 sj |
||
|
||
Lyr Add: Christmas monologues
|
|
|
Subject: Lyr Add: OUR BELINDA From: McGrath of Harlow Date: 21 Nov 14 - 04:44 AM Someone asked me recently for a monologue for a Christmas concert, so I looked around for one suitable off the shelf, but I couldn't find anything much. Christmas in the workhouse and its parodies, but otherwise nothing close to usable. That seems surprising, so I thought I'd bring it to the Mudcat. To be going on with, here's one I wrote in response to the request, new off the press so to speak. OUR BELINDA The shops were all pudding and Santa, There was Christmas all over the place - Why, soon we'd be getting to August, There wasn't a moment to waste. "If we went for a free range farm turkey this year, That surely would do us no harm." So I sat down at the computer And I ordered a bird from a farm. Time passed, we were getting near Christmas, So I phoned up the man to make sure, And he says "Don't you worry, tomorrow That Turkey will be at your door. Of course we'll be sending a female - Female Flesh - it's much sweeter that way!" I thought that a bit near the knuckle, But some farmers are like that they say. And next day sure enough there's a ring on the door. When I opened it, truth for to tell, There's the Turkey. She's stood on her suitcase, It was her had been ringing the bell. I was taken aback, I admit it, But manners are manners I say So I said, "Come on in, you're expected," Which was true at least part of the way. So the Turkey trots in, does a curtsey, And stands in the hall looking shy, And she really looked rather engaging, I felt a tear come to my eye. And I said "Did you have a good journey?" And she nodded and started to blink. She wasn't a great one for talking, But that's fair enough, when you think. The poor girl was clearly exhausted - She'd a long journey coming to town So I showed her on up to the spare room, I could see she could use a lie down. I was feeling a little embarrassed, It's my wife deals with that kind of thing, I mean visitors who aren't expected, And ladies - but she wasn't in. So I went back and sat on the sofa, I felt just a little bit fussed. Our Christmas was going to be different this year, It was clear we would have to adjust. Then my wife came on in, in a hurry And she says "Dear, I'm sorry I'm late. We've been learning to knit Christmas puddings For those who are trying to lose weight. Has our Turkey arrived like he told you?" I said "Yes she has, you might say. But she's not plucked, and she's not oven ready. Dressed for table? Well, you'd best come and see anyway" So we both tiptoed up to the bedroom, And I opened the door, just a peep. She was lying on a flowery pillow, And she really looked ever so sweet. "I'm all of a flurry" my wife says. "We'll have to make plans, you and me. But that poor little thing she's exhausted. Now what would she like for her tea..." We hadn't a clue what her name was, There wasn't a way we could tell, In the end though we hit on Belinda, And she seemed to like it as well. And very soon little "Belinda" Was settled and feeling at home, And going for long trots around Harlow - Being free range she was fond of a roam. And Belinda was ever so tidy It surprised me, I have to confess, She'd not let me slump on the sofa And she wouldn't put up with a mess. My wife said that's just what we needed, And you know, and I find it quite strange, With the house now so neat and so tidy, It makes quite an enjoyable change. When the day came for our Carol Concert Belinda joined in with the rest, And she fitted in well with our choir, Since her voice isn't one of the best. And she helped us in wrapping the presents, And hanging the cards on the wall, I don't know how we managed without her Her being so helpful and all. Our Christmas it went off like clockwork - The dinner was something to see. Course there wasn't a bird on the table, That would not have been right, you'll agree. We'd decided to go vegetarian, With Indian dishes to eat And Belinda tucked into a salad we shared, With some snails and worms for a treat. After dinner we watched television. I don't think she made much of the Queen, But when they had Strictly Come Dancing, Well that was a whole different scene. And it turns out that dancing's her passion, When she saw Riverdance, she was sold, And now she goes every week to an Irish Dance class, And she's a costume in green white and gold. And when Swan Lake was screened from the Bolshoi, As Cineworld does now and then, Belinda was there in the front row And I know she'll be back there again. And the next time we have the Line Dancing She'll be up there, no doubt in my mind And you'll know her, of that there's no question - She's the one who'll be leading the line. No, a Turkey is not just for Christmas! And now that I've come to an end I can tell you next year we'll be getting a Goose. Our Belinda could do with a friend. October 23rd 2014 |
