Let’s explore contact track and tracing UK Government officials

Brand new tin foil hat on, let’s simply and without comment, make a few contact observations regarding the proposed App to be deployed by………well that’s a matter of conjecture actually. Just to be clear, 5G doesn’t impact Covid19 in any way but it has been useful to allow the media to be swamped with conspiracy stories meaning that the real curiosities are harder to spot. Anyhow, here we go.

UK Health Minister has announced that a new app will be used to track and trace people displaying Covid 19 symptoms. This will be done by enabling Bluetooth on one’s phone and straight away that is a hugely dumb idea because it gives anyone with malicious intent within a certain radius of your phone complete access to everything on your phone and the ability to use your phone without your knowledge. But that isn’t the issue. Though it’s a slight concern that the UK Health Minister doesn’t appear to know this. BUt that’s not the curious thing.

The UK state does not have a great track record with IT. In fact it has a fucking appallingly wasteful track record and an equally appalling record of lying about it to tax payers. That is to say, “the system works” is repeated until someone finds out it doesn’t. So it’s no surprise that early reports from the trialling of this app “Wobbly” System fails to meet standards show that it’s not great. But that’s not too curious.

Last week (at date of writing, 05/05/20) the Health Secretary of the UK also granted, by means of statutory instrument, access for GCHQ (UK Intelligence) to any NHS or NHS related network or system. For reasons of cyber security. The Consent to Activities Related to the Security of NHS and Public Health Services Digital Systems (Coronavirus) Directions 2020

So that makes everything adorably legal. It’s quite a loose thing. But then the UK government has already granted Amazon access to medical records. So it’s no biggie. Alexa Advice Deal

Data in the tracing app, with the bizarre Bluetooth flaw, is, according to the UK Health Minister, anonymous. That can’t be true. I don’t say Mr Hancock is lying. I say he is studiedly and pragmatically informed. He hasn’t asked the obvious questions so no-one has told him so therefore he can honestly say, when confronted with the bleeding obvious, that he wasn’t told. Remember, it’s against the ‘rules’ for an MP to lie to another MP but a vital part of the cut and thrust of politics to tell the public something you would know to be untrue if you asked obvious and meaningful questions about it. As our current ‘prima inter pares’ and adulterer in chief Boris Johnson’s barrister established in quashing a charge of “Misconduct in Public Office”. Johnson V Westminster Magistrates Court

I know, I know. It’s a lot of links but the reading is interesting. But we’re not at the really curious thing yet. Anonymous data ? If it is data at all then it can’t be anonymous. And there must be a method of verifying any source or else within about 1 minute of ‘go live’ some 13 year old in a bedroom in eastern Europe or South East Asia could launch a primitive but effective denial of service attack. So it must verify that the responses pinging back and forth come from actual phones. So certainly not anonymous. But that’s not the curious bit.

No, the curious bit is that this app is in the hands of an executive agency called NHSX (The X stands for Xperience) (Because these things are staffed to the gills with exactly the sort of wanker who thinks that sounds cool) The CEO of which is Matthew Gould. This is where it gets good.

Those who follow the grand guignol of politics for reasons of morbid curiosity will remember that one of the scandals to interrupt the career of the wily Dr Liam Fox MP was when he had to resign from his position of Minister of Defence over secret meetings he’d had with a guy called Adam Werrity. Mr Werrity is a curious fish because at the time everyone in government said he was a chancer and Walter Mitty-ish guy. But a chancer with defence industry contacts nonetheless. It was a scandal. Dr Fox had to resign. But there was a 3rd person in these meetings. Our erstwhile former ambassador to Israel, Mr Matthew Gould. Adam Werrity

Now although this scandal was so bad the minister resigned, Mr Gould was cleared by the FCO. I make no comment on that. Perhaps there are plenty of occasions when, to take an entirely tangential example, the police raid a brothel and find people in a room snorting cocaine from a prostitutes breasts that the guy sat in the corner who says “I’m just taking notes” is found to have done nothing wrong.

Now let’s be clear. Mr Gould did nothing wrong. He was in the room yes. So at worst perhaps we can accuse him of lacking sound judgement. He was in the room. He knew, or at least ought to have known that it was at least unwise.  Like, say, someone with an enormous neck tattoo which says “Fuck You”. So I’m not entirely comfortable handing over access to my phone to an organisation run by someone like that.

Anyway, I’m returning to considering, philosophically, the Health Secretary’s concept of anonymous. Is a grave truly unmarked if the gravediggers know who they are burying ?

