The Great British Optimistic Barbecue

Dennis brought the burgers while Kevin skewered lamb,
Jessica did vegetables and Mary cooked a ham,
Catherine did a marinade to make the chicken better,
And Henry followed Jamie’s beef instructions to the letter.
Steve had brought a paddling pool and filled it from the tap,
And placed the beers and ice in it (our fridge is kind of crap).
Dave had tried sangria but he’d got it slightly wrong
(We didn’t really mind though, as he’d made it really strong).
Charlotte had brought mushrooms, and Jenny did the bread,
And Dan said he was veggie but brought tenderloins instead.
The barbecue was started, and we laughed and drank and joked,
But then the heavens opened and we all got bloody soaked.

Class (A Villanelle)

My life is lacking class.
My breath has hints of chips and drink,
There’s wee-stains on the grass.

My bedroom smells of arse.
My house has an ungodly stink.
My life is lacking class.

There’s cracks in all the glass.
I tend to act before I think.
There’s wee-stains on the grass.

My social life’s a farce.
My hands are stained with bookies’ ink.
My life is lacking class.

My family jewellery’s made of brass.
My house is painted pastel pink.
There’s wee-stains on the grass.

My girlfriend wears a plastic mink.
My mum and dad are in the clink.
There’s wee-stains on the grass.
My life is lacking class.

Zachary Nunn

A Zachary Nunn is the number of shits
I can find it within me to give
When you tell me your salary, show me your kids,
Or boast of the place that you live.
I’ve tried really hard to give shits about you,
But I can’t even manage just one.
I care not a jot, and I give not a shit,
Beyond giving a Zachary Nunn.

My Passport

I’ve had this passport six years now.
It’s valid til I’m thirty.
I’ve taken it around the world
(That’s why it’s really dirty).

Black Eye

A black eye can make you look manly and tough.
But will not do that if it’s not black enough.
It’s got to be throbbing and purple and juicy,
Not custardy yellow and manky and pucey.

Too Old For This Shit

I do like this band, and they’re playing quite well,
Could they not turn it down just a bit?
There’s no way this has to be so goddamn loud.
I’m getting too old for this shit.
I can’t see a thing and I keep getting jogged.
I’m really quite scared of the pit.
There’s so many people, I’m not sure it’s safe.
I’m getting too old for this shit.
The frontman is great, and he plays with panache
(Though I thought he had no need to spit –
I didn’t come out to get covered in gob).
I’m getting too old for this shit.
I’m trying my best, but I can’t pull it off,
So I think that it’s time I admit,
I used to embody what rock’n'roll was,
But I’m getting too old for this shit.

Habits

It’s rather unusual, a little bit strange,
And more than a little disarming,
When someone who’s great does a thing that you hate
And it’s somehow now utterly charming.
I once met a girl who was very right-wing,
And I found all her viewpoints deplorable,
But seeing her face as she spoke about race,
I found her a wee bit adorable.
I’m no fan of smoking, I think that it stinks,
But watching you when you light up,
And savour your fag as you go for a drag,
It totally cheers me right up.
The misuse of “your”, that’s a thing that I loathe,
It’s really a thing that I hate,
But seeing your smile, I’m devoid of the bile,
As you’re beautiful, awesome and great.

How To Write A Country Song

To write a song you have to be
Financially bereft,
Be living in a trailer park
And have a wife who’s left.

BNP Ben

I’m Ben, I’m in the BNP, because I’m fucking shit.
Hatred’s not a talent but I’m really good at it.
My life is pretty rubbish so I need someone to blame,
And luckily a few more rubbish people feel the same.
Britain for the British, so say the BNP,
By which of course we only mean the ones who look like me.
Foreigners, they really put our noses out of joint.
He fucked it at the end of course, but Hitler had a point.
Let’s gang up on the Muslims, with their bongo-bongo views,
And send them back to Pakistan, and make them take the Jews.
Scumbag Polish immigrants, they’re taking all our work.
Let someone British clean that dirty toilet, Lech, you jerk.
Gayness is disgusting and should get you sent to jail,
And anyone who’s anybody reads the Daily Mail.
Britain for the British, let’s get rid of all these maggots.
The Pakis and the niggers and the Polacks and the faggots.
(The quickest way to do it, let’s be honest, is on mass –
All we need’s a warehouse and a large amount of gas.)
Let’s use them all as scapegoats and blame them for my failure,
And misery, and lack of friends, and tiny genitalia.

An Uncharacteristically Gleeful Poem

Today, right, is truly amazing.
I haven’t a bad word to say.
It’s beautiful, sunny and awesome.
I’m fully in love with today.
I’m going to go out in a minute.
I’m going to see lots of my friends.
We’ll talk and we’ll laugh and be heroes.
I hope that today never ends.