A blank sheet of paper

 A blank sheet of paper… a blank sheet of paper?

We’ll go for a caper, we’ll kidnap a jaunt
in the centre of the hungry night.
Why, I’m not sure, my stomach feels gaunt,
I feel in the mood for a bite.

I’m hungry for pizza, baguette, a biscuit and cheese.
I’m hungry for eggs, baked potato, I’m hungry for peas.
I’m hungry for a nice Malay chicken curry
to enjoy so much without being in a hurry.
There’s nothing in the fridge, but I want a bite.
I’m hungry, I’m hungry now in the night.

My wife puts the eggs away, as if they’re part of her wealth,
or tucks them away behind the gas bottle.
I try to find them, using reconnaissance and stealth,
whilst noting the increasing hunger mode throttle.

I’m hungry for a piece of cold chicken wing
but it’s early, now around eight o’clock at night.
I’m hungry for the chicken rice my housemate will bring.
I get a rumble stomach message when I must have a bite.

Is hunger a result of a few glasses of beer?
Is it this that takes hunger into top gear?
‘Ha, ha,’ she says, ‘you’ve nothing to eat,
there’s nothing for you in the fridge tonight,
there’s nothing to chew, to swallow, to bite.’

My housemate’s husband, she refuses to please;
the poor man is allowed only two crackers and cheese,
no wonder he’s half fallen down to his knees…
but for past few months, his life’s been a breeze...

for when she’s over here, in rural wet Gwent,
he’s out in Africa, in an oil worker’s tent,

where, unknown to her, he can eat through the night.
There’s little around him he can’t get a bite;
a zebra, gazelle, a buffalo steak,
washed down with Khartoum ice cream cake.

‘Oh, oh,’ he sings, ‘I can eat through the night,
my wife’s away in rural Gwent, enjoying vegetable fare,
here I am in Africa; the only thing I don’t have is bear.
But that doesn’t bother me one tiny iota
for I can always, without doubt, exceed my quota.
I know that, anytime I want a bite
I always can, at any time, eat through the night.’

But the local animals were in less than good cheer.
‘If Mr Roy keeps eating, half of us now, tomorrow won’t be here.
Apart from the hippos, crocs, porcupines, and vulture,
there’s no doubt he’s affecting traditional African culture.’

The brightest of the monkeys said ‘I think the right thing
is to get the Government to transfer him to Beijing.’

‘Hooray,’ they sang, from lunchtime to night,
but were worried about the Asian animals’ plight.

True, he might find the pandas rather too fat and hairy,
but scorpions etc, he would have to be wary.

In Beijing, he went around market, the stall and the shop,
seeing animals that could jump and fly, run, crawl and hop.
and he thought,‘I’m going to like it here,
stuffed crab, roast chicken, steamed fish, tender deer,
washed down with hot tea, or cold Chinese beer.’
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘yes, yes, yes, I’m going to enjoy it here.’

The next day his boss told Roy to report, in the rain,
at the domestic departure hall, to take the next plane.

‘You’re an oil man, so we go where there is oil,
far to the west, of sandstorms, where temperatures boil.’

Roy, poor man, reeled, as if hit by a blast,
his ashen complexion, he looked rather aghast.

‘But what do we eat,
out there in the heat?
Oh dear, oh dear, what can I do now?
Most of the locals, I think, rely on a cow.’

‘Ah,’ said the boss, ‘up to last week that was true
but since then, we had to improvise, follow something new,
for there was an outbreak of some animal disease;

now we get by on just crackers and cheese.’

Concerto for Pizza and Idiot Op 1.9

 Guiseppe Zucchini

Allegro
Tra, la la la la la la la la la la (repeat 20 times)
Mozzerella, la la la la la la la (repeat 10 times)
Pizza, la la la la la la la la (repeat 10 times)
Ciao, la la la la la la; la
Olé, la la la la la la

Tra, la la la la la la la la

Zucchini, Puccini, Zucchini, Puccini, tra la la la la la
Zanussi Zanussi appliance of science tra la la la la la

Buitoni spaghetti, Buitoni spaghetti, with cherry tomato,
tra, la, la, la, la, la,
non, non, non, non, non, non, non, non, non.

Tra, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la,

Tra la la la la la la

Hong Kong and Shanghai bank pizza account is where
they keep your leftover bits with much love and care

Hong Kong and Shanghai bank spaghetti account
you pay two percent, but for any amount.

Tra, la, la, la, la,

My school in Malaysia had a teacher, Miss Itza,
a bit on the big size, she seemed to love pizza

for exercise, no jogging or running too far
just down to the beach, a quick spin in the car.