Don’t expect to see this stuff on the BBC. Their ‘reporters’ are pseudo senior civil servants who won’t report anything that might adversely effect their career. In the tangential example, they are the prostitutes from whose breasts cocaine is snorted.

We’re All Celebrities Now (Lockdown Notes)

I was always suspicious of these ‘celebrities’ claiming that it was awful not being able to just pop to the shops or walk the streets. Small price, I thought, and given my natural inclination to avoid people, not that bad. It’s not that I’m anti-social. I’m asocial. And now I’m living the dream. Wearing a disguise to avoid being papped by the neighbours, worrying about being recognised in the shop. And thinking about teasing a forthcoming tour and album.  Or maybe just that sign of dead artist, the greatest hits. Followed by the Essential. Which in lockdown terms, with one’s best beloved would see a track listing including “I told you that would happen”, “Don’t do it that way (It’ll Wrinkle)” and “Those Ain’t My Crumbs in the Butter”.

Still I happen to be in the quartile of ‘you’ll probably die if you get this’ so I follow the rules bright people tell me I should follow. The perils of modern life and the ethereal presence of soshull meeja mean it’s tricky sometimes to know who the bright people are. It’s no politician. They aren’t bright people. You get to where they are by never clinging too hard to one idea that you get stuck with it forever. They are the particular type of human that will never put principle ahead of career. As a thought exercise think of something you like. Gardening maybe. Now put yourself in the position of joining your local gardening club. Now think about how you would go about getting on to the committee. There’s bound to be an established power structure. Plus those few who run around spreading gossip and rumour and being disapproving of certain traits they deem “impolite”. Think about how many compromises you would have to make, conversationally, in order to secure sufficient backing to even get near the committee and once there how on earth do you prosper in the face of the old guard ? Exactly. Now multiply that by about a thousand and you begin to see why no politician is worth spit. In order for you to have heard of them sufficiently to form an opinion, imagine how many times they have had to look in the mirror at the end of a day and blame someone for the degradation they have submitted themselves to. That’s why so many of them cling to the 19th century notion of deference. Of course you would want people to be afraid to step out of line if there’s a chance they might look into your eyes and see that there is no longer a person there, just a deep pit dug a little deeper by every compromise. Of course some will say “Oh steady on, they’re not all the same” but I think if we hold them to that level of contempt and reward them with them an honest and genuine revision in our opinion when they actually do something then we would all be happier and democracy (or what’s left of it after Brexit) would be served. I say ‘after Brexit’ because we should not forget that this was the triumph of telling people what they want to hear and our current Prime Minister went to court to defend his right to lie, politically, in order to win favour. The courts ruled themselves unwilling to pass judgement on such dishonesty.  So have been bequeathed an unelected master race of gifted toddlers called “super-forecasters” who have proved their worth in the face of Covid 19. They are as much use in the face of a virus as the conquering Martians in War of the Worlds. Chaps, seriously, just fuck off now.

This is why I don’t get too angry watching the evening “briefings” by the UK government. We don’t elect our government in the UK. We elect MPs from our constituency, and the dominant block of MPs decide among themselves who will be the government and within that bloc of venal self interest and mirror reflections of self loathing, it is the single “prima inter pares” or first among equals who assumes the role of Prime Minister. Which would be fine if we were talking about human beings who haven’t spent their professional lives sloughing off their humanity to get to that point. No I don’t get angry at the briefings. I sometimes peer at the screen wondering if the broadcaster will actually show the blood on their hands. But of course they don’t. No, my anger is reserved for the pitiless serpents that despoil everything they touch in UK society. Their pointless and insidious existence is testimony to the complacency we have for each other in UK society. It’s those people who announce them at every given opportunity as “I’m a manager”. Doesn’t matter what. They have conferred on themselves a degree of sincerity and gravitas they do not deserve. Have you ever char grilled peppers ? You strip away the charred outer skin leaving a sticky pulp ? Well imagine that sticky pulp was bitter and vile. That’s the middle manager. The graceless dupes without the courage to become a politician. Vapid and venal, turgid and tasteless in their pronouncements. We all know them. These are the fuckers in the public sector given the task of ordering paper hats for a given number of people, knowing the number of people and a luxurious timeframe and couldn’t get their shit together. When this shitty business is over there will be a reckoning and I have decided I can no longer remain silent in the face of so much villainy.  Prepare yourselves you pestilent congregation of vapours, you are superfluous to our collective requirements.

