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Thursday 10 October 2013

(IT ALL STARTED SO WELL!) Another Day in the Life of Cammy & Cleggy







In a secret military bunker situated in, what was, the snug at The Dog & Duck, just off the Old Kent Road, two well dressed Public School Old Boys are reading the Evening Standard whilst eating a late lunch of Cheddar cheese and asparagus tips. Close to the right hand of each man is a foaming pint of Fullers Best.
The air is thick with imagined smoke as both men puff hard on their respective Nicotinel Inhalators; gifts from Bernie Ecclestone. On the wall are several prints, one of which is of Margaret Thatcher. She is nude at a piano with only two milk bottle tops to cover her assets. If you look closely you can spot Dennis; his reflection is apparent in the right hand milk bottle top. It is said that the original photograph was taken when Mrs Thatcher was on tour as a Calendar Girl. It is further said that it was whilst on that particular tour that she got her deep hatred of miners. 
Apparently, she was working for the Grimethorpe Colliery at the time as a kick start operator in the winding gear shed. What her employers didn’t know was that Dennis had got her a job at the local Conservative Club, moonlighting as an exotic cloak room attendant. One of the cast of The Calendar Girls saw her in there one night and got her another job as a replacement for Miss July, who had to retire because of a bad case of gout.
She was reported to the colliery by a disgruntled fan, whom she refused to acknowledge even though he used to march up to the stage twirling batons and singing “Maggie May” at the top of his voice. The aim, though futile, was to impress the lady.
His name was Micky Hesletine and the bosses at Grimethorpe were so grateful, they gave him her old job. However, he soon tired of this and moved down south where he was head hunted by a prominent helicopter manufacturer and became a lobbyist.
The silence in the room was only broken by the rustling of newspaper and the odd fart. Suddenly, one of the toffs throws down his newspaper in disgust and, before turning to his companion, picks up his pint and downs it in one. Then, smacking his lips he completes his turn and says:

Cleggy ‘I say Prime Minister, have you seen what the one eyed son of the manse has done?’

Cammy ‘Sold Scotland’s battered Mars bar reserves!’

Cleggy ‘Be serious PM!’

 Cammy ‘I am being serious!’

Cleggy ‘It’s the Honours List! Have you seen it?’

Cammy ‘God! No, am I on it?’

Cleggy ‘Derr! Of course not! You’re supposed to write a List as well.

Cammy ‘Nobody told me!’

Cleggy ‘Well you had better get one written pretty damn sharpish! Her Maj will be really 
           disappointed if you don’t give her one!
                                               
Cammy ‘Shall I put that fellow Laws on it?’

Cleggy ‘Better not PM, there’s something you should know about him.’

Cammy ‘Oh yes, what’s that then?

Cleggy ‘He’s been on the fiddle, slight matter of giving 40 grand to his puffter partner for lodgings.’

Cammy ‘My God! Does one have to have - how shall I put it? - leanings - to be a LibDem?

Cleggy ‘I don’t know what you mean, how dare you?’

Cammy ‘Easily, I’m the PM! Now, what did you want to tell me about the Great One Eyed Wonder?’

Cleggy ‘Oh, yes! He’s only put John - sorry Pauline - Prescott through for a peerage! I            
                  mean, the man was a bloody 
                  waiter  on the P&O Line! It wouldn’t surprise me to see that he’s recommended          
                 Tracy Temple for an OBE! Then
                  there’s that Scottish thug, John Read, he’s going to be swathed in ermine as well!’

Cammy ‘Slow down, Nicky, old son. We’ll just pass new legislation to half the number of         
                  Peers; sort of first come first serve basis, which means we can boot them out in six  
                  months.'
                  
Cleggy ‘Ooh PM, I love it when you’re assertive, it gives me goose bumps. can I call you       
                 Cammy?’

Cammy ‘No! It’s Prime Minister and don’t you forget it!’

Cleggy ‘Ooh!’

Cammy: ‘Because I like you, you can call me “Cammy” but, only behind closed doors.
Got It!’

Cleggy: ‘Wait until I tell Miriam, she’ll be thrilled!”

Cammy:‘ Run along to your little hacienda and inform your bit of Spanish totty whilst I go and  

                  see the vicars daughter.’

Cleggy: “Who?’

Cammy: ‘That old boiler Theresa May, now piss off cos I’ve got Prime Minister things to do!’

Wednesday 2 October 2013

ⒸThe Flame Dies



09JUN

Words of despair written by me to express the plight of the forgotten few who are invisible to us “busy” people.

I sense the roots
I cannot see
Stars shine, not for me.
Pithy so pithy
Above, trees, swaying
The north wind, baying
A macabre falsetto
Andante to allegretto

Cold; so cold, frozen.
Tears, warming tracts,
Fall on rotting bracts
Oh, the irony!
I, decaying inside
They dying outside
New life will evolve
Alas, this one to resolve

Oh God! I need a drink.
Sweet Bacchus I pray
Fine wine before day.
Alone, so dark, help me
Frosted leaves form my quilt
Empty bottle, full of guilt.
Guilt for drinking, for lying
For stealing, for dying.

All there through frosted glass
A crystal ball by London Gin
My life there, within
I watch my flame flicker
I lie here, prone
Cold, all alone
I watch my flame flicker
I watch my flame flicke……