Tra, la la la la la la la.

Iceland is better, no,
Tesco is better, no,
Iceland is better, no,
Tesco is better (repeat 50 times)
Tra, la la la la la la la la la

A Norwegian pizza has big bits of pine,
in a Singapore pizza you get bits of money

an iron ore pizza you eat in a mine,
a hummingbird pizza contains lots of honey
Tra, la tra, la la la la la la la

Pizzaro, Pizzaro, Pizzaro (repeat until collapse)

Orient Express

 July 2002

mais oui,
both of them used the piano today,
and it’s always good to hear you play,
but when the raised flag got the train away...

the afternoon concert commenced its run
with the sister practising Grade One;
at nearly nine, she’s having fun

with a Russian Air, a Gavotte in C
and Walking Jazz that runs so free,
a melange of a jamboree,

fingers flying on the keys,
making boring minims sneeze,
one man crotchets played with ease,

crescendo here, andante there,
a rocking song, or simple air,
a youngster’s unembarrassed flair

from the computer I watch her try
to make the irritable quavers fly,
or a rallentando lullaby,

now, the time for her brother to play
the teacher set works for today,
but things don’t always work that way

from a child’s mind, here’s something,
concentrated new thoughts pumping,
whistle, flag, lights change, and bumping,

the steam train jolts, begins to pull
from Paris onto Istanbul,
tender, carriage, box car full,

puffing hard, wheezing, grunting,
it begins the two day eastbound shunting
those who are Turkish carpet hunting

notes of platforms, pistons, steam,
tea time passengers, cakes with cream,
polished windows, woodwork gleam,

using discordant seconds to bait
the whistle as the wheels rotate
and the sleepers and clicking points vibrate;

the four minim girl is very keen
to join in with the tambourine,
enhancing the near eastern scene,

banging, turning, crashing, shaking,
her palm, and nails, long fingers making
the battered tambourine bells quaking,

rhythm creating,
complete with wild gesticulating,
as the momentum now begins abating

in the jet stream fan, her long hair flowing
now, rall and rit, the music slowing,
fading down the tracks and going

quietly, as if to send
the express train to the journey’s end,
as it comes around the bend

where the signalmen in peak cap steer
the engine on through to Sofia,
now the Bosporus is near;

a piano safari, where one can enjoy
a semi tonal hoi polloi,
told by a crew-cut singlet ten year boy,

‘Was that good?’, happy, he turns to me,
the excitement that is clear to see,
enjoying their creativity;

perhaps the notes can learn to fly
high up in afternoon's bright sky,
where aircraft engines make wisps that cry,

you dream of an earth with music rain,
showers of clefs fill an overture drain
in Portsmouth Point and Cockaigne,

where ice comes down as middle C
and melting snow is A flat B,
and Strauss avalanche flattens Alpine tree,

and 3/4 time where waltzes flow
or 9/8 time that goes so slow,
Gymnopodies when the cool flutes blow,

brass and woodwind warm up to play
while the four part strings get tuned to A,
the conductor batons the air away;

the summer’s breezes whisper E,
the morning mist clings tight to G,
and Grandad tunes in to radio three;

piano playing can make for you
a world that other things can’t do,
a place where you two can escape to, too,

a place where notes become your art
found in your brain, your hands, your heart,
the knowledge that can impart

then lose yourself in a childhood dream
of the footplate crew and the hissing steam,
or make your own invented theme

of sea, or sky, or beach,
or clocks, or trees, or towns, or pear or peach,
or anywhere your mind can reach,

of beach or sky, or clock or sea,
or cars, or towns, or farm or tree,
or anywhere you want your mind to be;

now time for bed at end of the day,
when mint toothpaste and the shampoo play,
then piano notes take you away

to dream of things that no-one knows,
eyelids flutter and want to close,
your brain shuts off and you begin to doze...

tomorrow morning, hug the sun
while you take your breakfast tea and bun,
then grab the piano to make more notes run...

nos da, bonne nuit.

Tyrannosaurus teatime

 Tyrannosaurus to Brontosaurus,

Hey, babe, fancy giving me a bite to eat?
I like your curves and cute little mouth.
A girl like you would be a real treat.

Brontosaurus to Tyrannosaurus:
Get knotted, Fat so, just let me be.
You watch your big mouth, lady.
Anyway, it’s Diplodocus that interests me,

but he’s standing in some quite deep water,
far away from my beaten track,
so I’d really appreciate it, if you don’t mind,
you let me hitch a ride there on your back.

