Lord Colon of Borborygm

THIS

PLUS
EQUALS ... ?

There was once a noble Lord Colon of Borborygm, who is much-revered by sufferers of IBS. He was famed for methane production, and only a lighted-match away from incandescence.

Here's his eulogy:

Lord Colon of Borborygm,
So-called for alimentary grumbles,
In life committed no serious crime,
But was famed for tummy rumbles.

One day he dined on vindaloo
With poppadums for starters,
A little lime pickle and raita too,
Before he joined the martyrs.

Sweat appeared on furrowed brow.
There was copious lacrimation.
“I think I'll use the nan bread now
To mop this perspiration."

Those subtle spices burned his mouth
And made the mucus flow.
A strange sensation then moved south
And stormy winds did blow.

From the kitchen there came wailing,
Nose-holding was in the bar.
Faces all around were paling.
Customers cried, “Fetch the car!”

’Twas thus that Colon's end was met,
By methane-oxidation.
Someone lit a cigarette...
There was instant conflagration.

Glossary:
IBS: Ian Bunkum-Smith. Sorry, I meant irritable bowel something.
Borborygmi: A medical term for a noisy abdomen associated with overactive intestinal peristalsis. 'Borborygm' rhymes with rhyme!
Methane-oxidation: An exothermic reaction: CH4 + 2O2 → CO2 + 2H2O

(BANG!)

The Big Beast is Back

“The big beast is back,” reports the Daily Telegraph. (Not that I read that biased publication, of course!)


(I got this image from The Guardian!)

Today we learn that Kenneth Clarke is to return to front-bench politics within the Conservative Party. This was the bully-boy who successively, but with debatable success, occupied just about every significant cabinet post throughout the Thatcher years. Fortunately for the nation, he never became PM.

I recall his watch cry: “Market Forces!” whereby he destroyed the morale of teachers, health-workers, law-enforcement officers and (need I go on?) Rewritten contracts were imposed upon people doing the best they could. These were dedicated people who were well-trained to perform their primary function, be that to teach, promote health or police the nation. Few of those were trained for, or motivated by, financial accountancy. Targets, and considerable accompanying paperwork, were thrust upon unsuspecting public servants, as Mr. Clarke confused the desirable concept of accountability with the mysterious science of accountancy. Many of those public servants, whose income came to depend upon hitting those targets, achieved them, only to discover in following years that those targets were ratcheted upwards. Some left or lost their jobs. Those who stayed became disenchanted with what they had previously perceived as their vocation, and eagerly looked forward to retirement, (early, if you were so fortunate.)

Before this henchman came along I was a fairly apolitical being. It was KC’s arrogance and dictatorial tactics that made me a socialist. He is a liability to the nation and, hopefully, to his party. While he occupies any position of power, (and, even in opposition, there is power,) I remain a socialist.

PS. I am not enamoured of the questionable motives of Lord Mandelson either, but at least he hasn’t made me a Tory … yet!

Perhaps I'll work on John Prescott next. Then again, why bother? While he was deputy PM to Tony Blair, he never had to deputise, so did little damage (unless you were an egg-thrower!)

Lost Sea Voices

Here's some mediocre poetry I wrote some years ago. The title, Lost Sea Voices, was inspired by a track from an album by the cellist, Caroline Dale: Such Sweet Thunder. For the text I am being unforgivably romantic, marginally autobiographical and quasi-religious. I borrow more imagery from another track on the same album: To Unpathed Waters, Undreamed Shores. Caroline’s music does not fit with the words I have written, (more likely it’s the other way round!) but her melodies are evocative of a mysterious journey.

Lost Sea Voices

I sail uncharted waters.
I ply a restless sea.
I explore what Christ has bought us;
Learn what it is to be.

I welcome each new sunrise:
New knowledge and new lore.
Another day for singing?
Perhaps I’ll find that shore?

I sail with joy. I yearn for peace.
I hope for victory.
I crave true faith. I seek real love
And glorious harmony.

Now, those Lost Sea Voices
Cry to me from the deep;
Seducing me; they call me,
“Come, lie with us and sleep.”

Gently, they caress my mind.
Here, at last, is rest?
Is this what I’ve set out to find,
Or another savage test?

I hear their false discourses;
They know not what they say.
“Away, you Lost Sea Voices!
Your tones do you betray!”

“Oh, no!” they lie, “You’re one with us.
Your quest is all forlorn.
Cease your search and die with us.
With us you’ll be reborn.”

I put about my craft and sped
O’er the watery wilderness.
But still they call me to their bed:
“Here is your forgiveness!”

I pray my God will find me
And lead me by the hand.
I pray He will protect me
And guide me to His land.

I am those Lost Sea Voices:
Floundering overboard.
So come, my Lost Sea Voices,
And sing with one accord:

Pray our God will know us
And take us in His hand.
Pray He will forgive us
When we reach His land.

Sail with joy, yearn for peace.
Hope for victory.
Seek out true faith. Embrace real love,
And glorious harmony.

(CT June 2003)



Now, excuse me while I find the antidepressants!

Ny Kirree fo Niaghtey

Here's me showing off again.
It's a song about dead sheep and a terminally ill shepherd.



Just right for this time of year!