True Urban Cafe
Up at the True Urban Cafe
Siam Paragon, floor level three,
I habitually take morning coffee
And occasionally afternoon tea.
There’s a handful of lovely Baristas,
Who all smile when I go through the door,
“Medium caramel twist sir?”
You can tell that I’ve been here before.
But I do like to keep them all guessing –
Will I have whipped cream or no?
Caramel sauce is a given,
A pleasure I’m loath to forego.
I take up my seat in the corner,
In one of the several zones.
The kids are all doing their homework
The phalangs recharging their phones.
A little smooth jazz in the background.
that goes with the retro armchairs
– The ambience more than conducive
To sleep and forgetting your cares.
Not me though, cos this is my office
The place where I just love to work.
The life of an internet freelance
Is gifted with many a perk.
And so if it happens you’re passing,
Pop in and sit down for a chat.
I’ll even buy you a coffee
I cannot say fairer than that.
The gun that could shoot around corners – or Albert’s Christmas
I’ll tell you an old tale of christmas
That my grandfather used to relate
Of a particular Lancashire family
And their dreadful appointment with fate
True to form good old Santa
Had done all his rounds in the night
And when he awoke in the morning
Young Albert was filled with delight
At the end of his bed on the bedpost
His stocking could just be made out
Filled to the gunwales with parcels
He were chuffed – I can tell you for nowt
He fell on the stocking with fervour
Shouting “He’s been, he’s been”
Twas the finest collection of presents
That anyone had ever seen
There were a gun that could shoot round corners
A bow and arrow to boot
A stick with an ‘orse’s ‘ead ‘andle
And a shiny new astronaut suit
I won’t list them all – there were dozens
A train set, a pogo stick,
A clockwork frog, a soap on a rope,
Enough chocolate to make yourself sick.
Mr and Mrs Ramsbottom
Could hear Albert shrieking with glee
So Pa wished his wife Merry Christmas
And got up to make them some tea
He tried to step over the mountain of toys
That young Albert had spread all around
He surveyed the extent of the landing
But there were nobbut an inch of spare ground
On his tiptoes in his tartan slippers
He gingerly picked his way through
He thought that he had just made it
Then, blimey!, what a to do!
Cos’ the stick with the ‘orse’s ‘ead ‘andle
Had caught in Pa’s winceyette flares
Hence the origin of the quotation
“Well, I’ll go to the foot of our stairs”
And he did, head first to the bottom
The chance of soft landing were nil
Uttering a stream of expletives
That were notably lacking goodwill
The bump on Pa’s head were a grand’un
It came up like a veg’table marrer
And provided an excellent target
For Albert’s brand new bow and arrer.
Oh, go out and play in the garden
Said Mr Ramsbottom to t’lad
Albert had just scored a bullseye
And Pa, well he wa’nt right that glad
So Albert went out through the kitchen
Dressed in his Neil Armstrong gear
Pleased that his silvery helmet
Had stopped Pa from boxing his ear.
Well, Mother had been at the sherry
She’d had half a bottle at least
So t’morning flew past in a jiffy
And soon came the hour of their feast.
She brought in the turkey wrapped in its foil
Pa said ” By gum, that smells good”
But both of them failed to notice
The word NASA concealed by a spud
Give our Albert a shout said mother
Now where can the perisher be?
I’ll roast ‘im for keeping us waitin’
Or at least put ‘im over me knee
Father went into the garden
But Albert were nowhere in sight
He searched high and low in the shrubbery
Then realised their terrible plight
For there on the scullery table
Although neatly stuffed, trussed and plucked
With rashers of bacon strapped on to its chest
Lay the turkey all pink and uncooked.
Pa rushed back into the parlour
” I’m afraid I’ve a bit of bad news.
Yon bird there’s no turkey, its Albert!
Look, there’s the soles of ‘is shoes.”
Mrs Ramsbottom looked flummoxed
She frowned and then scratched at ‘er ‘ead
How had she mislaid the turkey
And roasted poor Albert instead?
“Oh what shall we do now”, wailed Mother
“Now our Christmas has all come to grief”
“Hush hush now” said Mr Ramsbottom
“I’ll go ‘n open a tin of corned beef.”
and here’s another….
King Cnut’s Christmas
King Cnut you might recall
Was a rather unfortunate king
Notwithstanding a very memorable cname
Was famous for only one thing
I’m sure you’ve all heard of his exploit
When he tried to send back the tide
After swallowing several mouthfuls of brine
He was forced to swallow his pride
Well here’s the whole truth and the details
That very few folk ever cnew
So ladies and gentleman, boys and girls
Come closer and pull up a pew
It started when he was a cnipper –
His unfortunate lack of control
One fine sunday morning in Denmark
The family were out for a stroll
They’d picked up the sunday cnewspapers
From the local cnewsagents shop
And to stop Cnut being cnaughty
They’d bought him a bottle of pop
Everything was going cnormally
Until, I’m afraid to report
What with all t’ dandelion and burdock
The young prince got taken quite short
“I want to wee” he says to mother –
Queen Sigrid was her cname,
(His father’s were King Sveyn Forkbeard
Which I suppose were a bit of a shame)
Anyway, back to the story
(I hope that digression didn’t spoil it)
The king and queen scanned the horizon
For owt that would pass as a toilet
“That’s the last time you’re getting a bottle of pop!”
