by E. Sopp.
A Welsh rugby supporter and an English rugby supporter were discussing the might of their national teams. Dai Llaffing insisted the Welsh pack and forwards were far mightier than the English due to their great strengh. Rupert Allbottom disagreed. 'My dear chap, we have by far a more superior team than you Taffy types,' he said. 'We have sooper wingers with both speed and agility. Come with me, my good man and I'll prove to you how right I am.' So Rupert took Dai along to the town centre at Much Warbling in the Weir and showed him a statue of Bill Beaumont overcoming the Welsh forwards, snarling with the ball under his arm. Dia looked up at the statue and said, 'Du, du. That proves nuthing mun, for it was an Englishman who made the statue.'
Moral:
"We can easily represent things as we wish them to be."
Parodies Lost logo
Sunday, 20 February 2011
Tuesday, 8 February 2011
THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING ALBERT
By O.W. Ilde
From conversations between Lady Brackwater’s nephew, Algernon, and his friend, Jack, in Act 1 we’ve already heard about Algy’s imaginary friend, Albert, who he uses as an excuse whenever he’s required to attend his aunt’s interminably boring dinner parties.
Act 2
Lady Brackwater’s drawing room, Belgrave Square, London 1895
Lady Brackwater: But Algernon, If you cannot attend my dinner this evening you will put my table completely out. Who can I possibly find now to go down with Lady Frumpington whose fifth husband, as you know, is otherwise engaged?
Algernon: (Mumbling): Not only engaged, Aunt Augusta, but practically married.
Lady B: Kindly speak up Algernon, you know very well my hearing has not been the same since my chaperone on the grand tour took a wrong turn that led us both into the battle of Waterloo.
Algy (loudly): I was merely saying, Aunt Augusta…
Lady B: Do not shout, Algernon. Shouting is the prerogative of the costermonger.
Algy: Sorry, Aunt Augusta.
Lady B: Now about your friend in the country, Algernon, the one you feel obliged to visit whenever I need you to make up my dinner party numbers, he may be the answer to a most pressing problem.
Algy: Yes, Aunt Augusta?
Lady B: Well as you know, Algernon, our dear daughter, Gwendolyn, is still unmarried, and Lord Brackwater and I feel that time is fast running out. She is, after all, fifty five next Tuesday.
Algy: Dear cousin Gwendolyn, she keeps in good health, I trust?
Lady B: Perhaps not fully at her best, Algernon. But a combination of bad breath, varicose veins and a squint is no impediment these days to a woman’s marriage prospects. You only have to look at Lady Birkenhead who, since her husband’s unfortunate demise beneath the wheels of her carriage, looks positively radiant. But what is not generally known is that her lavish mourning apparel conceals one, if not two, wooden legs. Under the terms of her husband’s will, however, she now owns much of London and a vast estate in Bedfordshire - a situation not entirely disregarded, it is said, by her numerous suitors.
ALGY: I do not think my friend, Aunt Augusta, would be the ideal husband for dearest Gwendolyn.
Lady B: I and Lord Brackwater will decide that, Algernon. (Produces notebook and pencil from handbag). What is your friend’s name?
Algy: Albert, Aunt Augusta. Albert Smalltackle.
Lady B: Not a good start, Algernon, for although his first name has a princely resonance, his surname hardly accords with what, I am reliably informed, attracted our dear queen to Prince Albert in the first place. Are the Smalltackles active in society, Algernon? They have a country estate, I assume, and a town house, but where exactly?
Algy: Albert lives near Liverpool, Aunt Augusta.
Lady B: Ah Liverpool. One of our newer colonies, I believe. But how sensible of Mr Smalltackle to live outside the city. Within its boundaries the Church Missionary Society has its work cut out dealing with the barbaric behaviour of its citizens which is reminiscent, I am told, of the worst excesses of ancient Rome. What about Mr Smalltackle’s parents, Algernon - who are they?
Algy: He has no parents, Aunt Augusta.
Lady B: No parents, Algernon?
Algy: As a baby, Aunt Augusta, Albert was discovered.
Lady B: Discovered? Where exactly, Algernon, was your friend… discovered?
Algy: In a cabin trunk, Aunt Augusta.
Lady B: A CABIN TRUNK??
Algy: Yes, Aunt Augusta, a cabin trunk, in the hold of a cargo ship en route for Buenos Aires.
Lady B: To be found in a cabin trunk is one thing, Algernon. But to be found in a cabin trunk on its way to the most dubious of destinations in anything other than the first class accommodation provided by the White Star line, is more than a little suspect. Lord Brackwater will concur with my view that your friend Mr Smalltackle is indeed no match for our dearest Gwendolyn. She will be told later this afternoon that the marriage I and Lord Brackwater were about to arrange for her is off.
