RESTER CALME

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.

CHRISTMAS SPECIAL

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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!”

LA SALLE D’OR

Macron 406px-Caricature_Emmanuel_Macron

It is reported that President Macron’s televised address in connection with the gilets jaunes riots in which he tried to claim not to be the president of the rich was staged in the Ēlysée Palace’s ‘room of gold’ with gilt everywhere and a solid gold cockerel on the desk.

Now Macron is in quite a state,
Or thinks he is at any rate,
Because, despite his latest pitch,
He’s president of just the rich.

At least that is what people think,
And since this could create a stink,
He thought he should go on TV,
So that the people could all see,
That he’s the humblest person for,
He really thinks about the poor.

But then he chose a palace room,
With more gold than a pharaoh’s tomb,
And he, presumably, had missed,
His audience might get the gist,
Of thinking all this gold (that’s or),
Could mean he does neglect the poor.

He said he’d been misunderstood,
And so he’d like like it if they would,
To now believe what he will say,
Although it might not look that way.

He said the gilding matters not,
And though there might be quite a lot,
And rather more than he’s got here,
Right now he would just like a beer!

So politicians on TV,
Be careful what the cameras see,
If it’s too posh I have to say,
You ought to hide it all away.

Image – Stéphane Lemarchand, caricaturiste / Wikimedia commons

ARE WE FINISHED YET?

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It is reported that a church in The Hague has been running a continuous service for thirty-eight days (so far) to prevent the arrest and deportation of an Armenian family; an old Dutch law forbids the police from entering a church while a religious service is in progress.

Religious people like to go,
To church on Sundays where they know,
There’ll be a service, they can pray,
And when it’s done they come away.

The service lasts an hour, not two,
And longer ones are rather few;
Not even when the King is crowned,
Do people longer stick around,
Though that day, even if you tried,
You likely wouldn’t get inside.

But back to Sundays, what if they,
Did hymns and prayers throughout the day,
And then to give you such a fright,
They carried on throughout the night?

And then the next days, three and four,
With cops now lined up by the door,
You’d wonder why these Dutch police,
Seemed to prevent people’s release.

More days pass by, it’s not a joke,
If you’d known you’d have brought a cloak;
And then somebody there explains
The non-stop preaching and refrains,
Will carry on and woe betide,
The police if they should come inside.

For there’s a law, made long ago,
Which says policemen cannot go,
Into a church while people pray,
No matter they might stay all day.

And that’s what’s happening right now,
Parishioners have made a vow,
To sing and pray for all they’re worth,
So five folk from elsewhere on earth,
Can’t be arrested then expelled,
From Holland where they long have dwelled.

So that’s their plan, we wish them luck,
Hope preachers don’t for words get stuck,
The police might have a while to wait –
It’s only now day thirty-eight.

How will it end? We can but guess.
I hope they’re not in much distress;
They might run out of prayers and song,
The Bible, though, is pretty long!

… IN THE FOOT

Hi viz vests

It is reported that the French Government has given in to the yellow vest protesters and promised to delay the planned tax increase on fuel for six months.

So Macron has now given in,
Which last week he said was a sin,
And so now with his tax delay,
The people will not have to pay,
The higher price for diesel fuel,
Which makes their cars go as a rule.

The gilet jaunes say, “Thanks a lot.
It means the money we have got,
Will now go further than before,
So, for the moment, nous t’adore.

But this is only for a while,
And Macron likely wears a smile,
Because he thinks in six months time,
He will have had months free of crime.

But, in fact, we all know the drill:
We will be demonstrating still,
With throwing bricks and torching cars,
And smashing windows in the bars.

But torching cars does, as a rule,
Involve the use of diesel fuel,
And until now we had concern,
The diesel we would have to burn,
Would likely be – how do you say? –,
More than we could afford to pay.

So Macron’s very kind response,
Which he announced not twice, but once,
Means we can buy the fuel we need,
To carry on with our misdeeds.

So Macron’s plan has now backfired,
The outcome’s not what he desired,
For the effect of this delay,
Is we don’t have so much to pay,
So can continue our protests,
Dressed in our trademark yellow vests!”

… THEN LET THEM USE PETROL

Marie Antoinette

It is reported that thousands of people wearing yellow vests (Health and Safety, you know) are protesting, some violently, against French President Macron’s decision to increase the price of diesel fuel. “Sir, they have no diesel.” “Then let them use petrol.”

Macron looks like a wonder kid,
Though it’s not clear just what he did,
To get elected – year ago –
But someone, somewhere ought to know.

But like the chiefs who went before,
A shock has always been in store,
For now – if you look you can see –
He’s lost his popularity.

That was before events last week,
When Frenchmen in a fit of pique,
All donned their yellow vests and then,
Set off to protest once again.

The thing that kicked these protests off,
Was people had all had enough,
Of Macron and his diesel hike,
Intended to promote the bike.

“We will not stand this any more,
So heed as we say Zut alors!
It’s fine for you, you are so posh,
But this rise hits us dans la poche.

There’ve been protests like this before,
Which ended up in blood and gore,
But that was seventeen seventy-five,
And back then people couldn’t drive.

Then it concerned the price of bread,
Required by most that are not dead,
But there are parallels today,
If you will treat us in this way.

We mean that Marie Antoinette,
Who said, “If they’ve no bread then let,
Them eat brioche – a type of cake –
Then they will no more trouble make.”

The rest you know, she lost her head,
And ever since that day’s been dead,
And if she could look back I bet,
Those famous words she would regret.

So now here is some good advice:
We can’t afford the diesel price,
That is because it’s now sky-high …
But don’t tell us to petrol buy!”

LITERAL LAUNDERING

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It is reported that Dutch police who found €350,000 hidden inside a washing machine have arrested a man on suspicion of money laundering.

This verse is likely to be short,
Because the Dutch police have caught,
A man with lots of ready cash,
Which he in his machine did stash.

Machine? What sort? you may well ask.
To find out might be such a task.
But if they can find out forthwith,
They’ll know what they should charge him with.

In fact ’twas one for washing clothes,
And knowing it was one of those,
The police could see the charge to bring –
The one of money laundering.

So that is it, he has been caught,
Will very soon end up in court,
And he, perhaps, might now regret,
Not going to the launderette!