WHAT’S IN A NAME?

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It is reported that Jeremy Hunt, the rival candidate to Boris Johnson for the Conservative Party leadership, is in favour of repealing the ban on hunting with hounds. … Jeremy who? … No really, that’s taking it too far!

Our Jeremy does try to please,
He changes tack with greatest ease,
And never ceases – yes, you guessed,
To make out that he is the best.

As businessman he knows the ropes,
The NHS he helped to cope,
And now his wife who is Chinese,
Will find her role is just a breeze.

But now he’s gone beyond the top,
His claims, it seems, will never stop,
Because he has now found his name,
Might also help him just the same.

Now hunting with dogs, you’ll recall,
Was banned so now there’s none at all,
So Mr Hunt – please note the name –
Decided that he would proclaim
He’d bring it back and not pro-tem,
If he would be the next PM.

But this subject is rather tense,
With feelings that can be immense,
And since so many think it’s cruel,
They now think that the man’s a fool.

So do watch out these next few days,
As he, no doubt, looks for some ways,
To change what he has said and writ,
Or else for him that might be it!

A CORKER!

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It is reported that spectators have been uncorking champagne bottles in the stands at Wimbledon with some corks flying onto the court and interrupting play.

At Wimbledon when temps do rise,
It really should be no surprise,
That people drink more in the main,
And much of it is French champagne.

I suppose it isn’t always French,
There’s other drinks one’s thirst can quench,
But snobs say it would be absurd,
If the French drink were not preferred.

A lot of people bring their own,
For otherwise they’re wont to moan,
About the price they have to pay,
To get a drink there any day.

This means they must the cork remove,
And with a pop so as to prove,
That while they’re watching ball and bat,
The cheap stuff they’ve brought isn’t flat.

So far so good but just for fun,
Some people point it like a gun,
Towards the court to try and hit,
The people wearing tennis kit.
Or even worse, some might aspire,
To take a shot at the umpire.

These targets are not much amused,
To see projectiles thus misused,
And you can your last dollar bet,
They will be told to play a ‘let’.

COBWEBS IN SW19

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It is reported that viewers have been complaining to the BBC about spiders’ webs over the camera lenses at Wimbledon.

The Beeb has not much cash to spend,
Which is why it’s brought to an end,
Free licence for those still alive,
And in excess of seventy-five.

And elsewhere it’s been cutting back,
Though very few have got the sack,
But now that Wimbledon’s on screen,
With spending here they are less mean.

Or so we thought but it’s been found,
That spiders webs that can be round,
Are being left on cameras which,
Are filming games on court (not pitch).

The reason for this is quite plain,
For it is spiders in the main,
That spin the webs to catch their teas,
On cameras if there are no trees.

But these webs can get in the way,
Of viewers watching people play,
And these folk can get quite annoyed,
If things like this they can’t avoid.

So come on BBC and dust
Your camera lenses as you must,
And then those who their licence pay,
Will find the service quite OK.

YES, WE HAVE NO BANANAS LEFT

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It is reported that Ross Edgley has swum round the entire coast of Great Britain in 157 days, eating 649 bananas on the way and breaking all sorts of records, including, presumably, for banana eating.

Bananas can be rather good,
If you don’t like them then you should,
Especially, it has been found,
If you might want to swim around,
The coastline of Great Britain, say,
And break some records on the way.

For that is what Ross Edgley’s done,
He swam a lot each day then some,
But nonetheless he persevered,
As Margate’s finish slowly neared.

He swam each day, sometimes at night,
Determined that he’d do things right,
With several records within reach,
When he arrived on Margate’s beach.

But one thing that we all should note:
The fruit that kept the man afloat,
And for which he had money paid,
Was not just a buoyancy aid.

For energy it did provide,
That’s in the body, not outside,
So we should drink a toast at least,
To little helpers: Fyffes and Geest!

FAMOUS FOOTFALLER

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It is reported that footballer David Beckham escaped a speeding conviction on a procedural technicality, his lawyer saying that the notice of the alleged offence arrived a day late. It is not reported whether his wife was, as usual, not amused.

