RED BRICK

 

Red Brick, built Britain

For common man and squire

Built from the ground up

Until they built an Empire

TROUBLE AT MILL

 

It’s an absolute calamity

I’ve never heard the like of it

I just heard on the news

Up north they are running out of grit

 

What will become of us?

When the north is finally bereft

It was the northern grit

That made this nation the best

RIP OFF BRITAIN

 

What mugs we all are in the UK

With the amount of tax we have to pay

We’re taxed on what we earn at work

We’re taxed on every little perk

Then when we spend our pay

They take some purchase tax away

Very little is exempt from VAT

It’s even on a cup of tea

Even coffee and juices fruity

If you smoke you pay tobacco duty

Then the unkindest tax of all

Duty on every form of alcohol

If you can afford a new car today

There is an even greater price to pay

With seventeen and a half percent more owed

Then you’re taxed to keep it on the road

And you pay Tax on your fuel at the garage

Then in the city there’s the congestion charge

Then there’s a new tax to be faced

Parking the car at your workplace

You’re taxed for the policeman on the beat

And for the lighting in the street

Then Airport taxes for our holidays

We’re even taxed for what we throw away

If we buy or sell a house today

There’s not one tax but a whole array

We’re even taxed on the money we save

We’re taxed from the cradle to the grave

WE ARE TRADITIONALISTS # 2

 

We are traditionalists

In our village

Deep in little Britain.

And on a weekend

There is nothing

We like better

Than a game 

Of ten peasant bowling

EURO TRASH # 2

 

It’s really great not being a foreigner

As I don’t have to ask myself whether

The man with a feather in his hat is a forester

A customs man or a rural police officer

THE ANONYMOUS ENEMY

 

There is no black in the union jack

There is no white in the Rastafari

There is no brown in the British crown

There is no white in the consciousness

No ethnic presence in the establishment

No white voice in the consensus

There’s no black power neath big Ben’s tower

There’s no white vote in modern Britain

No black role models say the liberals

All the white ones are being discredited

There is no black amongst the black

But shades of brown from dark to light

There is no white amongst the white

But shades of flesh from light to dark

There is no black in the union jack

There is no white in the British isle

Black dwells too much on slavery and such

White looks longingly to halcyon days

Race hatred grows watched from the shadows

White against black, black against white

No black and white flinch from the fight

Hate spreads like fire fueled by the scourge

The scourge is black encouraging attack

The scourge is white urging on the fight

Inhabiting the middleness with wordy vagueness

Condemning both sides and supports them also

They feed the flames the people with no names

The anonymous enemy the liberal elite

They divide and conquer while making us suffer

They keep the battle on to hold onto power

The liberal elite are the real enemy to defeat

Ruling the world from the shadows

Ruling the middleness with political correctness

Accentuating our differences for hate

They are autonomous in their control of us

While creating the illusion of democracy

Freedom of speech is the lie they teach

If we speak against their view, we are crushed

They control the wealth wield power by stealth

The anonymous enemy the liberal elite

SCOTTISH INDEPENDENCE # 2

As a proud Briton

I will be disappointed

In a strange way

 

Not if Scotland leaves

But more so

That Wales will stay

SCOTTISH INDEPENDENCE # 1

 

As a proud Briton

I will be disappointed

If Scotland chose to go

 

As an Englishman

I’ll be disappointed

If they vote no

A STRANGER IN A STRANGE TOWN

 

I walk down unfamiliar streets

Exploring, searching

I came upon a market square

Full of hubbub

Stall holders calling out their wares

Amidst the background noise of chatter

Babies’ cry and women gossip

An argument ensues

Between trader and punter

Words are exchanged

Just out of earshot

“Asylum seeker” was all I could make out

A trader or a punter?

I moved on

It was a typical spring day

Too hot for a coat

Too cold to go without

As I leave the market, I passed an office building

Smoker’s skulk outside

Social pariahs

Consigned to the gutter

With the other misfits and addicts

I pass people on mobiles

All talking loudly

I lose count of the number

Teenagers chatting

What on earth do they have to say?

Whatever! Bovvered?

I stop at a pavement café

To my left sit a party of French

I thought how apt it was

And how when the coalition went to war

To fight global terrorism

The French went to lunch

To my right sat a mixed group

A forty-something female

Holding court over a younger crowd

Celebrating a 22^nd birthday

The oldest in the group by some distance

Was obviously angling to put another notch in her headboard

On the farthest table sat

A party of downs syndrome sufferers

One kept blowing raspberries of admirable proportions

And another was doing chimp impressions

The birthday group obviously found them amusing

Remarking “he looked like Clyde from the Eastwood movie”

Why do people have to be so unkind?

