Stiletto red-shoe-2792160_960_720

It is reported that a pair of dancers on Strictly Come Dancing were spotted snogging outside a London pub, Theresa May danced before a speech in Birmingham, Nicola Sturgeon couldn’t dance in her super high heels in Glasgow and Jean-Claude Juncker tried to copy Mrs May in Brussels.

To dance is good, most people say,
It keeps you fit from day to day,
It’s best to do it to a song,
But on occasions it goes wrong.

I don’t mean technical mistakes,
The sort that might require two takes,
Like when Ed Balls, who’s not a bore,
Almost dropped Ms Jones on the floor.

This Mrs Jones of whom I speak,
Is in the news again this week,
But not for dancing, I’m afraid,
Which is the reason she gets paid.

No, this time, as told in this blog,
She was partaking in a snog,
With her dance partner on TV –
You don’t get paid for that – it’s free.

But what now of our Mrs May?
You thought that she had feet of clay,
But then she danced before her talk –
She should have been advised to walk.

Her dancing, though, went down a treat,
Surprising, for with two left feet,
It wasn’t good, but p’rhaps it made,
The lady look a bit less staid.

And then a few days farther on,
We saw Miss SNP Sturgeon,
Before her conference’s talk,
In heels so high she couldn’t walk.

“I’m wearing these,” she said, “So that,
I look more tall than if they’re flat;
But really, it’s so there’s no chance,
That I could ever try to dance.”

And finally, the Juncker man,
Who tries in every way he can,
To cause embarrassment by day,
Especially to Mrs May.

He claims that was not what he did,
His footwork was indeed splendid,
Because he’d had a drop to drink,
And she had not, I like to think.

That takes us now full circle for,
The first and last were drinking more
Than might be wise, depending how,
They want to be perceived for now.

So if you dance do take great care,
For bits might end up on the air,
And if they do, you can be sure,
That pictures will be more, not fewer!



It is reported that Donald Trump has been giving conflicting messages about what he thinks of Theresa May and Brexit.

Our Donald, who’s not far from here,
Is not always completely clear,
What he means when he tweets or speaks,
Including when he gives critiques.

He doesn’t approve of the way,
That our PM, that’s Mrs May,
Is handling Brexit (go or stay),
Or at least didn’t yesterday.

He said she’s got the whole thing wrong,
But then before so very long,
(By which I really mean quite soon),
It seems he had a change of tune.

Right now, he says , she’s doing good,
Since he’s advised her so she should,
And, as he said before Blenheim,
Most anything’s OK with him.

That is not all, I could say more,
Of things like this – at least a score,
For every day he seems to say,
Something he later blows away.

The consequence of this is that,
One really knows not where he’s at,
And so one doesn’t get too bored,
His comments might be best ignored.

So there I’ll end, good as my word,
I will write no more words absurd;
There’s no doubt that he’ll speak again,
This most peculiar of men.


Savile Row

It is reported that Philip May, spouse of the Prime Minister of the same name, has bought a new suit specially for his forthcoming meeting with Melania Trump, spouse of the American President of the same (but different) name.

When Donald Trump is here this week,
His entourage will be quite sleek,
Especially his lady wife,
About whom gossip can be rife.

As often happens on these trips,
While all the leaders get to grips,
And talk – because that’s why they came –
Their wives and husbands do the same.

So in this current case in point,
Since we don’t want to disappoint,
The Mr May of whom we know,
Decided that he ought to go,
And freshen up his wardrobe which,
Is easy ’cos he’s rather rich.

But, nonetheless, he’s frugal too,
So since with shoes he can make do,
And without spending too much loot,
He went to buy himself a suit.

With hat not needed ’cos it’s warm,
A suit is really quite the norm,
And so our Mr May did go,
To get his made in Savile Row.

He got it home, it fitted well,
It was the business, you could tell,
And he was happy now that he,
Could match his wardrobe up with she.

But what he hadn’t quite worked out,
Was that Trump’s wife without a doubt,
Would bring a hundred gowns to wear,
And probably a few to spare.

She was, of course, a model once,
And in huge wardrobes oft ensconced,
So even with his suit replete,
With her he might not quite compete.

But, anyway, he’s tried his best,
For spouse of leader of the West,
And verdicts when the two do meet?
For that you’ll have to read the tweet!

Image – Mike_Fleming / Flickr



It is reported that the United States, Britain and France have attacked Syrian chemical weapons facilities after carefully telling both the Syrians and Russians exactly when and where the missiles were coming.

In times of war it’s pretty plain,
Each side must best advantage gain,
And so their plans they must devise,
With the element of surprise.

They keep things secret, under wraps,
And even indulge in, perhaps,
Some subterfuge whose main intent?
To put opponents off the scent.

But times are not so normal now,
And while the western countries vow,
To stamp out this chem. weapons use,
They want to be a bit obtuse.

Their response must effective be,
But without starting World War Three;
And so they have devised a trick,
So anyone who isn’t thick,
Will know what’s coming and which day,
So they can move their stuff away.

The damage, then, can be confined,
To targets that are well-defined,
And will not – and this is the point –
Put Russian noses out of joint.

