shit
if they've dressed up and spent fifty quid just to see it
Martin Crimp- The Misanthrope

Dire news

The protest’s spreading far and wide
There’s workers marching in the street
The press inflame the angry tide
And twitterers in outrage tweet

What’s put the public in a spin?
What’s sent the politicians daft?
Is World War III soon to begin?
No, Cadbury’s been sold to Kraft

Overheard in the college lift

"Research groups are not democracies. They're more like benevolent dictatorships. Usually without the benevolence"

The Ballad of the Cambridge Alumna

No more punting after sunset
In the moonlight soft and cool
Snuggle warmly under blankets
Up to Byron’s silent pool

No more all night long debating
Arguing of high ideals
Until dawn ideas creating
Limping home in kitten heels

Reading Homer in the meadows
Sipping wine beside the Cam
Where the willows cast their shadows
Where the yellow ducklings swam

No more parties in pyjamas
No more parties in ball gowns
No more plays and no more dramas
Acting fools around the town

Though the sun’s still brightly shining
Though the cold east wind still blows
Though the punts are still reclining
Where the river Cam still flows

We are finished with our learning
Notes lie on the rubbish heap
Now we use our days for earning
We must use our nights to sleep

Inspired by Sunday Scribbling: The good old days

Ballad for a sleepy saturday

Part I: In which an unlikely superhero saves the day

One evening from dark Gotham City
A message was sent, short and tense
“The Joker’s returned." What a pity
And now let the mayhem commence

It was sent to the UN headquarters
Whose president, wise Ban Ki-Moon
Announced to the gathered reporters
He’d sort out this problem quite soon

“Now Batman’s got early retirement,
Does nothing but lie on a beach,
Who else is there meets our requirement
Of ridding the world of this leach?

Although we are quite apprehensive
Our ‘maniac’ budget’s been shred
Now Spiderman’s too damn expensive
We’ll send in Miss Marple instead”

They flew in the nosy old biddy
She interviewed Jokers old gang
Including the rap star P Diddy
Who once with the villain had sang

Her break came when Joker’s old crony
First mentioned his fondness for trout
“I knew that the fiend was a phony
His secret at last is found out

In a twist that’s not unmediocre
(I know this is quite a surprise)
The creature we know as ‘The Joker’
Is Blofeld’s white cat in disguise”

And with that fact, later or sooner
The criminal now could be found
They baited a trap with tinned tuna
And sent that cat back to the pound

Coming Soon~ Part II: In which the tabbies take their dreadful revenge

Snowed in some more

Inspired by Carry on Tuesday. Yes, it’s more whinging about the weather. Spot who’s English.

At once, the best and worst of times
An age to spend whole days in bed
To while the hours composing rhymes
As we can’t get to work instead

A time to criticise the trains
(They’ve cancelled all for three days straight)
To whinge about the icy lanes
Where stinking bins unemptied wait

When rumoured sightings of a gritter
Turn out to be a wishful thought
We try to treat paths with cat litter
But all our efforts come to naught

The Council’s left us all to rot
They can’t help, no, the snow’s too deep
The best way to deal with our lot?
Turn over and go back to sleep

Incidentally, A Tale of Two Cities is the only novel I can think of where both the first and last lines have become famous quotes. Can anyone think of any others?

Snowed in

The guy from ATOC said on the news that "if they're patient, travellers can get where they're going". Clearly he hasn't tried travelling from my local station. Meanwhile, local radio advises train passengers to "check before you travel". Fair enough, but with the National Rail website, special severe weather helpline and regular helplines all inaccessible due to the sheer amount of traffic, quite tricky to achieve unless you're psychic.

Think travelling by road would be better? Well, some bright spark had the idea of ploughing them without gritting, so the roads are sheets of ice, with nice high snow banks either side for the cars to skid into and get stuck. I didn't like to take any pictures of people digging themselves out (some photo-journalist I make), but here's my favourite set of skid marks, beautifully slaloming into the distance

The lights are flickering now, so it's anyone's guess how long we have before the electricity goes...