Think I’m being hard ? Look at what a retired army captain managed simply by asking the question “what can I do ?” He didn’t sit around announcing himself as “Captain Tom” expecting deference, he rolled his sleeves up and did what he could. He didn’t sit in video conference after video conference in front of an artfully constructed vision of the life he would prefer to project. Ask yourself if those mouth breathing raconteurs of their own brilliance in meetings have actually read any of the books they’ve sat in front of ? The answer is none. They don’t read. They issue document after document which could easily be termed ‘Write only’. And let the record show, if it weren’t for sheer manpower, they’d be exposed for the useless frumps (Non-gender specific) they are. Remember these are people without the gumption to become politicians. They are gardening club treasurers. That is their level.

On a slightly less angry note I used to read about the 17th Century in England and how the puritans banned Xmas. Like many I would wonder at how that might be possible. I mean, I knew the mechanics, they simply removed the public holiday but I wondered how that might have been possible. Well those of us in Lockdown UK have the answer. It was fucking neighbours grassing each other up. They didn’t even have an overly exuberant  police force checking shopping bags and deciding they’re Judge Dredd for the duration.

“Excuse me sonny, are those your Jaffa Cakes ?”

“Yes sir. For my own personal consumption.”

“That’s an awful lot. Looks like intent to supply. And what’s this ?  A Bag for Life ? That’s going equipped that is”

And so on and so forth. But the attitude of the police is only like most supervisory management in any sphere. When in doubt “command and control”. So that’s me for the moment, beavering away in lockdown staying safe. It’s only right that an educated and informed populace holds their politicians in contempt. Not for their race, or gender or appearance. But for their inability to “do” anything. UK health workers are dying in droves because politicians and the junior middle managers they rely on are useless. They don’t need the country to come to their doorstep on a Thursday to flap their hands. They need equipment. How fucking hard is that actually ? I mean actually given the amount of pandemic planning that had to be in place ? Yeah we value our health sector in the UK. Just not that highly. We long ago allowed spivs and chancers to take over social care paying minimum wage so it’s no surprise they’re in a mess. The NHS has been broken up into fiefdoms called “Trusts”. No you can’t write irony like that. Every dead burse is a stain on the hands of our politicians. Every dead health care worker was preventable. Not just most. Every single one. That is shame every single person must carry with them. That must inform every decision we take from now on.

May the light of love shine upon you and within you.

Selah.

Janus Aging

I am a vain, foolish man. I capture myself at times since no photographic record remains of my childhood. So I mess around, and sometimes I think I look okay for 51 which is what I am in the 1st two. They are from within the last 3 months. The rest are within the last 3 years.  At other times I capture my absurd posturing and now invite you to smirk with me at my doofishness. There is also one image from the last 12 months as a reminder that no-one is exempt from the potential harm of a toxic relationship and that I have survived and survived worse. I tell myself that although I may be vain and foolish, I am, at tattered, battered heart, not bad after all.

Now let’s all listen to ZAZ – Je Veux,  and dance.

 

 

No, I have absolutely no idea what the open shirt thing is all about or what I was thinking. I know what I think now and it;s exactly what you’re thinking. “Git”. The vest thing was an accident but frankly I’m vain enough to like it. Just don’t be thinking I don’t also cringe. Janus. I have two faces but they’re both honest, faithful and true.

Time to Talk (15 years as a seeing eye dog)

In the UK on 7th February it is Time to Talk day. To remove the stigma about talking about mental health. So let’s start with mine. I have it on professional authority that mine is tip top. And I’ve been through some nasty stuff in the last 12 months. I mean my life in 2018 made a policewoman cry.

But I’m going to talk about the situation I used to be in. And I have freshly minted permission to talk about my marriage from Itchy* (to my Scratchy). Yes we have the sort of friendship where I do ask about mentioning her. So in potted version, 25 years ago we met. 22 years ago our son was born. (Our daughter was 11 when we met) 21 years ago her parents died within 24 hours of each other of unrelated causes. 20 years ago she was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis and told she was going blind. And that was the day I re-swore my marriage vows. Silently. I undertook never, ever to bail out on someone who that happened to. And here we are today with much water under the bridge.

