Keep calm and carry on

It is reported that I have been writing blogs every day for more than two years but, starting in Brexit year, I will no longer write one each day. There will still be occasional new ones so keep looking and there are over eight hundred previous ones which will hopefully keep you amused. So Happy New Year and happy reading. And all are available as Kindle and paperback collections on Amazon – search for Ebenezer Bean.

I’ll leave you on a Brexit note,
The consequence of that old vote,
And, really, it was bound to be,
Enshrouded in controversy.

The pros and cons, you know, are vexed,
No-one knows what might happen next;
Some still predict a golden age,
While others are in quite a rage.

So do keep reading every week,
You’ll find out if the future’s bleak,
And what becomes of Mrs May –
I’m meaning will she go or stay?

So, too, across the Channel there,
Will any politician dare,
To tell French farmers would they please,
Stop exporting their wine and cheese.

French farmers have a lot of clout,
Will get the yellow jackets out,
And with their tractors – how you say? –
They know well how to block the way.

So when it comes to Brexit day,
And everyone has had their say,
Do read my writings one by one,
And just keep calm and carry on.



Keep calm and carry on

It is reported that President Macron has tried (unsuccessfully) to silence the gilets jaunes protesters with a handful of big giveaways which, being France, could start a revolution.

With Brexit now it’s my belief,
You’d like a bit of light relief,
So hop across the Channel where,
The Macron Wunderkind is there.

I’m sorry, though, and must report,
The news from there is of the sort,
That might still tend to make you yawn,
Concerning Macron’s Gallic dawn.

He promised to reform the state,
To lower the taxation rate,
Because it takes a half, you see,
Of France’s yearly GDP.

He did some bits and bobs at first,
But then began to fear the worst,
As rioting within the towns,
Threatened to bring him crashing down.

He opened up the coffers then,
And so he might the riots stem,
He gave out cash, reduced the tax,
So fiscal discipline was lax.

But rioting still did not stop,
For since he’d given such a lot,
Presumably, the people thought,
They’d carry on and see what sort,
Of other goodies they might get,
So not to stop the fighting yet.

Protesters, therefore, all still fight,
Against Macron with all their might,
And he could have across the land,
A revolution on his hands.

For when the going gets too tough,
And people have just had enough,
The French rebel, Germans invade,
But as for Britons, I’m afraid,
With common sense sine qua non,
We just keep calm and carry on.


Dustbin recycle-309974_960_720

It is reported that residents in Canterbury are complaining that some of their rubbish sometimes gets stuck in the wheelie bin and the refuse collectors won’t unstick it and empty the bins completely.

You fill your bin, they empty it,
You want them taking every bit,
But sometimes half of it stays in,
Perhaps a bag or sometimes tin.

The problem is that some gets stuck,
Perhaps a spot of dreadful luck,
But dustbin men say, “If it sticks,
It will be left there, that is it!”

The residents say, “Don’t be daft,
You are all experts at your craft.
Ao you will surely know that trick –
To poke it with a wooden stick.”

The Council, though, says, “No can do.
The problem’s really one for you;
You’re stuffing rubbish in too tight,
Which won’t come out without a fight.

We always give the bins a shake,
As much a rattle as they’ll take,
But if that fails there is no doubt,
We don’t have time to poke it out.”

So when you fill your bins take care,
For stuffing too much trash in there,
Will likely be a waste of time,
And later on might be a crime!


Knee figure-1691868__340

It is reported that a surgeon in St Albans has fitted a left knee joint to a patient’s right knee. The hospital said it would check more carefully in future.

A knee can be a problem joint,
And when it’s old can disappoint,
Because it gets worn out, you know,
And hurts when you’ve somewhere to go.

The pain can be so very bad,
Perhaps the worst you’ve ever had,
It affects everything you do.
Including standing in a queue.

So if you have a dodgy knee,
Go to the doctor who will see,
If metal joints might be some help,
But not ones that you fit yourself.

For fitting joints you have to ask,
A surgeon equal to the task,
For he’s an expert at this job,
And not some useless cheapskate slob.

Imagine, then, your great dismay,
When, though you have still had to pay,
And though the joint can take your weight,
You don’t seem to be walking straight.

At first this does seem rather odd,
You check with what your feet are shod,
But it seems nothing’s out of place,
In your bit of the human race.

But then somebody checks the box –
A move not so unorthodox –
And to their horror they can see,
They might have fitted the wrong knee.

They can now see the patient’s plight:
The one removed was on the right,
But that put in with actions deft,
Was one intended for the left.

So with this error what to do?
It’s not much good to change a shoe,
And if to change the joint they try,
There is a chance that he might die.