Algy: Of course, Aunt Augusta.
Lady B: I am surprised, Algernon, there was nothing left in the cabin trunk with the foundling child? A note perhaps?
Algy: Only a will, Aunt Augusta. A will written by, a mysterious, well born lady, who subsequently left him the estate near Liverpool and rather more than a small fortune in bonds and gilts.
Lady B: How much more, Algernon?
(Algy whispers into Lady B’s ear)
Lady B: (Clearly impressed) Really… (Notebook and pencil are swiftly returned to handbag). In that case, Algernon, Lord Brackwater and I will completely overlook the cabin trunk, the cargo ship and Buenos Aires. I will instruct the archbishop today to make arrangements for the nuptials
Algy: But you can’t, Aunt Augusta, Albert Smalltackle is already wed.
Lady B: Being already wed these days, Algernon, is no …..
Algy: Sorry, Aunt Augusta, I meant dead, not wed.
Lady B: But five minutes ago, Algernon, Mr Smalltackle was alive and well. As much alive, that is, as anyone interred in the colonies can be. (Enter Brightman, the footman) What is it, Brightman?
Brightman: There’s a gentleman downstairs m’lady who wishes to see you urgently.
Lady B: But I’m very busy, Brightman, did he not leave a name?
Brightman: Mr Smalltackle, m’lady, Mr Albert Smalltackle.
Lady B: (Giving Algy a withering look) Really. Show the gentleman up, Brightman.
(Lady B turns to face the door, lorgnette at the ready. Behind her, Algy is seen disappearing behind a Chinese screen.)
Unaware that Algy was with his aunt, the gentleman visitor turns out to be Algy’s friend, Jack. He was hoping, by pretending to be Albert Smalltackle, to ingratiate himself with Lord and lady Brackwater in order to further his latest, shady business venture.
From conversations between Lady Brackwater’s nephew, Algernon, and his friend, Jack, in Act 1 we’ve already heard about Algy’s imaginary friend, Albert, who he uses as an excuse whenever he’s required to attend his aunt’s interminably boring dinner parties.
Act 2
Lady Brackwater’s drawing room, Belgrave Square, London 1895
Lady Brackwater: But Algernon, If you cannot attend my dinner this evening you will put my table completely out. Who can I possibly find now to go down with Lady Frumpington whose fifth husband, as you know, is otherwise engaged?
Algernon: (Mumbling): Not only engaged, Aunt Augusta, but practically married.
Lady B: Kindly speak up Algernon, you know very well my hearing has not been the same since my chaperone on the grand tour took a wrong turn that led us both into the battle of Waterloo.
Algy (loudly): I was merely saying, Aunt Augusta…
Lady B: Do not shout, Algernon. Shouting is the prerogative of the costermonger.
Algy: Sorry, Aunt Augusta.
Lady B: Now about your friend in the country, Algernon, the one you feel obliged to visit whenever I need you to make up my dinner party numbers, he may be the answer to a most pressing problem.
Algy: Yes, Aunt Augusta?
Lady B: Well as you know, Algernon, our dear daughter, Gwendolyn, is still unmarried, and Lord Brackwater and I feel that time is fast running out. She is, after all, fifty five next Tuesday.
Algy: Dear cousin Gwendolyn, she keeps in good health, I trust?
Lady B: Perhaps not fully at her best, Algernon. But a combination of bad breath, varicose veins and a squint is no impediment these days to a woman’s marriage prospects. You only have to look at Lady Birkenhead who, since her husband’s unfortunate demise beneath the wheels of her carriage, looks positively radiant. But what is not generally known is that her lavish mourning apparel conceals one, if not two, wooden legs. Under the terms of her husband’s will, however, she now owns much of London and a vast estate in Bedfordshire - a situation not entirely disregarded, it is said, by her numerous suitors.
ALGY: I do not think my friend, Aunt Augusta, would be the ideal husband for dearest Gwendolyn.
Lady B: I and Lord Brackwater will decide that, Algernon. (Produces notebook and pencil from handbag). What is your friend’s name?
Algy: Albert, Aunt Augusta. Albert Smalltackle.
Lady B: Not a good start, Algernon, for although his first name has a princely resonance, his surname hardly accords with what, I am reliably informed, attracted our dear queen to Prince Albert in the first place. Are the Smalltackles active in society, Algernon? They have a country estate, I assume, and a town house, but where exactly?
