The kids are so excited that they're jumping up and down
They're watching through the window as the circus comes to town
There's painted rides and super slides and animals galore
I hope it doesn't happen like it happened once before
Our Jimmy went to see it all a year or two ago
It dazzled him so much, he went to each and every show
He fell in love with "Esmeralda, Prophetess of Fire"
So Jimmy went away to be the Man upon the Wire
Our Jimmy joined the circus in the winking of an eye
He packed a little suitcase and he kissed us all goodbye
He said he had to do it, and we really mustn't grieve
Then off he went to frolic in the land of make-believe
He sent us all a card or letter every now and then
So no one ever doubted we'd be seeing him again
The little ones are proud of him, they're Jimmy's greatest fans
We're looking out for Jimmy now, among the caravans
Well...
It isn't quite as glamorous as how it ought to be
He's mucking out the elephants and brewing up the tea
But he's never looked so happy and he never seems to tire
I'm glad he didn't get to be the Man upon the Wire.
Will Hames
March 2010
Monday, 22 March 2010
Monday, 1 March 2010
Hell's Kitchen
From Frinton-on-Sea to the Bay of Bengal
There's places to terrify, shock and appall
But my mother's kitchen's the worst place of all
It frightens the strongest of men
For over the doorway, these words you can trace:
"Abandon hope, all ye who enter this place
And don't put the food anywhere near your face
If you want to see daylight again!"
A friend from my youth (may his stature increase)
Who married a girl from the local police
Was caught in the act of consuming a piece of
My mother's bread pudding he'd found.
My father went pale, he said: "Tony, you prat!
For God's sake sit down if you want to eat that
Or your rectum will plummet in nought seconds flat
And you'll drag it along on the ground!"
I've travelled the world, my research is complete
And I've rarely found anything I couldn't eat
From witchety grubs to yak's testicle meat
And cannabis cooked in a cake
But, seeking out fresh epicurean thrills
I sometimes go terribly green round the gills
And these little words make me head for the hills:
"It's just like your Mum used to make!"
Will Hames
March 2010
There's places to terrify, shock and appall
But my mother's kitchen's the worst place of all
It frightens the strongest of men
For over the doorway, these words you can trace:
"Abandon hope, all ye who enter this place
And don't put the food anywhere near your face
If you want to see daylight again!"
A friend from my youth (may his stature increase)
Who married a girl from the local police
Was caught in the act of consuming a piece of
My mother's bread pudding he'd found.
My father went pale, he said: "Tony, you prat!
For God's sake sit down if you want to eat that
Or your rectum will plummet in nought seconds flat
And you'll drag it along on the ground!"
I've travelled the world, my research is complete
And I've rarely found anything I couldn't eat
From witchety grubs to yak's testicle meat
And cannabis cooked in a cake
But, seeking out fresh epicurean thrills
I sometimes go terribly green round the gills
And these little words make me head for the hills:
"It's just like your Mum used to make!"
Will Hames
March 2010
Saturday, 20 February 2010
Small Hairy Person
"You're a small, hairy person," said Mrs MacNee
"And I don't understand why you're bothering me
And I don't have the time to work out what you said
For I ought to be fixing the supper instead
Of just standing here wondering what I should do
With a troublesome, small, hairy person like you
"I was perfectly happy and doing quite well
'Til you knocked on my knocker and rang on my bell
Now I'm all of a dither, my mind's in a mess
And The Simpsons is on in five minutes or less
And the last thing I need is a bothersome caller...
F*** off, little man, and come back when you're taller!"
Will Hames
February 2010
"And I don't understand why you're bothering me
And I don't have the time to work out what you said
For I ought to be fixing the supper instead
Of just standing here wondering what I should do
With a troublesome, small, hairy person like you
"I was perfectly happy and doing quite well
'Til you knocked on my knocker and rang on my bell
Now I'm all of a dither, my mind's in a mess
And The Simpsons is on in five minutes or less
And the last thing I need is a bothersome caller...