|
Subject: Lyr Add: JOCKY'S INCREDIBLE FLIGHT (John Watt) From: GUEST,Kenny Date: 21 Nov 14 - 05:23 AM I posted this on "thesession.org" 4 years ago. Not one for the kiddies Christmas party, and you need a good understanding of Scots, but great fun when it was performed by its' author, the late John Watt, of Fife. It tells the tale of a Christmas party in Fife where they turkey [Jocky] wasn't stuffed with your sage and onion stuffing - it was stuffed with hashish !!! Here's what happened :- "JOCKY'S INCREDIBLE FLIGHT" - by John Watt Did you hear o' oor Christmas Party ? It was planned with precision and zeal, And oor cordon bleu chef, young Artie, Had prepared a fantastic meal. There wis LSD soup on the table, And twa reams o' Instant Smash. A choice o' six veg for those able, And oor turkey wis stuffed fu' o' hash ! Paper hats were for those who attended. My, whit a rare nicht, And oor broken gas meter wis mended. A' wis bathed in a bricht, cheerfu' licht. 'Twas a nicht for joyous confusion. There wis a' that a body could need, While the crackers lay roond in profusion Stuffed wi' "bennies", conundrums, and "speed". We were jist aboot intae the turkey, Oor glesses were cherged wi VP When oot o' the nicht dark and murky Came a howl – jist like a banshee. "Hey, boys, " shouted Santa – "the fuzz !" And he snecked oot his joint on the chair While Davy, wha's heid wis a' buzzed Kicked the "bennies" under the stair. Oh, my, we were a' in a state. This had realised the worst o' oor fears While Jocky lay their on the plate Reekin', like a nicht in the toon o' Algiers "Open up in the name o' the law ! We'll pit an end tae yer tear" And a great big alsatian wi' slaverin' jaws Came rocketin ower the flair. We jist stood there resigned tae wir fate, Condemned by that grass-laden burd, For tae hide it wis noo far too late. The polis wid hae the last word. Well, they searched us, and went through wir things. They were laughin' 'cause they knew we were feart Then they turned us aroond and - jings ! Oor turkey had clean disappeared ! Had oor grass-laden burd ta'en flight ? We jist stood there and rubbed at oor een. Wis it winging it's way through the night, Bound for Paisley, or cauld Aiberdeen ? A' that wis left wis a smashed pane o' glass, And a wee bit o' skin on the sill O' oor burd that wis stuffed fu' o hash That wis winging it's way ower the hill. The Inspector went clean aff his skull ! "We ken you've got drugs hidden here. We've followed you boys fae Elgin tae Mull. Sergeant Williamson – pit doon that beer !" Well, the polis deperted gey seek, And the alsatian, it sterted tae greet, For they knew pretty well that come next week, They'd a' be back poundin' the beat. And that's how oor miracle happened At Christmas, one bright starry night. And it's often we think in oor cosy wee hame O' Jocky's Incredible Flight ! John Watt - RIP |
|
Subject: Lyr Add: JOHNNY AND THE LAMP From: Sugwash Date: 21 Nov 14 - 06:11 AM Not really Christmas, but it does have Pantomime references. JOHNNY AND THE LAMP A rotten lot was Johnny Arkwright He'd been bad since the age of ten When he was read a story from t' Arabian Nights And he'd decided his path, there and then. But he didn't want to be a prince, Nor a sultan with baggy silk sleeves, No, from that point onwards, all he wanted Was to be one of the Forty Thieves. His first problem was recruiting the other thirty-nine, His school chums were mostly dim and accident prone, So he quickly decided, that to be a success, Well, he'd just have to go it alone. He started by nicking his teacher's pen Then a Mars Bar from a fat lad's lunch pack Before graduating on to shoplifting gob-stoppers Then car theft; there was no going back! By the time he was a teenager, He'd added con man to his C.V. He'd conned the life-savings from his