Algy: Albert lives near Liverpool, Aunt Augusta.
Lady B: Ah Liverpool. One of our newer colonies, I believe. But how sensible of Mr Smalltackle to live outside the city. Within its boundaries the Church Missionary Society has its work cut out dealing with the barbaric behaviour of its citizens which is reminiscent, I am told, of the worst excesses of ancient Rome. What about Mr Smalltackle’s parents, Algernon - who are they?
Algy: He has no parents, Aunt Augusta.
Lady B: No parents, Algernon?
Algy: As a baby, Aunt Augusta, Albert was discovered.
Lady B: Discovered? Where exactly, Algernon, was your friend… discovered?
Algy: In a cabin trunk, Aunt Augusta.
Lady B: A CABIN TRUNK??
Algy: Yes, Aunt Augusta, a cabin trunk, in the hold of a cargo ship en route for Buenos Aires.
Lady B: To be found in a cabin trunk is one thing, Algernon. But to be found in a cabin trunk on its way to the most dubious of destinations in anything other than the first class accommodation provided by the White Star line, is more than a little suspect. Lord Brackwater will concur with my view that your friend Mr Smalltackle is indeed no match for our dearest Gwendolyn. She will be told later this afternoon that the marriage I and Lord Brackwater were about to arrange for her is off.
Algy: Of course, Aunt Augusta.
Lady B: I am surprised, Algernon, there was nothing left in the cabin trunk with the foundling child? A note perhaps?
Algy: Only a will, Aunt Augusta. A will written by, a mysterious, well born lady, who subsequently left him the estate near Liverpool and rather more than a small fortune in bonds and gilts.
Lady B: How much more, Algernon?
(Algy whispers into Lady B’s ear)
Lady B: (Clearly impressed) Really… (Notebook and pencil are swiftly returned to handbag). In that case, Algernon, Lord Brackwater and I will completely overlook the cabin trunk, the cargo ship and Buenos Aires. I will instruct the archbishop today to make arrangements for the nuptials
Algy: But you can’t, Aunt Augusta, Albert Smalltackle is already wed.
Lady B: Being already wed these days, Algernon, is no …..
Algy: Sorry, Aunt Augusta, I meant dead, not wed.
Lady B: But five minutes ago, Algernon, Mr Smalltackle was alive and well. As much alive, that is, as anyone interred in the colonies can be. (Enter Brightman, the footman) What is it, Brightman?
Brightman: There’s a gentleman downstairs m’lady who wishes to see you urgently.
Lady B: But I’m very busy, Brightman, did he not leave a name?
Brightman: Mr Smalltackle, m’lady, Mr Albert Smalltackle.
Lady B: (Giving Algy a withering look) Really. Show the gentleman up, Brightman.
(Lady B turns to face the door, lorgnette at the ready. Behind her, Algy is seen disappearing behind a Chinese screen.)
Unaware that Algy was with his aunt, the gentleman visitor turns out to be Algy’s friend, Jack. He was hoping, by pretending to be Albert Smalltackle, to ingratiate himself with Lord and lady Brackwater in order to further his latest, shady business venture.
Sunday, 30 January 2011
Jabberwocky - A translation
'Twas footy, and the many fans
did meet and greet within the stands.
But nervous were the playing teams
and the managers felt damned.
Beware their goalkeeper, my men
the hands that catch, the feet kick hard
beware the linesmen and the ref
And shun the yellow card
He took his lucky charm in hand
This local derby would be hard.
He leant against the tunnel wall
And said 'Be on your guard'
And as he stood and pondered this
The other goalie led his team
Proudly to the tunnel's mouth
and muttered 'in your dreams'
1 - nil, 1 all; 2 - 1 2 all
The lucky charm was working well
The other team were beaten down
They'd had the game from hell.
So you have beaten them my lads.
Hooray Hooray we won the cup
This win puts us two points ahead.
you clever lot, we're going up!
Twas footy and the many fans
did meet and greet within the stands
But nervous were the playing teams
and the managers felt damned
did meet and greet within the stands.
But nervous were the playing teams
and the managers felt damned.
Beware their goalkeeper, my men
the hands that catch, the feet kick hard
beware the linesmen and the ref
And shun the yellow card
He took his lucky charm in hand
This local derby would be hard.
He leant against the tunnel wall
And said 'Be on your guard'
And as he stood and pondered this
The other goalie led his team
Proudly to the tunnel's mouth
and muttered 'in your dreams'
1 - nil, 1 all; 2 - 1 2 all
The lucky charm was working well
The other team were beaten down
They'd had the game from hell.
So you have beaten them my lads.