You think I’m an idiot, exploded Brontosaurus.
People wonder why we get uptight;
It’s jerks like you give us a bad name,
all you do is eat and fight.’

Oh, come on, sweetie, it’s not true,
Paleo men just made it up.
Just put your soft neck in my big mouth
and I’ll kiss you like a buttercup.

Oh hunky, bunky, chunky man,
I didn’t know how gentle you could be.
Yes, that’s right, replied Tyrannosaurus,
and you’re so stupid. And my tea.

A Garbage Can

 A Garbage Can for Bombaman and a Heap of Junk for Pinkiepunk

Prologue (the bit at the beginning)

It’s nonsense. You must have written this when you were drunk,
it’s donkey’s years since I read so much bunk.
Watch your mouth, you fatuous flunk..

Well, your wife says that you like to drink….
I know, but think about it, if I did, I couldn’t think.

Furthermore, you should know by now that she likes to gripe,
but if I drank so much I couldn’t type.

I am used to hearing her sneer
if I open more than a can or two of beer.

One thing too, I don’t park myself all night in some cheap dim wit bar,
listening to idiots smoking low tar,

with some infected female perched on my knee.
I spend time at home with my children. Going out isn’t me.

Come on, every man likes to get out and have fun.
You listen, it’s now July 2004; the last time I went to a pub was October two thousand and one.

It’s not always the things people do.
I am just pointing out what some people think about you.

Catch this, pal. I couldn’t care less what you and others think.
In fact, I think most other opinions stink.

I only wrote it for my two
and enjoyed their smiles when I read it through.

that’s why I don’t listen to people any more,
most that I meet I find a bore.

Yes, just listen to any British housewife sunbathing by some swimming pool.
Yes, just like you, you oriental fool.

That’s outrageous! You’re a R A C I S T.
And I can see from your typing you’re a spacist.

Moreover, it’s Tony Hancock, so don’t blame me.
It’s from The Radio Ham, so sue the BBC.

I have heard of Birmingham and West Ham, but not Theradioham.
Is it far from London?

Bob the Tob and Pujek, selamat pagi, apa khabar?
good morning, Pujek, how are you?
Fine, and pleased to meet you too.

Bob and Pujek have come from very far.

a three mile shore called Lipat Bay,
where crab and surf and seagulls play
and fishing people speak Malay

onshore winds keep palms in motion,
your sweat is like a warm skin lotion,
a white hot sun burns the sea green ocean,

and people wait for the evening star.

Bob and Pujek have found a way
to pass their time throughout the day
and not to waste a minute’s pay

There’s a lot you can do when school is out,
be with your mates, run, cry and shout,
go here and there and run about,

but although it’s good to laugh and play,
there’s more you can think to fill your day
in a useful and exciting way.

Find out what Bob and Pujek do.
Take my hand, and they’ll show you
how to enjoy yourself the whole day through.

One special place they often go,
in summer sun, spring wind, or snow,
or when the holidays start to flow

is to the well-stocked local library
where they can borrow books for free,

a place where you would be surprised to find
so many things to excite a child’s mind,
when the pages you unwind

By reading many books, they can
learn about History and early man,

or Anatomy, the body and its bones,
or Geology, the Earth, its rocks and stones

There’s Geography with north and south,
oceans, waves, wide river mouth.

mountains, plains, far east and west.
For Bob and Pujek, they’re all the best.

Astronomy is about the Sun, Moon and stars.
Perhaps one day they can go to Mars.

Now that there seems to be water under its floor
it would be a most interesting place to explore
with Bob the Tob and Pujek..

And you?
Would you want to fly
so far in the sky, in a giant silver rocket?
Watch the Earth floating by,
as you climb up so high,
with tightly clenched hands in your pocket?

I thought so.

You can read about Palaeontology,
or ancient Earth biology,

the study of the dinosaurs,
who, for Jurassic eons roamed valley floors,
or fed in swamps, and using bloody jaws,
ran quite wild in jungle’s laws,
till a meteorite gave them time to pause.

Unfortunately, forever

There’s Tyrannosaurus, the lizard king
and Diplodocus, a big fat thing

Brontosaurus with his long sleek neck,
perfect for a long distance girlfriend peck

and Brachiosaurus, in some fetid swamp,
passes her time in rancid chomp
.

Mr Clippit has just told me.
‘It’s never too late to learn the piano’.
Would you agree?

