Okay, it’s New Year’s Day and it’s time for some resolutions,
but I’ve given up making them, I just need some solutions.
I have absolutely no more room in my house for more “stuff”,
and I’ve tried to downsize, but obviously not hard enough.
So this year, I’ll throw away something every single day,
never mind how much I had to pay, or how I’d like it to stay.
As I didn’t use it, play it, wear it or eat it last year,
if I threw it away tomorrow, I should not shed a tear.
Did you know that I am an auntie to some choughs?
They live here at Cornwall’s Lizard, on these bluffs.
Their breeding nests are well guarded both night and day,
just in case marauding egg hunters come that way.
It is good to know that they are back at nightfall
safely nesting, where they belong in old Cornwall.
This year has been damp and a good year for fungus,
some are small and pretty and some are humongous,
some crowd in circles around the base of our trees
and some decorate their trunks right up to their knees.
Some look quite cute, almost with friendly faces,
some dark and threatening, crowd in other places,
some look like phallic symbols, some like fairies’ hats,
some look like they should live with Dracular and bats.
Toadstools grow in circles but I have looked to see,
and there’s no sign that I can find of a fairy.
Mushrooms should be good this year, but I’m scared to try
any that I find in woods as I’m passing by.
We’ve been invaded this year with all sorts of spores,
they’re multiplying over the ground in their scores.
Ash trees have been struck with a fungus invasion,
spores from foreign woods have ruined England’s equation.
I feel like I’m living on another planet:
everywhere I go the grass is soggy and wet,
fungi cover the ground in woods everywhere
and I have to step all around them with great care.
I don’t want my dogs to catch a fungus disease,
just like the one that’s killing our native ash trees.
Quill pens, ledgers – bring them all back,
throw away computers on a disused railway track.
Bury them deep and plant over lots of trees,
or take them to the bottom of the deepest seas!
I don’t think we were this stressed fifty years ago.
except when we couldn’t get through the driving snow.
So much information, how can one take it in?
and do we need it for our happiness within?
I remember when we had our first computers –
they were bigger than a pile of invalid scooters!
There was an army of personnel pumping info in,
and a forest load of trees spewed out, which ended in the bin.
I think I like it here, but I’m not sure why I’ve come, it may be cos I was bad when I was out with Mum. The kennel maids are very nice, they take me out to play, they groom me, feed me, walk me and change my blanket every day.
It was Ladies Day at Ascot, and I wore my Ascot hat,
it went with the posh outfit I bought to hide all of my fat
I said I would never wear it again, it’s just too silly,
and I really feel stupid looking oh so very frilly.
August hols are here, and we’re hoping for some sun,
families have fled to foreign fields for some fun,
leaving us alone in our lovely Great Britain,
with half empty highways, and dull days in the rain.
Soon as they swanned off, the sun came out to play,
and it happened to get hotter here ev’ry day.
We hardly have rainfall ‘cept in a sudden storm,
during our heat wave, which we now know as the norm.
Dazzling dusty days spent in hot and humid heat,
as we walk our way to work down the stifling street.
Bodies barely breathe in our horrid hot office,
a faltering filtering fan just can’t suffice.
Underworld – Caliban’s Dream Youtube video tells most of the story of how Great Britain excelled herself this year in all her glory.
London Twenty Twelve opening ceremony went without a hitch,
unlike the early mix up of the Korean flags on Cardiff’s football pitch.
Two hundred and four countries entered their Olympic team
of hopeful young atheletes hoping to achieve their lifetime dream.
Never before has anyone witnessed such a magnificent scene
depicting Great Britain’s events in recent history that there have been.
Our Great British humour just had to take a big part
as James Bond helped our Queen “parachute” in for the start,
then as our music was played by orchestral string
our Mr Bean was on the piano, doing his thing.