During the years where I was caring and working full time in a high powered job (let me give you one example of where I was at, I accidentally set up two direct debits for the mortgage and didn’t notice for a year and a half, it made zero impact) I mean, you’re looking at a man who can, at 7:50am and after a 10 hour shift, hem a pleated school skirt, feed a baby and tend to 5 cats whilst checking on a resting spouse. So don’t be giving me that flapdoodle about only women can multi-task. The plain fact is that only women usually have to multi task.

MS in its various guises is a cruel and mercurial condition. The blindness was hard. Vision coming and going. But it has left me with some odd abilities. I will know where the ladies toilets are before you. I will know all the obstacles and steps up or down in between. And I am, frankly, superb at audio description. To the extent that I have performed 2 seasons of The Bridge, in character, from the subtitles.

Of course it has left it’s mark. I will often read well intentioned people talk about how “rewarding” caring can be. Watching your partner die by inches is not rewarding. Watching the person you were building your future and dreams around being taken from you, and with them your future and your dreams, is not rewarding. It is, literally, soul destroying. And you cannot let it show. You cannot let it show. So when, after one has had a heart attack and one has realised that the situation has become untenable, one needs a heart as big as the sky and to be as patient as time to empathise with the other person. I think. I genuinely understand where and why we’d got to that point.

So here I am. My reality now is simple. Awake at 4:30 with chest pain and bad dreams (as a result of the chest pain) Get up, shower, shave etc and be on the bus to station to get the train to the office. Spend all day doing my work and offering the help and assistance I get asked for every day that I work twice as hard to accommodate, It’s a niche I’ve carved for myself. No-one knows who I am. But they know they can ask for my help. I’m like a reliable Wikipedia. Leave work and train then bus in reverse. And sit. No calls to answer, no mail to reply to usually. Just me. In my own head. Yet here I am with spiffy mental health. Because I’m (own bugle tooting) strong and reliable. Alone and sadness personified. None of which are mental health issues. Not for me. But ask yourself about the people you do know. Someone might actually have my sort of existence and find it hard to cope with solitude. They may not know how to talk about it. I’m geographically remote from anyone reading this, but there may be a sibling,  friend, colleague you know who would really appreciate  a 10 minute chance to interact with you. And I’m always somewhere around if you ever just needed to unload or bitch and moan. It’s all good.

Me ? I’m me and unique. And in rude mental good health. Besides,  I have some time off work coming. It is a sobering reality that if something happened to me on Thursday night, it would be a week Monday before anyone missed me. And that would be work. No ICE on my phone. I wish there was some big, awful, dreadful thing to explain that sort of solitude.  But there isn’t. Just the way things have worked out. It is life. I’m too busy living to let it weigh me down.

May the light of love shine upon you and within you.

 

*Just wanted to be explicitly clear, although I talk about the impact of her MS on me, I wouldn’t feel comfortable speaking for Mrs Itchy about her expeience of MS.  Besides she’s cleverer, funnier and meaner than me. She doesn’t need me to speak for her.

 

 

Erev (Draft 2 of 5)

So I have the basic structure and poetic diction. I ditched a meter for the moment to literally go with the flow. It needs editing and refining. Which will be 3,4 and 5 unless there’s an epiphany. I read a scholarly article once about how the missing years of the life of Jesus Christ may have been in India. There are traces in the gospels of Eastern teachings and several archeological references in India. I don’t know how strong that is now. But it is floating in my peripheral vision for this.

 

Barukh ata Adonai Eloheinu melekh ha’olam shehakol niyah bidvaro.

I say the ancient grace that you might share

food with me I cannot ask forgiveness

of the Lord until I have yours I spoke

in anger, pride, in vanity it was

your words not you I do not offer my

forgiveness because I do not judge

But there will come a day when the light creeps

under the blinds And illuminates your

soul, then you will have to forgive yourself

 

We learn of being human from birth, born blind

We can only see from nipple to our

mother’s face It is the voyage of our

lives to reach the shores Of shared duty and

empathy, compassion, justice, mercy

To see further than our selfish wants

And claim refuge from the wailing idols

behind the eyes, the dark where monsters lurk

You are young and free so many breaths still to draw

Take them on hillsides, take them looking out to sea

On a beach one hour before dawn with an arm around your shoulder

And a kiss still wet on your cheek

Take them in solitude with your whole self submerged in a book

take them between sips of coffee

As you look through candle flame at love

Don’t tell me you can know the earth from a screen

Until you have shivered on a street, burying yourself in your coat

Goose flesh because you know you will see that sweet face tomorrow

Or let tears fall freely to purge the poison of goodbye

Or feel the touch of a hand in yours fade until you only feel the cold

For me I am escaping a past of

treachery and lechery When the prohibitions

of Leviticus were the a la carte

You are a refugee from human compassion

You refuse to avail yourself of the protection

that being human affords.