Bob and Pujek have also found
out about the orchestra and big band sound,

what timpani, bass drum, tambourine,
the tubular bells, triangle mean,

oboe, trumpet, bassoon, and bass,
clarinet, flute in an overture race.

or a regiment band of silver and gold,
marching so stiffly, militarily bold.

A Polish musical joke.
If you go to an Italian restaurant in Warsaw, what music would they play?
The Pizzacato Polka
Ha ha ha ha ha hahahahaha Ed idiot

Bob and Pujek are
happy to do actually, much the same as you.
They practise the piano everyday,
keyboard hopping, so perhaps they may
become an act that can almost play
a Chopin waltz at dusk of day
in the Amsterdam Concertgebouw
but more probably if the audience have their way
in the pub or perhaps a less than high class bar.

What shall we have to eat?
An open air restaurant in fast food Shanghai,
a sizzling wok for a hot quick stir fry,

sucking up noodles, or spooning fried rice .
Yum yum, I love them, they’re both very nice,

or perhaps a more Western style chips, peas, and pie
in the pub on the banks of the cold running Wye,

or a cucumber, carrot, maize, celery crunch
with a chicken wing, lettuce, a crisp leafy lunch,

or making a pizza with tomatoes and cheese,
adding chicken of fish, you can do as you please.

we chat, laugh and drink while watching the cooking,
and an eight year old girl, when she thinks no-one’s looking,

is taking the meat from the side of my plate
to feed the stray cats that meowingly wait

in the hot concrete yard
where the ground is so hard
not far from the south China sea

remember the time when you took a hike
from the seat of your bike
by the tree
Mum was not happy.

After eating, they wander through
the countryside of bird and tree
where Bob and Pujek always knew
of nettle, wasp, bracken, centipede, bee,

gnat, and midge, butterfly, flower
with rain spark spots of a summer shower
Or into that garden you could go,
where you went three years ago

when and if sun breezes blow
and try to think what you could grow
and what it could turn out to be
under Granddad’s gnarled and twisting apple tree

At the back of my house, not far from the beach,
by the faded white wall that the sea winds reach,

a long time ago, when you were so free,
you planted the genes that grew into a tree

watching it growing higher and higher,
after some time, it produced a papaya.

and later, tomato and cucumber seeds
were buried in a patch just cleared of weeds

but evening mosquitoes came out in force
and you had to hurry inside, of course,

because Aedes is all the rage right now.
but Bob and Pujek can tell you how

to get rid of them in just one day.
You simply throw the water away

Now the evening comes, and as the light grows dark,
Bob and Pujek jog in the park

to exercise their legs and arms,
with pumping hearts, and sweating palms

making them work, blood rushing round,
sweating, panting, as they pound

the pathways in their tracksuit top,
dry throat swallow, ears pop

‘Back home now’ Pujek said
‘shower first, and then time for bed’

Get cosy, warm, with a pot of tea
for Bob and Pujek, you and me.

Then snuggle down, try warm your feet,
the pillows crunch, and new friends you meet

in dreams of lands so far away
that you try to reach by the break of day

and sleep with Bob and Pujek, you and me;
goodnight, nos da, and bonne nuit.

Professor Potty and Dr Dotty

 PG Tips Impure Science Faculty

Earl Grey School of Linguistics Nonsense
Boh Cameron Highlands University of Tea

Your pseudo-neurone aroma theory
seems to have gone a bit astray.
lf we are not more careful, Dotty,
the behaviourists will get their way.

If A times 10 plus 2qy,
then enter brackets 3QE.
Logic states that 5-foot square
must surely equal 3 BC.

No, that’s nonsense, my dear Professor.
3 times A is 8 fg.
So N2 squared to decimal 4
must be square root of G.

What rot, you cretinous, claptrap chap.
If A square third point decimal G
Then it must be quite clear to you
that 4QZ times 9 is C.

Utter balderdash, you balding fool.
Captain Lipton would agree with me.
If A square 2 plus h8p,
the multiple effect creates law of tea.

The speed of weight and the force of light
run parallel, you must agree.
So 3y squared percentage 9
must result in 8 A3.

The cardinal rule of ordinals
can substitute the primary.
When chemistry is vector 10,
then spectrum must be 4 times t.

You’re getting indigo and astro-turf
confused with sonar, you foolish fellow
Teabags from Switzerland, I thought you knew,
come in ultra orange and infra yellow.

You fossil from the Pleistocene,
4 a squared makes double B.
Remove the bracket, correct raw score,
then 3 plus 8 over10 is E.

Now listen, brontosaurus brain,
take mc2 plus mc3.
Shift decimal place to freezing point,
and change the law of gravity.

