French 1

It is reported that French President Emmanuel Macron has announced in a speech in Burkina Faso that he will make French the first language of Africa and then the first language of the world. Dream on!

French presidents, you might have thought,
Have many things they really ought,
To do while they in office are,
As well as propping up the bar.

The country’s big, it must be run,
The job’s not meant to be much fun,
Especially when Brexit looms,
Creating words for Macron’s plumes.

Speaking of which, his latest ploy,
Deliberately to us annoy,
Is rubbishing the English tongue,
And say he will, before too long,
Make French the leader in its stead,
Which will help France to get ahead.

In Brexit, then, he sees his chance,
For this change might his plans enhance,
Because right after we are gone,
In the EU there’ll be no-one,
Whose formal language English is,
For talking politics and biz.

So Macron soon might make his move,
The English language to remove,
From all of Europe’s regs and rules;
But other people are not fools,
And they know it is not the case,
That French the English can displace.

For it’s so commonly in use,
With rules for grammar rather loose,
And as you can see in this verse,
The writing’s really none the worse,
For what the French would think kaput –
The words in any order put.

So Macron should take care right now,
Since he has rashly made this vow;
But, luckily, in French he spoke,
Not understood by many folk,
And though he’d think that a disgrace,
It might just help to save his face!



Psychiatrist Flickr anr

It is reported that a third more children are seeing psychiatrists as their stress levels increase with mounting levels of anxiety, bullying, depression and the effects of social media.

A kiddie’s life one time was fun,
They used to go outside and run,
And, if allowed, then they would play,
There pretty much the whole damn day.

Then bullying was not so rife,
But a backhander from the wife,
While aimed towards a child’s behind,
Would never then depress the mind.

But now, it seems, all this has changed,
Our little kids are all deranged;
It doesn’t matter what you think,
More children now go see a shrink.

One reason, you have likely guessed,
Is that the blighters are depressed,
And, more than that, it seems to me,
They’re consumed by anxiety.

The culprits are not hard to spot,
Because kids now spend such a lot,
Of time on Facebook, Twitter too,
And, probably, that Tube called You.

The stress of this distorts the mind,
More so than any other kind,
Of interaction with one’s peers,
Even if one or two are queers.

So time thus spent should be reduced,
For, if so, it can be deduced,
That kids will come back from the brink,
And then they might not need a shrink!



It is reported that Theresa May and the European Commission thought they had reached agreement on the Irish border conundrum but it seems nobody asked the DUP.

I’m not intending to explain,
(For that would just create more pain,)
What was said and maybe was not,
Both in and out of earshot,
About the Irish border which,
In Brexit’s something of a glitch.

Too many people think they’ve got,
A veto and so the upshot.
Is, frankly, no-one will agree,
How border travel can be free.

And these demands that some maintain,
Are very different (not the same),
And no-one’s even slightly wise,
And hence prepared to compromise.

So all these circles can’t be squared,
With some of the pain being shared;
In fact, no-one at all would budge,
So this last draft was just a fudge.

On the EU side this seemed fine,
They do these fudges all the time;
But harder heads were now at play,
Who found out and to their dismay,
When they discovered what was writ,
They all had a collective fit.

The detail I will not repeat,
So trouble not to take your seat;
But I say this because it’s clear:
There isn’t even a veneer,
Of common sense in what’s been said,
So no basis to go ahead.

What happens next we can but guess,
There might be more dismay, not less,
But I hope in the future tense,
We might see some more common sense.

At least The Donald’s not involved,
He might think this a problem solved;
But Ireland wouldn’t build a wall,
They’d not want that at all at all.



It is reported that a new sculpture of a shepherd in Hawes, North Yorkshire has attracted complaints because he is smoking a pipe.

A shepherd’s life is rather tough,
And sometimes when the day’s been rough,
He likes to lean upon a gate,
Of which are many situate,
All over Yorkshire’s dales and fells,
And take in all the sights and smells.