The queen said, and added ” that’s final”
And what made it worse, that the time of this verse
Predates the public urinal
With the cheering crowds that were lining the streets
Cnut really had cno choice
He had to endeavour to hold back the flood
(By cnow, his socks were quite moist)
He summoned up all concentration
And cnow, I’m sure that you’ve guessed
That his powers of bladder retention
Left everyone less than impressed
One day he got picked to play football
For the school team – St Olaf’s united
But putting the poor lad in goals
Were, putting it mildly, short sighted
By half time he’d let in a dozen
Which incurred the team captain’s wrath
And in an action that proved quite prophetic
He got sent in for an early bath
Even catching a bus were a problem
(A strong man might break down and cry)
To see the poor lad with ‘is ‘and out
And the bus driver sailing straight by
One day he were crowned King of England
As to quite how – that’s a mystery
I imagine the public were ignorant
Of his previous incontinent history
An incident happened one christmas
Toward the end of his reign
That pushed his stress to the limit
And finally sent ‘im insane
He’d spilt the gravy as usual
And had cranberry sauce down his shirt
And when one of his walnuts exploded
They were lucky that no one was hurt
When cnobbut the giblets were left of the turkey
And most were still chewing their cud
They wheeled in a barrel of custard
And a Sainsbury’s family size pud
Cnut said – “I’ll just have a small slice”
But of course his thinking were wishful
And although he loudly protested
He ended up with a dishful
The creaking barrel had seen better days
The rings round the side were all rusted
And as it was fated – it disintegrated
And covered Cnut in Bird’s custard
Well all the rest is just ‘istory
He finally went round the twist
Now you’ve patiently followed my story
Merry Christmas! – now let’s all get pissed!
I’m sure that you’ve all struggled
Buying presents for relations.
Here’s an end to all your problems
In this little publication.
It really is remarkable
And there can surely be no doubt
There are items in this catalogue
You cannot live without:-
A set of dentist’s drill bits
To fit your Black and Decker
A tennis-playing garden gnome
Resembling Boris Becker.
To keep your children quiet
Try our brand new skinless drum.
Here’s a game of carpet rugby
With a lifesize, cut-out scrum.
For the lazy modelmaker
We’ve got pre-assembled kits.
An ultra violet hairbrush
For electrocuting nits.
A box of canine flashcards
To teach your dog to bark,
For reading in the dark.
If your prize herbaceous borders
Are being fouled by next door’s cat-
Let dehydrated anti-matter
Put a stop to that!
A pen with several cartridges
Of everlasting ink,
A one inch television set
In case you start to shrink.
A nasal hair remover –
Remote controlled, so I assume
You can depilate your nostrils
Whilst you’re in another room.
What you’ve really (really) always wanted –
An official ‘spice girls’ loofah,
A liposuction nozzle
That attaches to you hoover.
A polystyrene helmet
To stop your partner snoring.
A refrigerated bodysuit
To cope with global warming.
Some fireproof tobacco
To help you give up smoking
A perforated piston
That never needs de-coking.
Why not astroturf your garden
To beat the hosepipe ban?
If greenhouse gas proliferates
There’s our patent, windpowered fan.
A TV detector van detector
So you’ll never need a license,
Our special meditation tapes –
An hour of perfect silence.
If you know a baldy
There’s a handy toothless comb.
A gigantic perspex wok
For your own Millennium dome.
A thermal ‘Greenpeace’ dufflecoat
With trendy whalebone toggles
The observers book of cowpats
Complete with 3D goggles.
For eating ripe bananas,
Miniature false teeth
For OAP pirhanas.
Cats and dogs galoshes –
There’ll be no more dirty paws,
For the family alcoholic –
Some solid drinking straws.
Let our flesh coloured fibre glass
Eradicate your wrinkles,
Don’t go without a spiral fork
For ease when eating winkles.
For you up-and-coming druids
There’s a bag of plastic runes,
A set of hi-tech dentures
That whistle pre-set tunes.
At last – perpetual motion
From a simple friction motor,
Some grape sweetening syrup
If you’re not a labour voter.
Cut down on the drudgery
With our one-size stretch-fit slippers
With integral toenail clippers.
This rubber bust of Elvis
Is a handy ketchup squirter,
Do you need flatulence trousers
With catalytic converter?
A shoulder mounted tripod
To aid standing on the head,
If you’re an over active burglar,
Beware passive infra-red.
Some imitation bunions
If you’ve got a wooden leg,
An ectoplasmic smoke alarm
Endorsed by Mystic Meg.
Bermuda shorts in day-glo
For surfing on the net,
A litter tray interface
For your cyberpet.
If limited edition
Collecting is your hobby –
A Royal Doulton porcelain
Figurine of Mr Blobby.
If you’re in a chain gang
There’s this years latest craze –
Some line dancing tapes
To brighten up your days.
Some ‘crush on impact’ bulls horns
To stop you getting gored.
I could go on all evening
But I’m sure you’re getting bored.
So if you thought that you had everything
You’ve surely been misguided
So please send off your order form
In the envelope provided.
We accept all major credit cards,
And even ration books,
And please make out all your cheques
To Mr Richard Crookes.
copyright Richard Crookes 1997