So better not to say too much –
He doesn’t seem to need a crutch –
But maybe they ought to enquire,
If one day he might p’rhaps aspire,
To jogging, skating, dancing or,
The things he couldn’t do before.

And if it’s dancing that he craves,
It really would to be very brave,
To dance for Strictly judges who,
Might give a score of less than two!

“You need to lead more from the right,
Perhaps your trousers are too tight,
Or since your circles are quite neat,
It looks like you’ve got two left feet.”

So if your knee hurts do take care,
What joint the surgeon puts in there,
And do remember that he might,
Have one left over for the right!


Juncker 16392741808_5a6fc40a87_b

It is reported that the President of the European Commission Jean Claude Juncker has been photographed going round kissing EU officials and tousling their hair.

It seems like almost every day,
That somebody pops up to say,
That – how can I put this in verse –
They’ve been molested, maybe worse.

Because this is beyond the pale,
Some people then end up in jail,
And others who I cannot name,
Will stop if they have done the same.

It seems there’s less of this today,
We hope it has all gone away,
And now at work there isn’t much,
For folk may look but not to touch.

But the EU seems out of line,
For, risking prison or a fine,
The boss man in the whole EU,
Might have some learning still to do.

For he’s been photographed out there,
Running his hands through people’s hair,
And kissing them upon a whim,
With some that look less keen than him.

Perhaps he’s simply not aware,
Or might he do it for a dare?
Or maybe, though I can’t think why,
To him the rules might not apply.

Image – Dimitris Avramopoulos

@don’t shout!


It is reported that lawyers are advising managers not to use capital letters in emails as to do so may be considered equivalent to shouting and could lead to complaints and disciplinary action.

An email can be rather terse,
But less so if it is in verse,
As it conveys a message to,
Someone a bit like me or you.

Because they’re brief, it’s hard to show,
Emotion when you press the ‘Go’,
But if someone is in disgrace,
You might write it in upper case.

But lawyers say you should watch out,
It may be deemed to be a shout,
And if your voice this way you raise,
It could start an harassment case.



It is reported that a baby has been born in Bethlehem and attended by three kings.

I’m writing all these words by hand,
While sitting in the Holy Land,
About two thousand years ago,
But no-one knows exactly so,
Although the date is pretty rough,
I think it’s likely close enough.

I’m glad the date is out the way,
For back then on that Christmas Day,
A man and woman, so it’s said,
Were seeking, for the night, a bed.

They told the landlord they’d come far,
But when they asked him at the bar,
He said his rooms were rather full,
But round the back he had a bull,
That might perhaps his stable share,
If they would like to check round there.

The woman now looked none too sure,
About this offer from the brewer,
But if the beast were just a cow,
Well, maybe that would do for now.

The landlord said he’d go and check,
When he came back he said, “Oh heck!”
The bull, he said, had disappeared,
But as he had the stable neared,
He saw that there was not much space,
For others had now filled the place.

There was a cow, a donkey too,
Some flocks of sheep – just one or two,
And though the night was pretty dark,
Is seemed as full as Noah’s ark.

“We’ll take it,” said her husband Joe.
“The forecast is for sleet and snow.
The sheep seem quiet, do not bleat,
But have you anything to eat?”

The landlord said, “I’m not too sure,
But I’ve some bottles from the brewer;
The beer inside is dark not pale,
For it’s our special Christmas ale.”

The woman said, “That will do well,
My baby’s coming I can tell,
And after I have given birth,
Expect some changes on this earth.

But as for now the ale is fine,
Because you will find out with wine,
That although it’s as yet unknown,
From water he can make his own.”

So there they stayed that Christmas night,
They found the stable quite all right,
But next day the innkeeper said,
“I’m almost going off my head.

I didn’t sleep a wink all night,
That star up there was far too bright,
But what was right beyond the pale,
Was that some bloke the worse for ale,
At three o’clock gets up and sings,
A song that starts, ‘We are three kings’.

I really don’t know what to do,
They’re much more trouble, them, than you;
I’ve put them in my three best rooms,
But misery for me now looms,
With prospects that are pretty bleak,
’Cos they’ve booked in to stay next week.

They’ve all brought gifts, they say they are,
For me to keep behind the bar,
Until a fourth king should appear,
In Bethlehem or somewhere near,
And then the gifts they will bestow,
On this king that they barely know.

But I think we might play a trick,
Because these kings are pretty thick.
So I’ve a Christmas cracker here,
Just very slightly stained with beer,
It’s painted blue and red and brown,
And inside is a paper crown.

If your child will just put it on,
The kings will think he is the one,
To have the gifts as was foretold,
And one of them is solid gold.

So after that just pay your bill,
I’ll put it over by the till;
It might be big but do not bitch,
Because by then we’ll all be rich!

And as for my three guests from hell? –
We’ll all be shot of them as well!”