How about Van Morrison and a Morrisons van?

I was born in the early 1950's. My parents and grandparents generations knew nothing but war and austerity, so there was a whole new Outlook in the brave new world of the 1960's and 70's. It all went to shit after that.

It did, but only in a mirror universe.

Please just believe us when we promise to save you loads of money in government. Whatever you do, don’t look at what we have actually done in practice with the local authorities we run, which is increase taxes, cut services and lose 1 in every 10 councillors.

Wrong, totally wrong. You have not even considered 12 string guitars.

Book Group The last Thursday of every month was Book Group,
when the books would gather together to discuss Brian. “It’s no fun here any more,” remarked Bleak House, glumly.
“Why doesn’t he read us?” whined the Grapes of Wrath. “It makes me so angry!” 
“I’m sure he only bought me so he can show me off to his friends,”
complained Ulysses, in a stream of self-consciousness. “I bet he can’t even remember my name, The Idiot,”
muttered a voice from the Russian literature section.
“That’s because he avoids you like The Plague,” said another.
“C’est vrai!” came a cry. “It is like I do not exist.” “Let’s not give up on him yet.” It was Brave New World.
After some Persuasion, they agreed to give him one last chance.
“Be quiet!” cried Waiting for Godot with Great Expectations.
“Here he comes now!” Brian entered the room, with his phone.
He sat down and watched some videos of baby pandas falling over.
After an hour or so, he started googling cats dressed as celebrities. On the shelf, the books waited with uncracked spines,
their silence speaking volumes. Brian Bilston

In celebration of World Book Day, here’s a poem called ‘Book Group’.

I must apologise for Richard Stupid Tice not understanding that no gas or oil is ‘our own’ because Maggie Thatcher sold it off, so it is all sold by private companies on the global market. Norway did not sell theirs off and now have a sovereign wealth fund of £1.6trillion.

BREAKING: The people who turned Gaza to rubble, bombed a girls' school in southern Iran, and keep assassinating other countries' leaders, are complaining that Iran is violating the Geneva Conventions 👀

Remember: Donald Trump created this crisis. He walked away from the Iran nuclear deal that was working, promising a "better deal." He didn't deliver. He escalated, abandoned real diplomacy, and has now led us into a conflict that puts us all at risk.

I see Toys-R-Us are marketing their new Shadow Home Secretary Dressing Up Kit (ages 5-8).
It comes with podium, name plate, dummy microphone, smart suit and an idiot.😊

All the best establishments still fry in beef dripping

What the country needs most at times like this is to hear from the bloviating oaf who partied during lockdown, lied his arse off to Parliament and screwed the country with the shittest possible Brexit deal.

That Farage cabinet in full…
Bob Jenrick: Minister for Unerpants & Socks
Suella Braverman: Minister for Anger & Rage
Lee Anderson: Shadow Secretary for Shadows
Ann Widdecombe: Minister for Margarine & Sheds
Richard Tice: Minister for Blondes
Zia Yusuf: Minister for Conkers & Teats.

Message to the 14-Year-Old Me   Believe in yourself. You can do anything you set your heart on – except A level physics, perhaps. Well, all the sciences really.   DIY is a bit of a no-no, too. See also: driving; skiing; map reading; cooking pasta in the right quantities; relationships; origami.   Don’t even think about running your own business. Or singing in tune. Best to steer clear of all activities which require good hand-eye coordination.   Forget ice-skating, tending house plants, dealing with spiders, the correct spelling of the word ‘enjambement’. I could go on. But do not despair – for given time   and with a little luck on your side – you can achieve a basic level of competence in a limited number of simple, unremarkable things, you just need to believe in yourself. Brian Bilston

Here’s a poem called ‘Message to the 14-Year-Old Me’.

Our local newspaper has a local item or letter in it every two or three weeks.

He tried both Labour and Conservative then became a Fascist - sound familiar?

Peter Cook on “those wonderful Berlin cabarets which did so much to stop the rise of Hitler and prevent the outbreak of the Second World War,” notwithstanding, fascists hate artists because empathy highlights their hatefulness & renders them ridiculous.

Liz Truss waiting patiently by her phone for Reform to ring, not realising it's actually a penguin biscuit

The "who gives a crap" rolls have a QR code on them which takes you to a website which is a fart generator.

Thought for the day.

The Power of Poetry   with things falling apart and anarchy let loose,   it was only poetry, he found, which had any use,   so he reached for his copy   of The Complete Works of Yeats   and bludgeoned the President of the United States Brian Bilston

Here’s a short poem about the power of poetry to change the world.

I dealt with it. I have just blocked my first ever account on Bluesky.

How charming and erudite you are sir.

So if it had gone up two days later would you be happy to give them some more money?

My car’s refusal to move unless I fasten my seatbelt is more effective.

We made a conscious decision not to have kids, but I have to say that when I meet other people’s kids I think that it’s wonderful when they leave.

This was the year that was not the year   This was the year that was not the year  I repaired the bathroom tap  and emptied out the kitchen drawer  of a lifetime’s worth of crap.    This was the year that was not the year in which I launched a new career.  A West End hit eluded me  as did Time Person of the Year.    This was the year that was not the year  I became a household name.  Action figures were not sold of me. I wasn’t made a dame.    This was the year that was not the year I spent less time on my phone.  A night of passion did not happen  in a boutique hotel in Rome.    This was the year that was the year  I didn't get that much done – much the same as the year before,  much like the one to come.  Brian Bilston

This year was also the year in which I failed to write a new end-of-year poem.