Gran's neighbour The poor old lad was going on ninety-three. He was totally without conscience, His avarice, quite beyond belief. He burgled the entire contents of an old folks' home Pension books, colostomy bags and false teeth. Now in his twenties he was working his way Through the rooms of a once grand Regency villa He'd picked up some rings and gold sovereigns And a Franklin Mint, Limited Edition, statuette of Godzilla. With his swag-bag full to bursting, He was making good his escape, When he spotted a lamp of Eastern design, And had that too, just for old time's sake. Most of the swag went to his usual fence, He got a good price for the loot. He was left with the lamp, which if polished up nice, He could flog at his local car boot. So he got out a rag and some Brasso And buffed away whilst watching the Bill When, to his very great surprise From the lamp's spout smoke began to spill. At first he thought he'd imagined it, So he polished with vigour once more Then with a flash and the pong of brimstone A huge genie was stood on the floor. Then, in a deep manly voice, the genie intoned "What wish can I grant for thee?" And Johnny, lousy Johnny, with a sad lack of caution Stood open mouthed and said "Well, bugger me!" Later Johnny had the chance To reflect on his misdeeds at length. Whilst the genie was laying back, taking his ease And smoking a Capstan Full Strength. From now on he'd try to live a life of virtue, Be good as a rule of thumb. For, as he'd found to his cost, a life of crime Wasn't half a right pain in the bum! Andy Sugden |
|
Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Christmas monologues From: Susan of DT Date: 21 Nov 14 - 07:06 AM Sam Small's Christmas Pudding |
|
Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Christmas monologues From: Murpholly Date: 21 Nov 14 - 07:28 AM A really sad one is Moriaty but then there is always Jacob Dawes if kids are present. |
|
Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Christmas monologues From: Murpholly Date: 21 Nov 14 - 07:29 AM Oops, forgot Albert (of horses head handle fame) carol singing. Guaranteed to raise a laugh. |
|
Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Christmas monologues From: McGrath of Harlow Date: 21 Nov 14 - 07:55 AM I knew the Mudcat would come up with the goods, old and new. Thanks - and I hope more to come. Yes, Moriarty is a sad one alright. There''s a YouTube rendering that could break your heart - https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=nxjRhFALk0wt |
|
Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Christmas monologues From: Richard Mellish Date: 21 Nov 14 - 04:10 PM Nobody has yet mentioned the one about the fairy who was helping with the Christmas tree deliveries. (Not to be confused with this one.) Does someone have the words already writted out? If not I might be able to transcribe them from a recording. |
|
Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Christmas monologues From: Artful Codger Date: 21 Nov 14 - 07:52 PM The Cowboy's Christmas Ball |
|
Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Christmas monologues From: Ross Campbell Date: 21 Nov 14 - 08:53 PM Clicky for McGrath's link - Moriarty - coming home for Christmas - Larry Cunningham |
|
Subject: Lyr Add: ALBERT'S CAROL (Colin Gray) From: Ross Campbell Date: 21 Nov 14 - 09:41 PM Clicky for Murpholly's choice - "Albert's Carol" by Colin Gray http://monologues.co.uk/More_Albert/Alberts_Carol.htm And the words - ALBERT'S CAROL by Colin Gray© Now you've heard about Albert Ramsbottom, As were ett by a lion one day' And were regurgitated much later Wi' is hands and face cleaner, they say. Well when Christmas time drew a bit nearer And Gran had her Winter drawers on, Young Albert were gettin' excited And 'is little red cheeks fairly shone. But Albert were kept short of money For Ma's purse were shut tight, like a vice ; And Father grew deaf to all that he said , Until he said words that weren't nice. So wi' four rosy cheeks all a-glowin', Young Albert walked down to t'old rec Where he sat on a swing, legs a-danglin', And he muttered, "By gum," and "Eeh 'eck". Just then he heard distant music The sort that a choir might sing And his eyes, fair lit up as he muttered, "Carol singin' now, that's just the thing." Now Albert had heard about Carollers' And how, if they sang, they got paid