F*** off, little man, and come back when you're taller!"
Will Hames
February 2010
Monday, 28 December 2009
A Phone Call on the Night before Armageddon
Hello, God? Yeah, hi, this is Nigel. Accommodation Manager, Purgatory? Yeah well, apparently we’re expecting a bit of a rush tomorrow, is that right? Word is it’ll be everybody this time, yeah?
Oh, apart from those guys in the space station: they’ll be along a bit later. Well that’ll take some of the pressure off.
Look, before we get all panicky down here, can I just check this isn’t one of those drills? Like the Cuban missile crisis, y’know, where everybody was saying “What’s the point of having nukes if you’re afraid to use them?” and then they chickened out at the last minute?
I certainly do remember it. I’ll say. Expecting all that company and hardly anybody turns up. At it all night, I was, cooking vols-au-vent. Lived on the bloody things for a year.
I see, it’s not like that. Oh, more like the Flood, eh? Sorry, consider the Flood as being what? A dry run for this one. Ah yes, I see what you did there. Very funny.
Well, can I point out a couple of things? Firstly, there weren’t nearly so many people in the world when that happened, and even then you didn’t wipe all of them out. And secondly, that was a long time before this place was set up, wasn’t it? No Catholics then, were there? And you can’t have Purgatory without Catholics, can you? So we can hardly look on the Flood as a worthwhile training exercise. Anyway, I’ve been thinking about this and it seems to me we’ll have to compromise a bit on our service commitment. You know, the bit that says, “Every case will be considered on its merits”? Well, we obviously won’t have time for that, will we? So I’d propose we deal with them in batches. All mime artists, Morris dancers and telesales personnel straight downstairs, all clergy who’ve never abused children can go straight up to you… pardon? Oh, right… both clergy… Okay, moving on, also downstairs would go politicians, traffic wardens and the French.
You have an objection? You can’t condemn a whole sector of society just like that? All right, how about three quarters of the traffic wardens?
Yeah, you’re right, much more reasonable.
Anyway, that still leaves a lot of people to be sorted out, and I was wondering if we couldn’t simplify it a bit. How about everybody goes to Heaven? Didn’t I read somewhere that you had many mansions up there? Ah, Paxman, yeah… point taken. Well, what do you think we ought to do?
Oh I see. Everybody downstairs, and if they haven’t managed to fit into the system after three days, they can come back up. Yeah well, if God Junior did it that way, why not? Catch you later.
Oh, apart from those guys in the space station: they’ll be along a bit later. Well that’ll take some of the pressure off.
Look, before we get all panicky down here, can I just check this isn’t one of those drills? Like the Cuban missile crisis, y’know, where everybody was saying “What’s the point of having nukes if you’re afraid to use them?” and then they chickened out at the last minute?
I certainly do remember it. I’ll say. Expecting all that company and hardly anybody turns up. At it all night, I was, cooking vols-au-vent. Lived on the bloody things for a year.
I see, it’s not like that. Oh, more like the Flood, eh? Sorry, consider the Flood as being what? A dry run for this one. Ah yes, I see what you did there. Very funny.
Well, can I point out a couple of things? Firstly, there weren’t nearly so many people in the world when that happened, and even then you didn’t wipe all of them out. And secondly, that was a long time before this place was set up, wasn’t it? No Catholics then, were there? And you can’t have Purgatory without Catholics, can you? So we can hardly look on the Flood as a worthwhile training exercise. Anyway, I’ve been thinking about this and it seems to me we’ll have to compromise a bit on our service commitment. You know, the bit that says, “Every case will be considered on its merits”? Well, we obviously won’t have time for that, will we? So I’d propose we deal with them in batches. All mime artists, Morris dancers and telesales personnel straight downstairs, all clergy who’ve never abused children can go straight up to you… pardon? Oh, right… both clergy… Okay, moving on, also downstairs would go politicians, traffic wardens and the French.
