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The Lands where The Tories live

May 31, 2011
An enormous hat tip to the genius of Edward Lear and his creation, The Jumblies.

               I

They went to sea in a Sieve, they did,
   In a Sieve they went to sea:
In spite of what the voters did say,
On a stormy morn, on the sixth of May,
   In a Sieve they went to sea!
And when the Sieve turned round and round,
And economists cried, 'You'll all be drowned!'
They called aloud, 'Our Sieve ain't big,
But we don't care a button! we don't care a fig!
   In a Sieve we'll go to sea!'
      Far and few, far and few,
         Are the lands where the Tories live;
      Their heads are hard, and their hands are blue,
         And they went to sea in a Sieve.

               II

They sailed away in a Sieve, they did,
   In a Sieve they sailed so fast,
With only a PR man at the helm,
without any compassion for this fair realm,
   Act after Act they passed;
In spite of what the experts feared,
They imposed their cuts in a manner weird,
Even where they had said 'we won't make a mess',
Even when it came to the NHS,
   They could not escape their past!
      Far and few, far and few,
         Are the lands where the Tories live;
      Their heads are hard, and their hands are blue,
         And they went to sea in a Sieve.


		III

The water it soon came in, it did,
   The water it soon came in;
And when it had reached ankle and leg,
they blamed it all on a man called Clegg,
   Bacause he was not of their kin;
He cried, he wailed, he complained of stress,
But his crocodile tears did not impress,
And confronted with his first major storm,
His beloved pet, his election reform,
   He unfortunately failed to win!
      Far and few, far and few,
         Are the lands where the Tories live;
      Their heads are hard, and their hands are blue,
         And they went to sea in a Sieve.

	          IV

They turned to a man for help, they did
   in the midst of this deadly descent;
But the man was young, his brain was weak,
it was perfectly clear within a week,
   he could not calculate ten per cent.
With inflation up, unemployment high,
Indicators indicating the end was nigh,
Despite all his efforts, however inept,
In the budget deficit, in the national debt,
   he did not make so much as a dent!
      Far and few, far and few,
         Are the lands where the Tories live;
      Their heads are hard, and their hands are blue,
         And they went to sea in a Sieve.

		V

And the sieve eventually sank, it did
   the sieve eventually sank;
But an inexplicable twist of fate,
Not seen since the eighties, at any rate,
   the drowned were not those that sank.
It was we who had warned them against their stunt,
It was we who objected that got the brunt.
It was we on dry land that had to pay
who had told them and told them they should not stray.
   And they all went to work for a bank.
      Far and few, far and few,
         Are the lands where the Tories live;
      Their heads are hard, and their hands are blue,
         And they went to sea in a Sieve.
11 Comments leave one →
  1. Billy Bowden permalink
    May 31, 2011 10:37 pm

    I’d keep this one to yourself mate, it’s cringeworthy in the extreme and total shite.

  2. Cath permalink
    May 31, 2011 11:30 pm

    Oh Billy you’re obviously not a fan of Edward Lear, nor do you seem to possess the ability to understand a great piece of social and political commentary when you see it. ‘Shite’ not much of a review I’d have to say.

    Excellent piece from Sturdyblog yet again!

  3. Tris permalink
    June 1, 2011 12:00 am

    Speechless and shaking with laughter, I am;
    Speechless and shaking with laughter.
    The accuracy of you words is quite
    Astounding and gives us much delight.
    But the folk that warned against their stunt,
    (That’s us, I suppose), are so badly burnt
    That there’s little but ashes to start again,
    But there’s Alex in Scotland and Carwyn in Wales,
    And someone in Ireland, one of the Gaels;
    And they’ll go to work in no Tory bank.
    Far and few, far and few
    Are the lands where the Tories live;
    Their heads are hard and their hands are blue.
    And they went to sea in a sieve.

  4. rogerglewis permalink
    June 1, 2011 2:32 am

    Stevie Smith – Not Waving But Drowning

    Nobody heard him, the dead man,
    But still he lay moaning:
    I was much further out than you thought
    And not waving but drowning.

    Poor chap, he always loved larking
    And now he’s dead
    It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
    They said.

    Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
    (Still the dead one lay moaning)
    I was much too far out all my life
    And not waving but drowning.

    Its all very Bleak.

    At the risk of peaking Billy’s ire,
    Heres a song wot I wrote.