Wi' money, and mince pies and spice cake, And he thowt, "Now, I've got it made!" Of carols he knew half a dozen Well ,most of the tunes and some words . He knew about wise men and t'shepherds And in t'stable just what had occurred. So smoothin his hair wi' some spittle, He set off to t'first house in t'street; He'd not long had a bath, so now then, don't laugh Young Albert looked really quite sweet. Then he took a big breath and got started Wild shepherds were first what he sang, And from one end o't'street to the other His vocal exertions they rang. They say, as he cracked several winders, And curdled both custards and creams And at number four, someone fainted on t'floor And them still in bed had bad dreams. Unaware of effect of his efforts Young Albert screeched higher and higher: Folk in t'neighbouring streets, clung in fear to their seats And the brave shouted out, "Where's the fire?" And folk from Blackburn to Clitheroe, From Rawtenstall, Burnley and Colne, Thought witches had met up on Pendle And were screeching a song of their own. Then he stopped, and he knocked, and doors opened, And in tears, for folk knew they were beat, Thrust money and mince pies on Albert, And begged him to find a new street. A street far away were suggested In a town full of clamour and din, Or perhaps on a lightship in't channel Warnin' sailors where not to come in. But some said that were cruel to sailors So they gave him a fiver right then Provided he gave 'em a promise To never sing carols again. Thus Albert he made this agreement Though his gob were chock full o'mince pies He accepted the sum, then he choked on a crumb Which really brought tears to his eyes. So Albert went home somewhat richer But there's a sad end to this tale His father took money for t'glazier But as usual, spent it on ale. |
|
Subject: Lyr Add: ALBERT'S CHRISTMAS PRESENT From: Ross Campbell Date: 21 Nov 14 - 10:00 PM Murpholly mentioned Albert's "horse's head handle" - here's how he got it. ALBERT'S CHRISTMAS PRESENT by Graffiti Poet The night before Christmas young Albert was anxious and wanted to know, "Is Santa still coming tomorrow on account of the sleet and the snow?." Mr. Ramsbottom assured him "Of course he is lad, 'ave no fear, he's got transport for all kinds of weather what's powered by eight flying deer." "Should a thick fog descend in the evening and no matter just how hard it snows, he's another he's able to call on what's famous the most for it's nose." Dad said "Have you written to Santa to let him know what you want most?", Albert said "Yes, yes I have Dad, and I gave it to Mother to post." Mother said "Let's leave Santa some Sherry to have with a mince pie or two, plus a saucer of milk for his Reindeer and a Carrot for Rudolf to chew." Alberts fears had been fully abated contented he went to his bed, to wait for St. Nick and his Reindeers and Rudolf who's nose was bright Red. When Albert was finally sleeping Mother turned round and told Dad, "Fetch that stick with the 'orses 'ead 'andle we purchased from Woollies for lad." She said as she wrapped it in paper and finished it nice with a bow, "It's too big to go in his stocking so under the tree it must go." When Albert woke up in the morning he were eager and anxious to see, if Santa had granted his wishes and left him owt under the tree. Albert leapt out of bed all excited he didn't take long getting dressed, he jumped up and down when he found it shouting "Santa's fetched just what I'd asked." He charged round the room at a gallop his shouting woke up Mum and Dad, "It's the best thing I've ever been given" both Mother and Father were glad. "It's nice too see Albert so happy" said Mum as she snuggled up warm, "And with a stick with an 'orses 'ed 'andle our Albert should come to no harm." Little did she know what we know the troubles that present would cause, if she had she would not have let Albert anywhere near Santa Claus. |
|