You have an objection? You can’t condemn a whole sector of society just like that? All right, how about three quarters of the traffic wardens?
Yeah, you’re right, much more reasonable.
Anyway, that still leaves a lot of people to be sorted out, and I was wondering if we couldn’t simplify it a bit. How about everybody goes to Heaven? Didn’t I read somewhere that you had many mansions up there? Ah, Paxman, yeah… point taken. Well, what do you think we ought to do?
Oh I see. Everybody downstairs, and if they haven’t managed to fit into the system after three days, they can come back up. Yeah well, if God Junior did it that way, why not? Catch you later.
Wednesday, 24 June 2009
MAD AUNT BERNARD
In the county of Trebollocks, near St Vitus-by-the-Sea
There’s a warty-faced old harridan who’s everything to me
It’s my deeply mad Aunt Bernard, grandma’s cousin twice removed
(Well, they couldn’t leave her where she was; the vicar disapproved)
In a tumbledown old shack with stinging nettles round the door
Which the dustman and the postman and the neighbours all ignore
She sits chewing dark tobacco, playing banjo through the night
And she does a bit of shrieking, just to give the kids a fright
For the children of St Vitus are like children everywhere
They don’t understand “compassion”, they don’t know it’s rude to stare
But they’re good at spotting loonies, which in Mad Aunt Bernard’s case
Is incredibly un-difficult, it’s right there in your face
People tend to keep their distance, on account of her aroma
It's enough to clear your sinuses or wake you from a coma
If she ever had a boyfriend, well, she's managed to forget him
Local gossip says she had one, and it also says she ate him
From her dusty, battered trilby to her worn-out army boots
She’s a hymn to eccentricity, she cackles and she hoots
But there’s deep and timeless wisdom in the things she’ll often say
In her toothless, addled,”up-yer-pipes” old-biddy sort of way
So be kind to Mad Aunt Bernard, and be grateful you’re all right
You don’t giggle at a tortoise, you don’t rub a toad all night
Yet I wonder, don’t you envy her, this spirit wild and free
In the county of Trebollocks, near St Vitus-By-The-Sea?
Will Hames
June 2009
There’s a warty-faced old harridan who’s everything to me
It’s my deeply mad Aunt Bernard, grandma’s cousin twice removed
(Well, they couldn’t leave her where she was; the vicar disapproved)
In a tumbledown old shack with stinging nettles round the door
Which the dustman and the postman and the neighbours all ignore
She sits chewing dark tobacco, playing banjo through the night
And she does a bit of shrieking, just to give the kids a fright
For the children of St Vitus are like children everywhere
They don’t understand “compassion”, they don’t know it’s rude to stare
But they’re good at spotting loonies, which in Mad Aunt Bernard’s case
Is incredibly un-difficult, it’s right there in your face
People tend to keep their distance, on account of her aroma
It's enough to clear your sinuses or wake you from a coma
If she ever had a boyfriend, well, she's managed to forget him
Local gossip says she had one, and it also says she ate him
From her dusty, battered trilby to her worn-out army boots
She’s a hymn to eccentricity, she cackles and she hoots
But there’s deep and timeless wisdom in the things she’ll often say
In her toothless, addled,”up-yer-pipes” old-biddy sort of way
So be kind to Mad Aunt Bernard, and be grateful you’re all right
You don’t giggle at a tortoise, you don’t rub a toad all night
Yet I wonder, don’t you envy her, this spirit wild and free
In the county of Trebollocks, near St Vitus-By-The-Sea?
