Mr Happy

It is reported that the Lib Dem’s have announced that they will appoint a Happiness Minister if they win the next general election.

The Liberal Dems do like a joke,
And now they’re not led by a bloke,
It seems to me that they have found,
They can again retrace old ground.

Their first old joke is they could win,
With lots of votes, a bit of spin,
And so get into Downing Street,
Which is a pretty bad deceit.

But they insist that if they do,
One thing that they will do for you,
Is they’ll appoint, well more or less,
A Minister of Happiness.

Don’t laugh, for that would be his job,
He could be smart, perhaps a slob,
But one thing they forgot to say,
Is we have one of those today.

He’s in his fifties, slightly fat,
Not generally worth looking at;
He acts as if he’s not a care,
Beneath a mop of yellow hair.

He’s Mr Happy, like a clown,
All smiles and seldom does he frown,
And he is, as we’re all aware,
In Downing Street already there.

So will he do? I don’t suppose,
The Lib Dem’s quite one one of those,
But if they win he’s got no job,
So might come cheap, around five bob!


Crowd cartoon

It is reported that opposition MPs staged a riot during the prorogation of Parliament.

If you think MPs are polite,
You should have seen them late last night,
When after praise at Bercow’s end,
Whose excellence they did contend,
They staged a protest in the House,
Where normally they sit and grouse.

Black Rod came in, they wouldn’t move,
Because they just did not approve,
That Parliament should be shut down,
By Boris who looks like a clown.

The Oppos. stood, each sang a song,
Aiming to Parliament prolong;
To objections they seemed immune,
And neither could they sing in tune.

The songs they chose were Welsh and Scot,
But that which really beat the lot,
Was The Red Flag which gives a clue,
As to what Corbyn might just do,
If ever he becomes PM,
And gets the keys to Number Ten.

Eventually they shuffled off,
While many viewers simply scoffed,
At childish antics they could see,
All broadcast now on World TV.



It is reported that the uncertainties around Brexit have now become so intolerable that Ebenezer Bean may go into a period of self-imposed purdah and refrain from writing about it until all is clear. Could be in for a long break.

So purdah, like prorogue’s a word,
That most of us had never heard,
Until the recent ballyhoo,
Brought both of them out into view.

Prorogue we discussed days ago,
So now let’s take the other mot,
And trying not to get confused,
See just how this word should be used.

I think in parlance it might mean,
The period that’s in between,
The time when an election’s called,
And the date on which voting falls.

And in this intervening time,
No business should in prose or rhyme,
Be carried out because they say,
The winners who will then hold sway,
Might want most of such things undone,
When they have scarce their plans begun.

So back to me, the stress is bad,
About the worst I’ve ever had,
And so with purdah from hereon,
I’ll write no verse – and I mean none –
About this Brexit every day,
Until the whole thing’s gone away.

What else to write? There’s lots to choose,
And always something in the news;
Not sure to what they will relate,
But not the big affairs of state.

So check my blogs each day you can,
Throughout my little Brexit ban,
And I will do my very best,
To make sure you don’t get depressed.

That’s some tall order now I think,
But don’t yet reach out for the drink,
It could be I am not that smart,
But banning Brexit is a start.


Big Ben

It is reported that at the request of the Prime Minister the Queen has prorogued parliament for a few extra days in September.

For months Remainers have tried to,
Restrict what Government can do,
As it tries for an exit way,
That Parliament will find OK.

They’ve tried the tricks there in the book,
To get our Boris on the hook;
They say a ‘no deal’ they’ll prevent,
And so reduce their discontent.

Such tricks, though they have largely failed,
And very few have at them railed,
When Government then actions take,
By extending the autumn break,
They all complain, “It’s a deceit!”
And start protesting in the street.

But all these folk, we should recall,
Do not want us to leave at all,
And others, doubtless on a whim,
Are commies simply joining in.

So Boris hopefully has done,
His homework and not just begun,
So he can see the best way through,
And which route is best to pursue.

Expect much more in days to come,
With time in court and still then some;
How it pans out we’ll have to see,
And you can follow on TV.



It is reported that Boris Johnson is now prime minister and has given an upbeat, can do speech in Downing Street promising all sorts of things including, of course, the coincidence of Brexit and Halloween,and that this DUDE will Deliver Brexit, Unite the country, Defeat Corbyn and Energise the country. So …

Hey DUDE, don’t make it bad,
Take what’s all wrong and make it better,
Remember that you are clever and smart,
So you can start to make it better.

(With apologies to The Beatles)


GCHQ 7944915940_1a64a29bfc_b

It is reported that GCHQ now has an Instagram account.

We all know of GCHQ,
Who spend time looking after you
In secret, though, I must confess,
Perhaps it’s now just more or less.

For they’ve an Instagram new page
Which I suppose is all the rage,
And on which they tell you about,
How they keep nasty people out.

Top of the list – no prizes here,
The Russians who are quite severe,
And then the Chinese who, no doubt,
Are checking all these pages out.

So how to get the pages right:
Inform while keeping secrets tight?

Well, I think they will need a trick,
Which works with spies who are not thick,
And is quite simple to be used,
To keep our enemies confused.

For most things everyone can know,
They write in any language, though
When they want to be more tight-lipped,
There’s no Chinese or Russian script!

Image – George Rex / Flickr



It is reported that a French stuntman, Alain Robert, has been fined and banned from climbing any building in the UK after scaling Heron Tower in London without any safety gear and causing a public nuisance.

Some people do the strangest things,
Including when they should need wings,
Like climbing buildings which are high,
Not thinking the end could be nigh.

And so it was one day last week,
A Frenchman stood before the beak,
And was convicted of the crime,
Of climbing, as you learn in rhyme.

The judge proclaimed, though not in rhyme,
His luck had now run out this time,
And so the Frenchman would be banned,
From all the buildings in the land.

And also, since he had been rash,
He had to pay a fine (in cash),
As well as which, if he transgressed,
He would become a prison guest.

The Frenchmen said, “I do deplore,
That I can’t climb here any more;
I climb these buildings without fear,
But now I’ve had it up to here!

This seems to me to be a ploy,
With purpose simply to annoy,
But in that case I have to day,
We are not yet at Brexit day!

And when we are all this might change,
Put buildings once more within range,
For whether there’s a deal or no,
It should be my choice where I go.

I’ll take you to the human court,
For being such an awful sport;
I ought to win my case and then,
I will come back to climb again.”

The judge replied, “Do not be rude,
I do not like your attitude.
You really must do as I say,
At least till after Brexit day.

And if you do find after then,
That you’re allowed to climb again,
I must say I admire your pluck,
And then might even wish you luck!”