Subject: Lyr Add: THE BOY WHO LAUGHED AT SANTA CLAUS (Nash) From: GUEST,.gargoyle Date: 22 Nov 14 - 03:24 AM THE BOY WHO LAUGHED AT SANTA CLAUS By Ogden Nash (1902 - 1971) In Baltimore there lived a boy, He wasn't anybody's joy. Although his name was Jabez Dawes, His character was full of flaws. In school he never led his classes, He hid old ladies' reading glasses, His mouth was open when he chewed, And elbows to the table glued. He stole the milk of hungry kittens, And walked through doors marked No Admittance. He said he acted thus because There wasn't any Santa Claus. Another trick that tickled Jabez Was crying "Boo!" at little babies. He brushed his teeth, they said in town, Sideways instead of up and down. Yet people pardoned every sin, And viewed his antics with a grin, Till they were told by Jabez Dawes, "There isn't any Santa Claus!" Deploring how he did behave, His parents swiftly sought their grave. They hurried through the portals pearly, And Jabez left the funeral early. Like whooping cough, from child to child, He sped to spread the rumor wild: "Sure as my name is Jabez Dawes There isn't any Santa Claus!" Slunk like a weasel or a marten Through nursery and kindergarten, Whispering low to every tot, "There isn't any, no there's not!" The children wept all Christmas Eve And Jabez chortled up his sleeve. No infant dared to hang up his stocking For fear of Jabez' ribald mocking. He sprawled on his untidy bed, Fresh malice dancing in his head, When presently with scalp a-tingling, Jabez heard a distant jingling; He heard the crunch of sleigh and hoof Crisply alighting on the roof. What good to rise and bar the door? A shower of soot was on the floor. What was beheld by Jabez Dawes? The fireplace full of Santa Claus! Then Jabez fell upon his knees With cries of "Don't," and "Pretty please." He howled, "I don't know where you read it, But anyhow, I never said it!" "Jabez," replied the angry saint, "It isn't I, it's you that ain't. Although there is a Santa Claus, There isn't any Jabez Dawes!" Said Jabez with impudent vim, "Oh, yes there is; and I am him! Your magic don't scare me, it doesn't"--- And suddenly he found he wasn't! From grimy feet to grimy locks, Jabez became a Jack-in-the-box, An ugly toy with springs unsprung, Forever sticking out his tongue. The neighbors heard his mournful squeal; They searched for him, but not with zeal. No trace was found of Jabez Dawes, Which led to thunderous applause, And people drank a loving cup And went and hung their stockings up. All you who sneer at Santa Claus, Beware the fate of Jabez Dawes, The saucy boy who mocked the saint. Donder and Blitzen licked off his paint. Sincerely, Gargoyle I can still recite this one from memory. |
|
Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Christmas monologues From: Herga Kitty Date: 22 Nov 14 - 06:35 AM Richard - I suspect you were referring to the Tale of the Christmas Tree Fairy, penned by Tim Brooks and Mick Fall (then students at Imperial College) in 1972: I'll tell you an old Christmas story, As we sit round the log fire at night Why each Christmas Tree has a fairy on top And why Santa's beard is so white. I've e-mailed Tim, so that he's aware of this thread.... Kitty |
|
Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Christmas monologues From: GUEST,leeneia Date: 22 Nov 14 - 10:42 AM McGrath, did you really write "On Belinda" all by yourself, just recently? I congratulate you! Is it all right if I send it to some friends. You are entitled to the copyright, of course. ======== Gargoyle, thanks for the Ogden Nash poem. I like the original ending. |
|
Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Christmas monologues From: GUEST,Tim Brooks Date: 22 Nov 14 - 01:50 PM Tale of the Christmas Tree Fairy, penned by Tim Brooks and Mick Fall can be found on my website here |
|
Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Christmas monologues From: Stilly River Sage Date: 22 Nov 14 - 02:48 PM Not poetry, this is prose written by John Henry Faulk that chokes me up every year. SRS |
|
Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Christmas monologues From: McGrath of Harlow Date: 22 Nov 14 - 07:45 PM I did indeed, leenia. Maybe it's as well I didn't start this thread before doing so, because it was only my inability to find any usable existing monologues that pushed me to do it, and the Mudcat has demonstrated that in fact there' s no shortage of excellent ones. Yes, of course you and anyone else is more than welcome to use it. Copyright only comes into it if anybody makes money out of it, which would be nice, but I don't anticipate it happening. Posting it here would count as asserting my copyright, but I've already sent myself an email, which will have done the trick. (Better than the old method of sending yourself a registered letter and leaving it sealed, because this way it can' t be hocussed - and of course it's free.) |