Hooray Hooray we won the cup
This win puts us two points ahead.
you clever lot, we're going up!
Twas footy and the many fans
did meet and greet within the stands
But nervous were the playing teams
and the managers felt damned
Sir Clegg
Me and Cam so rich that we both went
off to work in Parliament.
Always voting as I was told
leaving all the Libs out in the cold
I voted for the cuts so selfishly
that now I am the PM's deputy.
Of Tory policy I'm unaware
but they got my vote so I don't care
I don't care for the plebs you see
cos now I'm the PM's deputy.
I sold out and became power crazy
when they made me the PM's deputy.
They say I was once a principled man
but now the country's going down the pan
going down the pan all because of me
being made the PM's deputy.
I thought so little of others you see
once they made me Cameron's deputy.
So all you MP's whoever you may be
you can rise like scum to the top like me
if you have no principles at all
and Tory Toffs give you the call
turn your back on the people and climb that tree
and you all may one day be the deputy.
off to work in Parliament.
Always voting as I was told
leaving all the Libs out in the cold
I voted for the cuts so selfishly
that now I am the PM's deputy.
Of Tory policy I'm unaware
but they got my vote so I don't care
I don't care for the plebs you see
cos now I'm the PM's deputy.
I sold out and became power crazy
when they made me the PM's deputy.
They say I was once a principled man
but now the country's going down the pan
going down the pan all because of me
being made the PM's deputy.
I thought so little of others you see
once they made me Cameron's deputy.
So all you MP's whoever you may be
you can rise like scum to the top like me
if you have no principles at all
and Tory Toffs give you the call
turn your back on the people and climb that tree
and you all may one day be the deputy.
Thursday, 27 January 2011
The Prime Minister's Song
I am the very model of a modern prime minister,
I’ve information political, fiscal, and sinister,
I know my spin advisers, and I spout their lies habitual,
From Brussells to Washington, in order not very factual;
I'm very acquainted, too, with matters sort of financial,
I understand posh boy Tory boom and Labour bust-ical,
About duck houses and porn films I can endlessly enthuse,
With many cheerful facts about expense fiddles in the news.
I’m au fait with Liberals, Cable and Clegg and whatsiname;
I know the Strictly judges and slumming celebs seeking fame,
In short, in matters newsy, popular, and on Twitter,
I am the very model of a modern Prime Minister.
I’ve information political, fiscal, and sinister,
I know my spin advisers, and I spout their lies habitual,
From Brussells to Washington, in order not very factual;
I'm very acquainted, too, with matters sort of financial,
I understand posh boy Tory boom and Labour bust-ical,
About duck houses and porn films I can endlessly enthuse,
With many cheerful facts about expense fiddles in the news.
I’m au fait with Liberals, Cable and Clegg and whatsiname;
I know the Strictly judges and slumming celebs seeking fame,
In short, in matters newsy, popular, and on Twitter,
I am the very model of a modern Prime Minister.
This is just to say
(Parody of the poem 'This is just to Say' by William Carlos Williams)
This is just to say
I won’t be eating
the plums
that are in
the ice box
and which
you are probably
saving
for breakfast
they may be
delicious,
so sweet
and so cold,
but as you know
I have very
sensitive teeth
Shirley Elmokadem
This is just to say
I won’t be eating
the plums
that are in
the ice box
and which
you are probably
saving
for breakfast
they may be
delicious,
so sweet
and so cold,
but as you know
I have very
sensitive teeth
Shirley Elmokadem
Wednesday, 26 January 2011
Samuel Pepys' Blog
26th January 1666-ish
Up and to the office, at least, that’s as I had planned but the carriage arrived so late and so full I was unable to make my customary journey. I texted my Chief Clerk and informed him of my difficulty, and to say I would not attend the office in person that day but would work remotely, and then at noon to a tavern to meet the Captain and to discuss his affairs concerning the East India Company, and dined. Having a great deal of business to transact on his behalf I was pleased to take advantage of their internet connection, this tavern by good fortune being one of the many in the City so equipped, and we fell to discourse about the convenience of having such facilities at our disposal. He is a most genial acquaintance and asked after my family, whose likenesses I was pleased to show him on my android device and he showed me his. After the Captain’s departure, it being late in the afternoon, I remained in the tavern and made an end of the accounts to my great content, by remote file access, and to answer my email correspondence. This last I completed with great efficiency, thanks to a new service provider, DigiPigeon, which offers a most impressive and speedy facility and for which I have provided the link to their Homing Page, for your convenience. Late home and my eyes sore, to write up the blog, to supper and to bed.
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