It is reported that the Dutch Government is to rebrand the country as the Netherlands and to drop the alternative name Holland. Whether the adjective Dutch will be replaced with Netherlandish is not reported.

Some countries have alternate names,
Which can mean more or less the same,
Like England, Britain, the UK,
And people can choose which to say.

And mostly this all works quite well.
The meaning mostly plain to tell,
So though some names are out of touch,
It really doesn’t matter much.

The Low Countries, though, aren’t so sure,
They think they’d like to have names fewer,
And so they plan to Holland ditch,
So with their brand not queer the pitch.

The Netherlands, they say, sounds best,
More dignified than all the rest,
So folk should now be disinclined,
To say Holland – it’s less refined.

So now that I’ve explained the score,
Whenever you might cross their shore,
You should respect the country’s brands …
That’s Holland – sorry, Netherlands.



It is reported that Extinction Rebellion bought an old fire engine on eBay, filled its tanks with fake blood and attempted to spray it all over the Treasury building in London. Unfortunately they let go of the high pressure hose and sprayed themselves instead. They were protesting about the end of the world being nigh.

Some people can be such a pain,
Protesting, sometimes in the rain,
And making out to be your friend,
While claiming that the world will end.

And now we have their latest stunt:
They parked a vehicle in front,
Of buildings where to park was free –
In fact the HM Treasury.

It was a fire engine in fact,
But skill in working it they lacked,
Because they found to their dismay,
Instructions don’t come on eBay.

But nonetheless they went ahead,
Thought they could make it up instead;
They filled its tanks up with fake blood,
Intending that they later would,
Spray redness up and down the street,
Then their protest would be complete.

They primed the pump so it would work,
But then the hoses went berserk,
And snaked about all spraying red,
So they then soaked themselves instead.

They were arrested – serves them right –
The buildings in the street stayed white,
And I just hope as do we all,
The magistrate rewards their gall,
By making them work night and day,
Until they’ve cleared the mess away!



It is reported that a doctor has identified a first case of ‘Brexit-triggered psychosis’ in one of his patients.

Some days ago I said that I,
Would ignore Brexit – do or die,
And now it seems my view was sound,
Because a doctor has since found,
A mental health state in a man,
Which he is pretty sure began,
After the referendum poll,
Which did upset him on the whole.

You’ll find it in the BMJ,
(That’s Brit Med Journal by the way)
Which I suggest you go and read,
For accuracy’s guaranteed.

But who might this poor person be?
And is it he or maybe she?
I do not know so cannot say,
And protocols we have today,
Would not allow me to disclose,
In verse as here or yet in prose,
Because of his insanity,
… And confidentiality.

But While I really could not say,
A guessing game is under way,
Which to this doctor’s great dismay,
Might one day give the game away.

Reporters will now look for clues,
Like, ‘Can we say the kind of shoes?’
Or with the doctor in despair,
Perhaps he has got yellow hair.

But that is it, I can’t say more,
Than you have read hereinbefore,
But maybe the important thing,
Is check if it’s at all catching!

For if it is you’ll need a jab,
So not to end up on the slab,
But maybe it’s still not OK,
And better just to stay away.

So that’s my policy for now,
As I now take another bow,
And hope things will soon be improved,
With Brexit from the news removed!



It is reported that Donald Trump tried to cover up his telephone conversation with Volodymir Zelensjiy, the Ukrainian President in which he allegedly asks him to investigate alleged corruption by his political rival Joe Biden concerning his son Hunter’s role as an adviser to a Ukrainian gas company while his father was responsible for US policy on Ukraine during the Obama administration. Got it?

This Ukraine saga rumbles on,
The passenger on Air Force One,
There at the centre of the storm,
Which is, of course, for him, the norm.

The presidents spoke on the phone,
And Trump implied he might postpone,
Some aid unless Ukraine would probe,
The rival of this germophobe.

His name was Biden, Hunter, son,
And Hunter was in fact the one,
Working for Ukraine Gas and might,
Have failed, in fact, to do things right.

So that’s the background, Trump found out,
Thought that there might just be some doubt,
About how Biden had behaved,
Concerning, maybe, things like trade.

Enquiries into such as this,
Do very seldom go amiss,
Because with just a lucky break,
There’ll always be some muck to rake.

Ukraine, though, now had to be asked,
To undertake this special task,
And after asking it’s believed,
That Trump attempted to deceive,
By first denying it and then,
The call transcript to have hidden.

And for the moment that is it,
We’ll have to wait around a bit,
To see if, in the end, he’s caught,
For favours that he might have bought.

But often in things such as this,
Where maybe someone’s been remiss,
It’s not the ‘crime’ that gets them caught,
But lying to conceal the plot.



It is reported that a Nigerian migrant has been fined €350 for sweeping the streets in Venice without the permission of the Council.

If you drop litter you’d expect,
That someone somewhere would object,
And you should then yourself resign,
To being landed with a fine.

It could be big, it could be small,
Occasionally no fine at all,
But you’d expect now, would you not,
That if you walked around and got,
The litter, put it in a sack,
Which could be white or even black,
The council ought to be quite pleased –
Its cleaning duties would be eased.

In fact, you would be very wrong,
And you might find before too long,
That though your act is quite benign,
You also would attract a fine.

The logic here is quite obscure,
And what it is no one is sure,
So even using words quite plain,
Nobody ever can explain.

So there we are, you’ve tried your best,
Engaged upon your litter quest,
For here, it seems, nobody cares,
So time to go and say, “Up theirs!”



It is reported that the Labour Party’s policy is to reduce the average working week to four days (thirty-two hours) with no loss of pay. Magic. And where are the extra 25% of workers going to come from?

The Labour Party likes to say,
That life will be improved one day,
And all you have to do pro-tem,
Is cast your poll and vote for them.

They will destroy fee-paying schools,
By changing tax and other rules,
And then because they are so wise,
A lot of stuff they’ll nationalise.

But now the one that caps the lot,
Which might be popular – or not –
Is telling you you cannot seek,
To work more than four days a week.

Your salary will not go down,
But in the country or the town,
It’s likely you’ll be unemployed,
Which might just make the wife annoyed.

She’ll not be happy now that you,
Sit round with nothing much to do,
Just drinking beer and gin and tea,
Just like the Royle Family.

This family, as well we know,
Does not too much to work now go,
So working then four days each week
Would be for them a new technique!



It is reported that a vote at the Labour Party conference on whether its policy should be Remain (this is Brexit, if you hadn’t guessed) was decided by the General Secretary overruling the Chairman of the Ruling National Executive Committee on whether the show of hands just held was for or against. Most delegates disagreed but, in true George Orwell fashion, she got her way, refusing to have a properly counted card vote. Confused? Read on.

“A show of hands please from the floor!
Oh, can’t you do a little more?
We’ll stretch the numbers by the way,
So we will win it anyway.

So really, I suppose, it’s not,
Essential that we have a lot,
Of hands raised on our ‘for it’ side.
Although it shows that we have tried.

But, in the end, we simply say,
This motion voted on today,
As always was won by our side ,
And who can say it’s otherwise?”