Will Hames
June 2009
Saturday, 20 June 2009
Eddy's Egg
You wouldn't look twice at young Edward
If he sank all his teeth in your leg
He was dull, he was grey, then one magical day
He was given a woozlebird's egg
His mother had cooked it for breakfast
She'd served it with fingers of toast
It looked rather strange. Still, the box said "Free Range"
Only, this one was freer than most
To all of those chefs on the telly
Mum wasn't a serious rival
She was such a bad cook, Ed had learned not to look
Just tuck in and pray for survival
But it didn't taste bad, as it happened
He thought, "Don't let appearances fool ya!"
Then something went PING! inside of his skin
In a way that was downright peculiar
A change had come over young Edward
It was more than his heart could desire
From a dim little bloke who's a bit of a joke
He was suddenly quite the high flier
Oh, he still couldn't spell, not for toffee
And his maths wouldn't win him a cup
But with arms open wide, he could swoop, he could glide
He could soar like an eagle. Straight up!
To the Valley he flew, to watch Charlton
Twice he swooped down and scored a great goal
Then instead of a hat-trick, he buzzed over Gatwick
And frightened air traffic control
He learned some quite valuable lessons
As he flew to the North and the South
Such as, up in the skies there are billions of flies
So try not to open your mouth
He glided on, down to the Oval
They gave him a souvenir stump
Then over Thames Mead, he lost height and speed
And came down to earth with a bump
He leapt and he flapped and he fluttered
But he couldn't get airborne again
There was no point in squawking, he'd have to start walking
He hadn't enough for the train
When Eddy arrived home that evening
All dusty and sweaty and tired
He examined the shell that had served him so well
Yes, its Best Before date had expired
There's a gap in poor Eddy's young life now
And it seems there's no way he can fill it
He's been left with an urge to sit on a perch
And talk to himself and eat millet
Now, woozlebird eggs are not common
They're as rare as an octopus feather
But if one comes your way, check it says "fresh today"
Or give it a miss all together.
Will Hames
June 2009
If he sank all his teeth in your leg
He was dull, he was grey, then one magical day
He was given a woozlebird's egg
His mother had cooked it for breakfast
She'd served it with fingers of toast
It looked rather strange. Still, the box said "Free Range"
Only, this one was freer than most
To all of those chefs on the telly
Mum wasn't a serious rival
She was such a bad cook, Ed had learned not to look
Just tuck in and pray for survival
But it didn't taste bad, as it happened
He thought, "Don't let appearances fool ya!"
Then something went PING! inside of his skin
In a way that was downright peculiar
A change had come over young Edward
It was more than his heart could desire
From a dim little bloke who's a bit of a joke
He was suddenly quite the high flier
Oh, he still couldn't spell, not for toffee
And his maths wouldn't win him a cup
But with arms open wide, he could swoop, he could glide
He could soar like an eagle. Straight up!
To the Valley he flew, to watch Charlton
Twice he swooped down and scored a great goal
Then instead of a hat-trick, he buzzed over Gatwick
And frightened air traffic control
He learned some quite valuable lessons
As he flew to the North and the South
Such as, up in the skies there are billions of flies
So try not to open your mouth
He glided on, down to the Oval
They gave him a souvenir stump
Then over Thames Mead, he lost height and speed
And came down to earth with a bump
He leapt and he flapped and he fluttered
But he couldn't get airborne again
There was no point in squawking, he'd have to start walking
He hadn't enough for the train
When Eddy arrived home that evening
All dusty and sweaty and tired
He examined the shell that had served him so well
Yes, its Best Before date had expired
There's a gap in poor Eddy's young life now
And it seems there's no way he can fill it
He's been left with an urge to sit on a perch
And talk to himself and eat millet
Now, woozlebird eggs are not common
They're as rare as an octopus feather
But if one comes your way, check it says "fresh today"
Or give it a miss all together.
Will Hames
June 2009
Tuesday, 19 May 2009
To All Critics Everywhere
Although you are entitled to your special point of view
I think you're a hermaphrodite...
You know what you can do!
Will Hames
May 2009
I think you're a hermaphrodite...
You know what you can do!
Will Hames
May 2009
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)