And when he does he gets his pipe –
That is one of the smoking type –
And with tobacco there alight,
He watches day progress to night,
As on the fells the sun must set,
Sometime today but not just yet.

So when a sculpture’s to be made,
Which shows the shepherd and his trade,
To have a pipe is only right,
And not a subject for a fight.

Or so it should be but some folk,
Objected to it and they spoke,
Complaining that the pipe was bad,
Because, in general, smoking had,
Been banned and so it was not wise,
Smoking like this to advertise.

The arguments raged to and fro,
But it was all nonsense and so,
It was decided anyway,
The shepherd’s pipe was there to stay.

And that comes as a great relief,
For otherwise it’s my belief,
That it could make, as I can tell,
Problems for Sherlock Holmes as well!



It is reported that biscuit manufacturers are having to bake their products at lower temperatures so as to reduce acrylamide levels in accordance with EU (what else?) regulations.

Biscuits are well-established food,
So changing them might seem quite rude,
But the EU has handed down,
New rules that say they are too brown.

So bakers have to take some flak –
Though less than if they were all black –
For in the past they haven’t tried,
Reducing the acrylamide.

This compound is, you might have guessed,
For people’s health not quite the best,
And it is made, as like as not,
When flour and starch is baked too hot.

So biscuits should be baked quite cool,
Max hundred twenty is the rule,
But this then means what goes on sale,
Can sometimes look a trifle pale.

While disconcerting this might be,
When dunked, or not, into your tea,
You really do not need to fret,
That ’twill disintegrate when wet.

For bakers have now got it licked,
And at the temperature that’s picked,
They simply close the oven door,
And let them bake for some time more.

The biscuits, then, are nice and crithp,
Said with or without any lithp,
And so they will still always be,
OK for dunking in your tea!



It is reported that government experts are recommending that fruit should be kept in the fridge to keep it fresher for longer and reduce the amount thrown away.

If you eat fruit you like it fresh,
With juice that’s sweet and firm of flesh,
And it is like this as a rule,
If you have kept the fruit quite cool.

This really is just common sense,
Well-known to those who are not dense,
And almost any housewife knows,
That when bought in the fridge it goes.

For when it’s in the fridge, you know,
The temperature is kept below,
Something like four or five degrees,
And don’t ask if that’s Fs or Cs.

For clever people can work out,
The answer’s C without a doubt,
For F would mean it’s not so nice,
In fact, just like a block of ice.

But I digress, The Government,
Is all fired up with good intent,
And wanting now to educate,
The people of the British State.

So labels on all veg and fruit,
Will be, for people less astute,
Inscribed to explain that they should,
Be kept cool so that they stay good.

So in the fridge they have to go,
But since in there they’re not on show,
You might just place some, if you wish,
Arranged in your fruit bowl or dish.

Then you can eat some straight away,
While most of them will fresher stay,
And then the fruit that you digest,
Will always be the very best.



It is reported that Neapolitan pizza makers are trying to get UNESCO World Heritage recognition for their pizzas in the hope that this will prevent American and other abominations corrupting the dish.

It was three hundred years ago,
The pizza was invented so,
Whatever type you might prefer,
To Naples you should still defer.

The pizza market has since grown,
With people making up their own,
And now in any pizza shop,
There’s nothing you can’t have on top.

There’s different cheeses, meat and fish,
Hot peppers which spice up the dish;
Pineapple, sweetcorn, sausage too,
And this is just to name a few.

The Naples chefs are horrified,
These bad concoctions hurt their pride,
And so they now want UNESCO,
To grant their pizzas and their dough,
A special status, I surmise,
Like Stilton cheese and some pork pies.

“Pizza,” they say, “a simple dish,
Should not have sausage, meat or fish;
It simply is our special dough,
With Mozza cheese and tomato.

To put on more is very bad,
And makes us really rather sad;
We’re trying to persuade folk but,
We’ve had no luck with Pizza Hut!”