You are alone in a foreign land

of cynicism and tweets and posts of apathy.

I can only wonder at the terrible journey

that has brought you to that hostile shore.

This is erev Yom Kippur, the eve of atonement,

mine and yours my lost brother

This is not theism or theology,

this is our shared evolutionary ancestry

Children of Abraham, Millat Ibrahim,

seeking our grace and redemption

By helping you and seeking your forgiveness

I learn humility

Do you want to discuss those fleeing persecution ?

Shall we start with Paul ?

Or Mohammed, peace be upon him

We are all refugees from something

You say you value learning, knowledge

then why dismiss something ?

We have read Tolkien but you don’t believe in Smeagol or Bilbo

But we believe in courage, loyalty and duty

And belief makes them real, they exist

Joy and hope and justice mercy compassion

Transubstantiated by our faith in what we do

A child opening a present or a new born lifted gently

To your face to welcome them to this world

And still you say you don’t believe that ? when it is right in front of you ?

You must still be on the nipple, not yet weaned

Yes children need to believe the stories and to have

Infallible parents to trust in, it is our frailty as human

It is how we grow and where we grow from

Sometimes children do not like to be called such

But this is not childlike, or simplistic this is

The geneology of ageless youth of the eternal soul

Which is why I choose not to believe

In evil, I will not make an excuse real

There is no evil there is absence of good

There is no darkness there is absence of light

Excess and deficit as in science

The lineage of blood libel and felt stars and race profile

The dark of human fear denied light but not evil

Because “evil” is to say “it was not us” but we owe the dead truth

That ordinary people did this for want of the light of goodness

This is the simple truth that wise men believe lies

Phrenology and eugenics and phlogiston

The aluminiferous ether which Newton and Nietsche knew

Was true but is wrong and does not exist

This is not about sealing words up in a book

Preaching from the dead, dry page

Like carnival sideshow carneys

This is preaching through the love of life as she is lived

As she is celebrated and adored and honoured

And life is a woman make no mistake

Though you may think you can seduce or deceive

With cleverness and confidence tricks

The only one seduced and deceived is yourself

She will turn, she will with calm method eviscerate

Your corporeal selfish sins and leave you humbled

Our reach exceeds our span and that is the glory of God

And the triumph of human will so in every single

Act of kindness from a stranger or smile shared or tear shed

God appears, made real it is there how do you not see ?

 

Call a mother’s love biological self interest if you must

But that is just the fear of engaging with sensation and

Limiting experience to the incantation of language

How the intellectual loves linguistic ritual and ceremony

I may not have known it myself but I have witnessed it

Have heard women talk about and display their love

I believe it and wish it had been mine sometimes

So by the laws of reason and rational thought you say;

In an entirety of universes, of untold galaxies

One star has, at just the right distance, at  just the right time

And for reasons we don’t yet understand spawned life

Which has thrived and evolved over millennia until

A species of ape, whose hoots and hollers for where the food is

Has by degrees of sophistication, satisfied itself that

It’s panted squealing and grunting has within it

All the secrets of existence ? And you talk of far fetched ?

As a statistical likelihood it is at the absolute extreme

and yet I believe the science which tells me it’s true

Why do you doubt the joy of friendship is the hand of God

I am the scapegoat, driven from each situation with the sins of others as my burden

But I am not Holman Hunt’s wretched creature by the Dead Sea shore

I am ready to die but if I hear someone ask for help with their load

I will help because my duty and faith call me to make myself subject

And by doing I may teach and preach the love that we call God

I am a refugee from my childhood.

I have a well founded fear of persecution.

The problem is I don’t know where I am bound for,

or whether it will hear my plea

for asylum when I get there.

My whole life has been a journey

to find acceptance and a chance to contribute

something of consequence.

I’m not saying I haven’t been granted ‘leave to remain’ at times,

but that’s all it has ever been.

And now I wonder if I will ever be able

to recognise a chance for asylum if it appears.

I have had sorrow for a travelling companion for so long now

But When the cold nights coil around me like a serpent

I believe morning will come and light will flood the darkness

My hope is real because I believe

All I can do is trust in myself, that being me

will be enough and that through my humanity,

I will find a humane and compassionate place to be

and take refuge I have to find somewhere to belong.