|
Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Christmas monologues From: Mo the caller Date: 23 Nov 14 - 09:42 AM Moriaty is a bit predictable - with that dreadful music playing you know how it will end as soon as he gets his ticket. Someone did the original Christmas Day in the Workhouse, at our dance club party once, but the title makes you expect a parody now, so it's hard to take it seriously. Somewhere (but Google won't tell me where) there is a recipe for Christmas pudd that involves a lot of tasting the brandy. And there are various 12 days responses, and guess what, a Mudcat thread full of them Speaking of parodies, 'here's one I made earlier'* Twas the week before Christmas in our Village Hall Pictures of Santa hung on the wall. There evry morning the Playgroup were busy, Children excited and staff in a tizzy. So much to finish, so much to do, I've got a list that will tell me just who 's not made a present to take home to Dad If we forgot one that would be too bad There's glitter on fir-cones, and on Mummy's card, Spilt on the table and dropped in the yard, And at each window, dangling on string Glitter on shapes cut like bells, stars and thing We're learning some carols and acting a play Sam's Dad's a farmer he'll lend us some hay. Casting's not easy; all want to be sheep Or Mary, to rock our new doll to sleep It's nearly Christmas, our work is all done. Terms nearly over, the party's begun Games to play, food to eat, Santa might call. Mums, take them home now, I've done with them all. *for the non-English, this was always said by Blue Peter presenters when demonstrating a craft 'make'. |
|
Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Christmas monologues From: McGrath of Harlow Date: 23 Nov 14 - 12:57 PM I think the predictability, and the music too are OK enough with Moriarty. What saves it for me is the fact that the story speaks to the actual situation of many in the Irish diaspora. It's playing on the emotions, true enough but they are real enough emotions. It puts me very much in mind of of The Old Bog Road, which a cousin of mine called "the saddest song I know" before he sang it at a wake. Though that's a much better piece than Moriarty to my mind. |
|
Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Christmas monologues From: GUEST,leeneia Date: 23 Nov 14 - 04:55 PM Thank you, McGrath. |
|
Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Christmas monologues From: Jim Dixon Date: 25 Nov 14 - 11:38 AM THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS AT M' HOME ON THE RANGE (a parody) And the original: A VISIT FROM ST. NICHOLAS by Clement Moore That last thread contains a list of links to other parodies. |
|
Subject: Lyr Add: BELINDA'S SCHOOL (McGrath) From: McGrath of Harlow Date: 23 Oct 15 - 05:27 PM Here's one I've just written which is a sequel to the one I put in to start this thread (I sometimes like to post stuff here so I can find it if I lose it.) Belinda's School Remember Belinda the Turkey, turned up on our doorstep one day? She simply arrived and took over our lives, As I'm very happy to say. Well it's been rather different since she's been around, She knows how to challenge the rules - And not just for us, as you'll hear now, because I'll recount how she started her school. It happened one day, she was out for a trot, when something unusual occurred, A great crowd of Magpies were there on the street, they were clustered around a small bird. As Belinda got closer she saw with alarm They were squawking and calling her names And pulling her feathers and pecking her arm, Nothing short of a scandal and shame. Well Belinda of course wouldn't have none of that, She cried out with a gobbley roar And she stamped on the ground and she uttered the sound That Turkeys make, going to war. And the bully birds scattered and leapt in the air, As Belinda burst into the fight. And that's no surprise, they were feared for their lives. Well, a Turkey enraged's quite a sight. The poor little thing was lying there on the ground, She was certainly in quite a state. With her feathers all torn, and a lot of them gone, It looked touch and go you might say. So Belinda sat down and she thought what to do. She couldn't be left all alone, Those big