J Clarkson as is quite well-known,
Lives in a house of Cotswold stone,
At least he did until last night,
When he sought to reduce its height,
By blowing it up with a bang,
Caused by a demolition gang.
Some people said, “It’s quite absurd,
To do this by a means that’s heard;
He should have got bulldozers down,
They have them just up in the town.”
But that is surely not the point,
Though it put noses out of joint,
The issue really is someone,
Can blow a house up just for fun,
When it is worth four million quid,
Or was before the thing he did.
He wants to build a bigger home,
With bathroom taps in gold or chrome,
He could have just built it elsewhere,
P’rhaps not in Weston-Super-Mare,
But surely there’s another site,
Which for him would have been all right.
And at a time of houses few,
Constructing one is good to do,
But not, I think, at any price,
Including losing one that’s nice.
Perhaps we’ll get a comment yet,
It might be rude but don’t you fret,
For Clarkson is, we may surmise,
Not noted for polite replies.
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