It is reported that a vicar in East Yorkshire returned home to find an extra body buried in his already full churchyard.

The vicar’s words were very clear:
“There is no more space left in here,
So you cannot bring any corpse,
To bury in this part of Yorks.

I must repeat, there’s no more room,
So anyone who’s met his doom,
And recently been undertook,
Will simply have to sling his hook.”

The vicar then went on his way,
Returning on another day,
But as the graveyard he surveyed,
He saw a new grave had been made.

He looked again, he was quite cross,
Because in here he was the boss,
But in the end he didn’t know,
If he could let the matter go.

He went to see the bishop then,
Who thought a bit and said, “Amen.
This time we might turn a blind eye,
Because our God who sits on high,
Already might have counted him,
And His view might be rather dim,
If He must now give up one dead –
He might want someone else instead!”

And so our friend was left to rest,
Because the bishop acquiesced;
The clergy, it seems, got it right,
So everyone can sleep at night!



It is reported that a woman in Hammersmith, who discovered that her cat had been ‘adopted’ and was being cared for by a neighbour down the street, has taken her neighbour to court to repossess her pet. The neighbour had argued that the cat, Ozzie, should be able to make up his own mind as to where he wanted to live and he was free to come and go as he pleased. After spending £20,000 on legal fees the neighbour gave in and agreed not to continue looking after the cat.

Cats can be independent so,
They choose themselves just where they go,
And if they find food that’s improved,
One might find that the cat’s removed.

That came to pass in London where,
A cat began his time to share,
And went to stay by means of feet,
With other people down the street.

His owners really weren’t best pleased,
Thought that the cat had been deceived,
And so they then their neighbour fought,
In one or other type of court.

The neighbour, foolish more than wise,
Ran up a bill of such a size,
That meant she really couldn’t win,
So in the end she just gave in.

The cat, whom nobody had asked,
Had nonetheless the judgement grasped,
And so it seems it did comply,
(The opposite would mean defy).

So if your cat’s allowed to roam,
And it then finds itself a home,
Just go with it and be a sport,
Instead of going off to court.



It is reported that the Queen has called a meeting with Princes Charles, William, Harry and his wife to discuss the Sussex matter but the former Miss Markle has politely declined, saying she is still on holiday but will be able to join in by telephone if the time is convenient. In an earlier time it would have been ‘Off with …’

The Queen commands, does not request,
And people mostly know it’s best,
To get dressed up, arrive on time,
And be prepared to talk in rhyme.

But one or two misunderstand,
Think they can carry on as planned,
And – heaven help us – might suggest,
To join by phone might now be best.

The Queen – she too polite to say,
Might let it be arranged that way,
But snubs like that are so unkind,
Because she really ought to mind.



It is reported that a lorry full of Pringles caught fire on the M1 in Derbyshire.

Quite recently there was a sight:
A Pringle lorry caught alight,
In Derbyshire on the M1,
And in an instant they were gone.

The driver tried but could not stop
Them burning as the tubes went ‘pop’,
And many of them blew away,
Onto the other carriageway.

That they burnt well is no surprise,
To anybody slightly wise,
For they’re potatoes fried in oil –
A safer way would be to boil!


Big Ben

It is reported that Big Ben will not ring in Brexit on 31 January 2020 as it will be too costly to arrange.

Last year some MPs did propose,
In poetry – or was it prose ?–
That Big Ben should be set to chime,
As I’m explaining in this rhyme,
To mark our leaving the EU,
And after that it would strike too.

But Speaker Bercow, he said, “No!
I do not like Brexit and so,
To mark the day I’ll not agree,
And will not issue such decree.”

And that was it till Bercow went,
And his replacement’s new intent,
Was that MPs should have a vote,
Result of which he’d duly note.

But ere the vote could be arranged,
The basis of the costs had changed,
And somebody would have to pay,
A total of five hundred k.

Most MPs then thought it unwise,
To foot a bill of such a size,
And so the old clock’s chimes won’t play,
In January on Brexit day.