Somewhere to be.  It will be out of necessity

and it will happen because it has to happen.

Not because I spin a thousand words

into a dizzying shower of flaming amber,

leaving glowing embers for memories.

But because my scars tell a story

that proves worth hearing.

Told and heard, moment by moment.

 

 

Erev (Draft 1 of 5)

I mentioned in my journal that I reacted strongly to someone describing Holocaust Memorial Day as “Pointless hand wringing” and “so long ago we should just move on”. I gave him a piece of my mind. But felt I should say something truer to me. This is the first draft which has some basic meter but no diction. Hopefully, as with Orion & Artemis, this open drafting process will discipline my mind and I’ll put ‘the best possible words in the best possible order.’

Barukh ata Adonai Eloheinu melekh ha’olam shehakol niyah bidvaro.

I say the ancient grace that you might share

food with me I cannot ask forgiveness

of the Lord until I have yours I spoke

in anger, pride, in vanity it was

your words not you I do not offer my

forgiveness because I do not judge

But there will come a day when the light creeps

under the blinds And illuminates your

soul, then you will have to forgive yourself

 

We learn of being human from birth, born blind

We can only see from nipple to our

mother’s face It is the voyage of our

lives to reach the shores Of shared duty and

empathy, compassion, justice, mercy

To see further than our selfish wants

And claim refuge from the wailing idols

behind the eyes, the dark where monsters lurk

For me I am escaping a past of

treachery and lechery When the prohibitions

of Leviticus were the a la carte

You are a refugee from human compassion

You refuse to avail yourself of the protection

that being human affords.

You are alone in a foreign land

of cynicism and tweets and smart phone apathy.

I can only wonder at the terrible journey

that has brought you to that hostile shore.

This is erev Yom Kippur, the eve of atonement,

mine and yours my lost brother

This is not theism or theology,

this is our shared evolutionary ancestry

Children of Abraham, Millat Ibrahim,

seeking our grace and redemption

By helping you and seeking your forgiveness

I learn humility

Do you want to discuss those fleeing persecution ?

Shall we start with Paul ?

Or Mohammed, peace be upon him

We are all refugees from something

You say you value learning, knowledge

then why dismiss something ?

We have read Tolkien but don’t believe in hobbits

But we believe in courage, loyalty and duty

And belief makes them real, they exist

Solely because we believe in them

Which is why I choose not to believe

In evil, I will not make an excuse real

There is no evil there is absence of good

There is no darkness there is absence of light

Excess and deficit as in science

Me ? I am a refugee from my childhood.

I have a well founded fear of persecution.

The problem is I don’t know where I am bound for,

or whether it will hear my plea

for asylum when I get there.

My whole life has been a journey

to find acceptance and a chance to contribute

something of consequence.

I’m not saying I haven’t been granted ‘leave to remain’ at times,

but that’s all it has ever been.

And now I wonder if I will ever be able

to recognise a chance for asylum if it appears.

I have had sorrow for a travelling companion for so long now

But When the cold nights coil around me like a serpent

I believe morning will come and light will flood the darkness

My hope is real because I believe

All I can do is trust in myself, that being me

will be enough and that through my humanity,

I will find a humane and compassionate place to be

and take refuge, I have to find somewhere to belong.

Somewhere to be.  It will be out of necessity

and it will happen because it has to happen.

Not because I spin a thousand words

into a dizzying shower of flaming amber,

leaving glowing embers for memories.

But because my scars tell a story

that proves worth hearing.

Told and heard, moment by moment.

 

 

Nonsense Rhymes (The procrastination files)

You know how it is, you have an idea for a poem that won’t quite sit still and as you try to concentrate the other part of your brain starts acting up like a bored toddler. So here’s the neat little rhymes that are the by-product of what I’m writing currently. They are pointless except they amuse my Patrick brain whilst my Spongebob brain tries to work. Um, I wish that weren’t so apt. [sigh]

 

 

Cardinal Wolsey

As everyone knows

Was primate of York

With opposable toes.

 

Henry the Eighth

Married six wives

They died and he died

Only mnemonic survives

 

Worms to writhe

I must not slacken

Hang on a mo

My spill chuck is bracken

 

Alfred the Great

Was nobody’s mate

But that’s no surprise

He ate all the pies

 

Richard of York

Gave battle in vain

The order of colours

Of the sun in the rain

 

Maria Von Trapp showed

The children great love

She’d kicked the habit

To be nun of the above