If you are some celebrity,
It really is quite wise to be,
Not pushy or, indeed, too brash,
Despite the fact you’ve lots of cash.

And if you’re in a pickle caught,
Most people will think that you ought,
To simply take it on the chin,
Which will help you their hearts to win.

Now all of this is good advice,
In fact, perhaps, worth reading twice;
So it is something of a shock,
To learn when one was in the dock,
He managed to escape, you see,
On just a technicality.

The one in question, David Beck,
While in a Bentley (not a wreck),
Was caught for speeding, “But,” said he,
“I really, truly, did not see,
The notice saying I drove fast,
Till more than fourteen days had passed.

I’m happy to admit the crime,
But owing to this length of time,
You acted not as set by law,
So my brief here can see a flaw.

This means that you cannot convict,
And so the brief that I have picked,
Has done me well, I’m very glad,
He’s earned the thousands that he’s had.

So I am free, that’s pretty good,
My wealth is working as it should,
For if it can’t when I’m not poor,
Then what is all my money for?”

A GRAND DAY OUT

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It is reported that people are climbing Mont Blanc without proper clothes and dressed only for general walking expeditions.

You will not know the Mont Blanc Mayor,
But he is now in some despair,
For climbers who, he says, are mad,
Are dying which is rather sad.

They turn up every day to try,
To climb this mountain which is high,
And, daily, it seems some of those,
Attempt it without proper clothes.

At first they think it’s not too steep,
And crevasses not very deep,
But as they try to ascend more,
There is great danger then in store.

And then as they get even higher,
They are unfit and start to tire;
They find it hard to keep their grip,
And might then go arse over tip.

That’s likely it, their clogs they pop,
Quite far below the mountain top,
And people like this who are mad,
One more to the statistics add.

The Mayor says deaths have now increased,
So anyone who climbs at least,
Should wear good boots with crampons fixed –
Important, not just semantics.

But Government rejects his call,
“The mountain should be free for all!
And what they wear is up to them,
Though it could be their requiem.

But one thing we would think unwise,
Is for someone of any size,
To set off aiming for the tops,
Wearing no more than old flip-flops!”

GOAL!!! … OOPS

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It is reported that insurance claims for damaged televisions increased eight-fold during the World Cup.

Most people like to watch football,
They go to matches but not all,
And when it’s time for the World Cup,
Most stay at home with beer to sup.

They watch, of course, on their TV,
Of violence that can be free,
But as they sit and watch the game,
Some start behaving much the same,
As if they were there in the ground,
With more spectators all around.

At first it’s shouting, “Ref, you’re blind!”
Ref doesn’t hear so doesn’t mind,
But then the shouting gets more terse,
Employing language even worse.

Of course, it still has no effect,
So fans with not much intellect,
Start waving, jumping in despair,
And wrecking what’s left of their chair.

But then a few who have a ball,
(One for the foot, not in a hall)
Think that if they can now take aim
At goal they might improve the game.

They line it up, the net appears –
You know this will all end in tears –
And then they kick, the screen goes smash,
Transformed into a pile of trash.

“You stupid fool!” The others shout,
“Must you be such a friggin’ lout?!
You and your stupid friggin’ ball,
Now we can’t watch the match at all!”

A conference does now ensue,
To try decide what’s best to do,
But quite the best that they can think,
Is finish off the food and drink,
And then try on some future day,
The insurance to get to pay.

Insurance man might not be pleased,
When he hears how the person sneezed,
And momentary loss of control,
Gave what you might call an own goal.

So they’ll just have to tough it out,
Not admit one of them’s a lout,
And, probably, though none can tell,
Embellish it a bit as well.

So long term? Might not be too bad,
Because the TV that they had,
Is likely then to be replaced,
To fill the room’s now empty space.

But in the short term, they are stuffed,
And mostly not at all best chuffed,
’Cos they’ll see no World Cup, it’s true,
Until round twenty twenty-two!

Image – Danilo Borges/copa2014.gov.br Licença Creative Commons Atribuição 3.0 Brasil