Seven sisters

It is reported that the Duke and Duchess of Sussex have announced, without telling anyone or asking any permission, that they will reduce royal work but still want to keep much of their money and really want to live in America.

The Duke and Duchess said, “Oh blow!
We really want to work and so,
We should live in the USA,
And probably that means LA.

We’ve got our titles on us still,
And so that means that people will,
One way or other pay us where,
There’s always lots of cash to spare.

So we will then be filthy rich,
Provided we can also ditch ,
The boring stuff we have to do –
It’s quite a lot for just us two.”

The Queen, it’s said, was not amused,
“Of this they should be disabused;
It’s me that calls the shots round here,
So let me make myself quite clear.

They’re either in The Firm or out,
And must stop messing us about,
Or else they soon will find, my dear,
That they will be out on their ear!

If they are in they can’t be bold,
Will have to do as they are told,
Just like the rest of us round here,
Though that’s not how it might appear.

But if they’re out, they’re out for good,
And that must be well understood,
For we can’t have the royal name,
Endorsing products just the same,
As those celebrities who make,
Their cash from being on the take.

It really would be most unwise,
For royals now to advertise,
Sweatshirts and trainers by the pair,
Or even maybe underwear.

It makes one wonder, looking back,
If one should say, ‘alas, alack’,
At that list of celebrities,
And other wealthy entities,
Invited to their wedding who,
Might later on be disposed to,
Provide them with the contacts which,
They hope one day will make them rich.

So now they have a choice to make,
Are they still in The Firm or fake?
And just when might all this begin?
For patience here is wearing thin!

But having said all that it seems,
Some people concur with your dreams,
And so, reluctant as we are,
If you won’t get drunk in the bar,
We don’t … Oh really, what the hell!
Now off you go, we wish you well!”



It is reported that Labour leadership contender Rebecca Long-Bailey (or Long Bailey) does not seem able to decide whether her name should be hyphenated or not.

Most Labour people aren’t too keen,

Question mark

On being by the public seen,
To have posh names or titles which,
Suggest they’re privileged or rich.

Of course, if you are Tony Blair,
You are so rich you don’t much care,
And even if you tried and tried,
You’d still have too much wealth to hide.

Remember also Tony Benn,
Became the Earl of Stansgate when,
His father died and left his son,
Cash like he had the jackpot won.

He kept the cash but changed his name,
To something that was rather plain,
That’s from Anthony Wedgwood Benn,
To plain old Tony Benn you Ken.

But now to our new case in point,
Noses could be put out of joint,
By hyphenation in her name,
As she increases now her fame.

Perhaps when she a lawyer was,
The hyphen seemed quite good because,
There in old dusty legal firms,
Where time is spent in drafting terms,
A hyphenated name would be,
An asset to a law degree.

But now on Jeremy’s right hand,
And with a plan to rule the land,
A hyphen just gets in the way,
Of how she would herself portray.

Will she decide to change? Maybe.
But I think ’twill more likely be,
Like Labour’s former Brexit stance,
And she might just sit on the fence!



It is reported that Extinction Rebellion (ER) leaders cannot decide whether its rich and famous supporters (actors, politicians etc) should be allowed to travel by the environmentally unacceptable means of flying against which they endlessly campaign.

We’ve heard a lot of ER now,
But few have really made a vow,
Of abstinence from travel where,
They’re conveyed mainly through the air.

Most do agree that flight is bad,
But those who have so often had
Flights, most in first or business class,
Insist that they should have a pass,
By paying a few pounds so they,
Can magic carbon – their’s – away.

This is nonsensical of course,
And doesn’t show too much remorse;
It simply says, “Since I am rich,
I do not need to moan and bitch,
Nor need I do as I espouse,
And stick to what ER allows.

No, I can fly as I see fit,
Pay for a C offset permit,
And then while you all walk to work,
In garments like an old hair shirt,
I’ll look down from my first class seat,
With lots of lovely things to eat,
And stifling, perhaps, just a smirk,
Shout out, ‘Now keep up the good work!’”