A passerby said loudly

“Look at the window lickers”

What a vile world it can be

The waitress arrives

Complete with tattoos and multiple piecings

Wearing an ill-fitting skirt and blouse

Making her look like a badly stuffed pincushion

I’m sure she felt she was making a statement

Presumably to the fashion police.

She eventually took my order

Why can’t you just get a coffee anymore?

I continued my journey

Along the pavement

To avoid stopping at a red signal

A cyclist mounted the pavement

Scatting pedestrians in all directions

In response to calls

His reply was at best unarticulated

Mostly he just gesticulated

I decided to go back to the hotel

THANK GOD FOR WINSTON

 

When on TV, Winston Churchill

Was voted the greatest Britain

It restored my faith, a little

In my fellow countrymen

Although equally

It would not in truth

Have surprised me in the least

If they had considered

A musician and lyricist

To have contributed more to the nation

And they voted for John Lennon

MAD DOGS # 1

 

It’s great being English

And not just for the pounds

As we don’t burn down embassies

On theological grounds

THIS ENGLAND

Of all the places I have been

Britain is the best I’ve seen

It’s the simple little pleasures

That any visitor then treasures

Like having a lovely cup of tea

In a place called Battersea

Or eating Poppadoms and Chutney

In a restaurant down in Putney

Dining on a plate of stroganoff

With a couple name of Romanoff

Or playing frames of billiards

With a group of Irish guards

Eating duck pate on Melba toast

While relaxing on the Devon coast

On one night we even smoked pot

With some soldiers in Aldershot

But whether you intend eating Spam

In the midland’s city of Birmingham

Or enjoying bags of soggy chips

While visiting in the Mendip’s

Be sure to take a coat with you

As you’ll have a rainy day or two 

RAMBLING’S AND RANTING’S - WHERE ARE WE?

 

What a strange world we now inhabit, a world in which people are seemingly incapable of going ten minutes without speaking to someone on their mobile phone and yet have probably gone ten years without speaking to a stranger in the street.

 

A world in which we go everywhere in the car but can’t actually get to where we want to go without a computer telling us where and when to turn.

What a ludicrous situation it is when a person has to use Satellite navigation, bouncing signals off various orbiting satellites, just to travel from Woking to Godalming a distance of eight miles as the crow flies.

 

This failure to navigate our way around this green and pleasant land has been blamed in equal measure on a woman’s inability to read a map and a man’s reluctance to ask for directions but to my mind this problem is all down to road signs.

There are just too many signs there are Blue ones, Green ones, White ones and the Brown ones telling us what places of interest we should visit all of which distract our attention away from the sign that will actually tell you where you want to go.

 

When the Second World War started, and Britain was under imminent threat of invasion many road signs were either removed or painted over in order to confuse German paratroopers.

I am convinced that some of the signposts were put back in the wrong place and a great many were never put back at all and are still stacked in a heap in an old barn in somewhere in Dorset.

Even so we should be able to find our own way from A to B.

 

It’s not just on the land where we have problems either even on the high seas we struggle, but why after all we are a proud island race and all of us are steeped in our great sea faring heritage.

When Britannia was ruler of the waves our gallant seamen circumnavigated the globe using only the Sun and the stars and wrote their own charts as they went.

Now sailors have a global positioning system or GPS too pinpoint their exact position.

Satellites and computers control ships from Super Tankers to small fishing boats.

However even with all this technology they still manage to crash into each other or run aground but when it comes to apportioning blame its always human error

WHIPPET’S, PIGEON’S AND SHEEP

 

In order not to cause offence in any way I should like to begin this piece by pointing out that the opinions here in are not in any way my own but rather have been imparted to me by others.

These people many and varied perceive certain regional stereotypes in the British Isles.

For example, Yorkshire is a county of whippet owners, Derbyshire the home of pigeon fanciers while Lancashire have their dark satanic mills and East Anglian’s have a penchant for marrying their cousins and the family trees don’t have many branches.

Then there are the Flat capped Brummies, the Welsh and their sheep, the Cornish with other people’s sheep, Essex girls with white shoes, Geordies with no shoes and Cumbrian's with six toes.

Scottish people are widely regarded the world over for their meanness and Glaswegians for the culinary delight known as “the deep-fried Mars bar”.

None of these stereotypes are true and never have been true but still they persist in the public consciousness.

Now you can understand from this abridged list why people might take umbrage.

For myself I am a Surrey man born and bred and I take exception to the popular myth that almost everyone in Surrey is in fact a stockbroker and the few that are not Pop stars, Actors, Super models or famous media figures.

The workers required to perform the basic tasks such as hospital staff, dustmen, sorry refuse disposal operatives; shop workers and local councilors are bussed in daily from Hampshire and Berkshire while we Surreyites spend our days sipping cocktails and eating smoked salmon sandwiches.

So, if anyone has been offended by anything in this article I apologize unreservedly unless of course you’re a local councilor.