So phones have all been pretty hot,
Agreeing that Russia will not,
Retaliate and join the fray,
Or not with missiles anyway.

In this way everyone saves face,
Russia will say it’s a disgrace,
But if its people aren’t hit too,
There’s not a lot that it can do.

So tensions rise, all have their say,
Each hoping they will get their way;
But amid claim and counter-claim,
And nobody accepting blame,
It’s either this confusion or,
The risk, perhaps, of all out war.

Stay tuned, then, to my daily blog,
I’ll try to clarify the fog,
But if you find my blogs should cease,
You might suspect a loss of peace.



It is reported that the Prime Minister has given up crisps for Lent.

So Mrs May says her intent,
Is to abstain from crisps for Lent,
Her favourite ones are S&V,
Of which she partakes frequently.

We do not know so cannot say,
If she consumes them every day,
But I think we know from a leak,
That she eats several every week.

That’s several packets, maybe more,
Bought in her local Waitrose store,
And with the PM’s claim to fame,
The rest of us might do the same.

So sales volumes might take a dive,
Her S&V, my cheese and chive,
And so this might stores’ profits peg,
’Til rescued by the Easter egg!

Image – Wikimedia commons



It is reported that Donald Trump has been invited to make a state visit to Britain within a week of his inauguration whereas previous presidents have had to wait at least two or three years.

State visits which involve The Queen,
Are rather few and far between,
There’s lots of pomp, men on parade,
Foreign relations for to aid.

Some US presidents – just some –
Have been invited so to come,
And when they’e here as The Queen’s guest,
They’re always mightily impressed.

They pose for photos so that they,
Can show off where they’ve been each day,
And back home people think it’s great,
That their President – Head of State –
Is over here, guest of The Queen,
The only one they’ve ever seen.

Americans, though, can be flash,
And worse than that they’re rather brash,
But since they’re here for work not hol.,
They understand the protocol.

And most of them have had to wait,
A year or two to get a date,
But waiting long to meet Queen Liz,
Shows just how special all this is.

So it’s been a surprise tonight,
To learn that Trump’s got an invite,
Within a week in his new job,
Especially with his big gob.

It just seems so unlikely that,
Theresa May off her own bat,
Would give an invite quite so quick,
To someone who you can’t predict.

More likely she would bide her time,
Consider all in prose or rhyme,
And when a few more years had passed,
Send his invite to him at last.

So what has changed the PM’s mind,
So soon after she had just dined,
With Donald Trump who is so brash,
And like a diplomatic crash?

Well, we all know from things before,
To Trump it’s status matters more,
Than other things within his life,
Except, maybe, his second wife.

And he would want a visit which,
As well as done without a hitch,
Allowed him there to take the floor,
And eclipse those that went before.

So over lunch with that intent,
This might be how the discourse went:

“Theresa, now, I like gold things,
From cars to curtains, also rings,
But one thing that I’d like to wear,
On top of my fine head of hair,
A golden crown which would look fine,
But I don’t have one at this time.

So I should like to meet The Queen,
She has a lot of them I’ve seen,
And she could lend me one I’m sure –
No-one would notice one crown fewer.

And while I’m there I’ll play a round,
She likes to watch it I’ll be bound,
And that guy who looks ninety-three,
Can come too and my caddy be.

But don’t invite that geezer Chas.,
’Cos he is bound to think he has,
To lecture me on gas and oil,
Which he thinks will the country spoil.

And finally, you know my car?
Just two of them I think there are;
They are both black but not so old,
And I will have them painted gold.

They’ll outshine HM’s coach by far,
And almost every other car
Within the world and – you have guessed –
Quite simply they will be the best.

They will match my gold suit and shoes,
Will get the headlines on the news,
And everyone will think it great,
And perfect for a Head of State.

So now, Theresa, let me see,
What there will be for lunch and tea,
Then off you go, get my invite,
And then announce it by tonight.”

Image – Pixabay



It is reported that Foreign Secretary Boris Johnson tries to give his security guards the slip when he goes jogging.

Now Boris is a funny man,
He goes out jogging when he can,
And as the head of the F.O.,
He has to have a guard in tow.

The guard is there in case he should,
Be seen by one up to no good,
Who might attack the Foreign Sec.,
And bump him off or break his neck.

But Boris is not one for rules,
He didn’t stick to them at schools,
He likes to creep out late at night,
Accompanied by a flashlight,
So he won’t go arse over tip,
And still can give his guards the slip.

The guards, though, surely are not fools,
He must, they insist, stick to rules,
And if he goes out in the park,
He shouldn’t do it when it’s dark.

For in the dark are ghouls and spooks –
You’ve read about such things in books –
And if they should be out that day,
They might just spirit him away.

Then minders would have to explain,
Where he had gone which is a pain,
And this would be quite hard to do,
Because they wouldn’t have a clue.

Imagine, then, how it would look,
If later an MI5 spook,
Saw somewhere either near or far,
An unkempt, blond Count Dracula.

Now we all know what vampires do,
And MI5 might know this too,
So they will then do what it takes,
To keep Theresa off the stakes!

Image – Flickr

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