birds might come and keep doing what they'd done. There was only one thing, bring her home. The first thing we knew of this shocking affair, Was, Belinda pushed open the door, We were watching TV, while having our Tea, And she came in, stood there on the floor. And perched on her back was this poor little bird, And she laid her on down with such care She was all of a flutter, and we were as well - What we needed to do wasn't clear. But a few minutes panic, and we sorted it out, As you do, when a crisis occurs. We rummaged around in the kitchen, And we found what we needed was there. An old pudding basin, that did for a bed, With some feathers Belinda supplied. And the bird lay in state, by the fire, near the grate. And Belinda lay down at her side. The thing was, though she got better, That little bird never got right. She could give both her wings a fair flutter, but they weren't strong enough for a flight. And though we all searched for her people, It turned out they just could not be found, It was plain, little Jane, as we called her by name, Was going to be sticking around. Well, Belinda, she rose to the challenge. She took little Jane 'neath her wing. She's a very responsible Turkey, you know, Yes, she took care of everything. She saw that young Jane needed something to do, So she started to teach her, herself, And she taught the way to talk Turkey, And, of course, taught her dancing as well. And to her surprise our Belinda Found out she could teach like a dream, And nobody needed to show her the way She knew every trick in the game. And soon little Jane was quite fluent, Talking Turkey, with hardly a lapse, And there aren't many pigeons can do that, you know. Just a slight touch of Harlow perhaps. The next thing that happened I'll tell you. There's a pond in the garden next door, And the frogs like to come over sometimes, It's nice seeing them hop round on the lawn. Well, one day we heard a commotion, So we looked out and saw this big cat, It was thumping around in a kind of a rage, And we thought it was fighting a rat. But then came a scream like a banshee, And the cat ran away in a fright, And we went out and saw this poor frog lying there, And he looked such a pitiful sight. Then Belinda came up like a whirlwind, And she saw the frog lying there all sprawled. It was clear that he wouldn't be safe there, So we carried him into the hall. Then we searched out a new pudding basin, Tucked away on a shelf at the back, And made it a little more comfy, It had been such a nasty attack. But next day we came down, he was perky once more, Sat with Jane, holding hands, like best friends And Belinda was giving a lesson, So it all turned out well in the end. And it went on from there like some mission For the rescue of waifs and of strays. Like the mouse who gave us a fright in the car, And then hurt herself hiding away, And the hedgehog who hid in a pile of leaves, That caught fire, and he barely escaped, And the poor ugly duckling who wasn't a swan, (I'm afraid that's so often the case). And the climax: Sylvester the Spider, Who'd travelled far over the sea, In his box of bananas, he caused a high drama When blinking his eyes he walked free. For it happened in Lidl, where, fit as a fiddle With his eight legs he danced in the aisle. And the customers freaked, why, they sent for a priest - then Belinda turned up with a smile. So this was the class. They'd all manner of larks. It was quite like the Prime of Jean Brodie. They learnt so many things, with their claws, paws and wings, (Well, it never was like that in my day.) For the pupils taught too with the stuff that they knew, And they all loved Sylvester the Spider. When he talked of his days in the spidery place, And of times when the world was much wider. They'd deportment and dance, everyone had a chance, So they made a show out of the story, And the frog and the mouse simply brought down the house, While Belinda was dancing in glory. Well it wouldn't be fair not to share such a show So now it's gone viral on YouTube, you know. But though they are famous, I have to make clear, You must not breathe one word of this anywhere. Their names are protected, and Belinda has said, If you spill the beans, you'd be better off dead. So Silence is Golden. But maybe, you know, If we ask her politely, she might give us a show. 21st October 2015 |
| Share Thread: |