The only way to solve this problem
is wipe the board and start again.
If evaporated gram is right,
the hypotenuse must equal 10.

Bracket half and then add 2,
square invert, subtract point 3.
Triangulate the hypotenuse,
might get a section graph of tea.

Well, that seems to make the pie chart warm,
a theory of probability.
Now if the equation really works,
we should get a perfect cup of tea.

Brazil, I think should do the trick.
No, no, Columbian, I must insist.
Ah, Mr Homer, what do you think?


I think you’re completely round the twist.

The countries that you just referred to
grow mainly coffee, little tea.
But I’ll join you, as it’s half past ten,
a pint of garlic cheese for me.

Chap is, dear Dotty, round the bend,
was in the tropics far too long.
Trains his pet frog to play piano;
something must be very wrong.

Yes, I also heard he has a housebound lizard
that he tries to teach the cello.
Is it the heat or the humidity that does it?
He really is a peculiar fellow.

Professor Madya FRGS

 Professor Madya FRGS

(Foundation for Research into Gross Stupidity)

Once I saw him with a biro
writing a poem on his nose.
How que… I mean, how odd.
but I heard he dries the cutlery with his clothes

Told Professor Grumby to bugger off once,
the man at times is so coarse.
I agree, but what about the car park in early March,
feeding peanuts to a horse.

I was talking to dear old Twutty
who once was invited to his house;
served up cabbage with fried egg and fish for them,
cooked a T bone for the mouse.

To raise the water to wet the flowers,
he threw bananas in the Cam;
smashed Chivers Olde English in the street
just to cause a traffic jam.

I heard he did another trick
with their Histon marmalade;
bought a toothbrush and then he painted
the parking lots in King’s Parade.

The students just can’t make it out
who wonder if he’s quite sane,
the only man in the British Isles
who comes to work by aeroplane.

Not any plane, my dear Potty,
a Piper, or Lear jet is not the one;
has his own tin foil 747
thinks it makes flying a lot more fun.

His logic states that both
the foil and the plane are aluminium,
so to save on expensive landing fee
takes of from the top of his condominium.

He’s been arrested twice in Kuala Lumpur
for breaking civil aviation laws;
gave his prison sentence to different charities.
Told me it was for a very good cause.

And this chap is spreading British culture
around the Asia Pacific rim?
It’s quite appalling. Ah here’s the gutter, Dotty,
jump right in, let’s have a swim.

What will the world think of British Academics?
when expatriates behave this ?
Really rich…I mean highly qualified, foreign students
will certainly give the UK a miss.

You’re on the ball, my dear Professor,
something must be put on track
to improve the facultea’s image.
Umm, use the teaspoon to scratch my back.

Come, my dear colleague Dotty,
the taxi’s here, it’s time to go
off to lower upper Mali
to find if tea can grow in snow.

Right ho, my dear esteemed Professor,
passport, ticket, box of tea.
Yes, and don’t forget your nasal eye drops.
The world needs more of you and me.

Right, what’s our schedule? Where’s the map?
Tonga, or Iceland, East China Sea,
Bordeaux, Murmansk, Vladivostock,
Gabon, Peru, and Urumqi.

Rouen, Calais, Hook of Holland,
the Bering Straits to North Siberia
Urals, Don, the Anatolia, Rhodes, Crete,
to the Atlas Mountains, west Algeria.

There are so many places we’ve to go
the map is getting such a mess.
But with forty countries in fifteen days,
we’re bound to get FRGS.

The problem now for both us,
bathing in our usual fame,
is where on earth we find the space
to put more letters after our name.

Let’s see. Professor Potty BSc MA PGCE
FRCS ACCA FRCO FRCP
MD MLitt B Nur B Eng MRPS MIME
B Ed B Good B Off B Bold B Quiet FRSTea


I don’t have a pet frog. It comes in to the kitchen at night.
OK I may talk to it, but not for hours;
perhaps it runs in the family, for my mother used to talk to the flowers
and I do hope the cicak, when he sees a mosquito, will to try to bite.

And yes, I do buy Histon marmalade,
once got a parking ticket in King’s Parade,
pretty woman, too.

Grumby? Dotty?
Twutty? Potty?

I can’t play the piano, apart from a few chords, certainly not the cello;
the viola, yes. Garlic milk? The thing I drink most is Chinese tea,
but, unlike the two morons here, I really am a Fellow
of the Royal Geographical Society.


You were. They withdrew it.
Why?
Bringing the RGS into disrepute.