  5. June 1, 2011 7:25 am

    I’m a lighter shade of blue myself, but this is excellent – damn you!

  6. James McLaren (Jersey, Channel Islands) permalink
    June 2, 2011 10:28 am

    Class!

  7. December 11, 2011 12:44 am

    If I had been a Liberal,
    In a coalition prest
    I’d have brought an end to student loans
    As promised in my manifest.
    But Cleggie is a Liberal,
    And the students more must pay
    That he may ride in his limo
    Almost very day.

    If I had been a Liberal,
    I’d have pressed for the Liberal way,
    For liberty and equal dealing,
    For all of us – straight or gay.
    But Cleggie is a Liberal,
    And says liberalness must wait,
    And he will sit and nod as Gove,
    Brings back Section 28

    If I had been a Liberal,
    With Europe my golden shield,
    I’d have responded to Cameron’s petulance
    By forcing him to yield.
    But Cleggie is a Liberal,
    And was consulted in advance,
    And scowled and pouted and fluttered,
    But still joined in their dance.

    Pete

    (With apologies to GKC)

  8. March 29, 2012 5:27 pm

    Talented, talented Alex

  9. March 29, 2012 7:49 pm

    I
    The Libber who has no spine,
    Once had a back just like we;
    When they said, ‘Some day you may lose it all;’–
    He replied, — ‘Fish fiddle de-dee!’
    His Uncle Kennedy poured a drink,
    Made with a glug and ringing clink
    For he said, ‘The ruby fruit of the vine?
    There’s nothing so good for a Libber’s spine!’

    II
    The Libber who has no spine,
    Walked down from Sheffield Hallam;
    But before he set out he wrote his stance,
    In a book of orange vellum.
    His Uncle Kennedy said, ‘No harm
    can come to the party with all this charm’
    ‘And it’s perfectly known that all will be fine
    ‘As long — as he sticks to party line’

    III
    The Libber ran fast and well
    And when press and bods came near him
    He shone like a light and rang like a bell
    So that all the world could hear him.
    And all the students and Liberals cried,
    When they saw him ride the populist tide,–
    ‘He had gone to war! (well, in the main stream press),
    ‘Against heartless blues and red debt mess!’

    IV
    But before he touched the shore,
    The votes, stolen by a felon!
    A sky-blue Tory carried away
    His book of bright orange vellum.
    And when he came to observe his back
    It’s just like for years he’d been on the rack!
    His face at once became forlorn
    On perceiving that his whole spine was gone!

    V
    And nobody ever knew
    From that dark day to the present,
    Whoso had taken the Libber’s spine,
    In a manner so far from pleasant.
    Whether blues or Libs with hair of gray,
    Or crafty journos stole it away –
    Nobody knew; and none could find
    How the Libber was robbed of his once strong spine!

    VI
    The Libber who has no spine
    Was given a meaningless job,
    And they held him back, and shut him right up,
    To the sound of Kennedy’s sob.
    And he drank and he dined at public expense
    ‘til the public became terribly tense;–
    And Labour cried,– ‘Just look at how he dines!
    So, Libbers are happier without their spines!’

  10. Dan S permalink
    March 29, 2012 8:50 pm

    THE COALITION

    T’was a cold and bitter day,
    The night of the sixth of May.
    The students’ hopes were high
    “The fees will not increase”, said I.
    Alas, how wrong were they
    For I would make the fools pay.

    The skies were dark and grey,
    On the night of the sixth of May.
    The Left were optomistic in me,
    “The top tax rate will remain at 50p”
    Alas, my rhetoric was skilled,
    And hopes of tax justice were killed.

    The atmostphere was sanguine and gay,
    On the night of the sixth of May.
    The elderly and ill were promised their NHS,
    “Of course, we will leave it alone, yes!”
    Alas, my deception knew no end,
    My wish was for the poor to not be able to mend.

    So, you see, you should never have trusted me,
    Did you really think you would recieve liberty and become free?
    The lesson to learn from this fool
    If, indeed, there is one at all,
    Is to never trust a politician by the name of Nick.
    For he is sure to be a dick, a prick, someone needing a flick,
    A conk-fizling cork-wit.
    A man deserving of not even your spit.
    A snork-porkelling fork-whip
    A man deserving of not even the two-fingered flip.

    authored by nick clegg: real age 45, mental age three and a half

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