Category: history

Driving Us Spare

Afternoon tea with cakes, blue china, flowers, and garden views

The Harry & Meghan Show’s returned!

The past, forgiven, lessons learned

Assured the monarch, over tea and crumpets.

The British public, unimpressed,

Needs history to be addressed

And until then, this royal pair can lump it.

Ode To Miss Mary Bennet

Miss Mary Bennet, life’s middle child:

Dour, unremarked and, by choosing, unstyled.

Watching your sisters play whist in their pairs

Consigned to their shadows, resigned to your prayers.

Oh, to be Jane! The most prized of them all

Who turned every head at the Netherfield Ball.

Or Lizzy, who routs senseless suitors through wit

Delighting your father more than he’d admit.

Would you be like Kitty who follows the crowd?

Or Lydia, brash and unsuitably loud?

Alas, those sweet psalms you impart by the dozen

Did fail in the end to secure you a cousin

And having entailed the estate to a son

The Bennets have lost and the Collins have won.

And so, dearest Mary, were God so to judge

Will your role be that of your poor mother’s drudge?

Or is your intended more than a mere dream

Who’s destined to save you as part of His scheme?

Now, blow out the candle and softly to bed

Let sleep chase such worriment out of your head.

And judge not too harshly, as you’re wont to do

For, one day our eyes may be turned toward you.

Over, Lord

I bade my love compose an ode

To prove her heart was true,

Reciting To Him All Is Owed

She blushed the whole way through.

I bade my love prepare a feast

Befitting of her Lord,

She cooked for me the finest beast

Her dowry would afford.

I bade my love take out a boat

And clear the moat of trolls,

She took my dagger to their throats

Then fixed their heads on poles.

I bade my love tend to my aches

With liniments and oils,

She rid my skin of every flake

And lanced a string of boils.

Then comes a time when passions end

When leaves droop with the frost,

I bade my love invite her friend

That’s when she said… Get lost!

Tough, Love

“I need to get into shape for spring,” Laverne announced, “so from now on, instead of taking elevators I’m going to try escalators.”

I bit my lip.

“You want to say something, don’t you?” she scrutinised me over her menu.

“And your recourse when there are no escalators… might that be stairwells?”

“Helipads.”

“Right then, what are we ordering?”

“Ham and eczema from the looks of it,” Laverne motioned towards a waitress scratching an itch with a Mastercard.

“Owen recommended the steak pie, so I might try that,” I remained undeterred.

“Do you think that’s wise?”

“A little red meat won’t kill me.”

“No, it’s not that,” Laverne leaned across the table, “I don’t know if I trust Owen anymore since he… you know…”

“… went on holiday and came back married?”

“If you can call some old hippie waving a bong over them on a beach in Ko Samui a wedding ceremony,” she rolled her eyes.

“Is his new wife Thai?”

“I wouldn’t put it past her,” Laverne tutted, looking for the sommelier.

“Well, have you asked her?”

“She probably doesn’t speak English,”

“How would you know if you haven’t even asked her?”

“How could she tell me if she doesn’t?”

“What are we having for lunch?” I gave up.

“I think I’ll have the linguine in the hope that it will be brought to me by a handsome, Tuscan waiter in need of an outrageously unwarranted tip.”

“What if he doesn’t speak English?”

“Then I’ll just have to marry him,” she smirked. “Anyway, what’s new with you?”

“My crème brûlée torch is completely out of control.”

“Are you kidding me with this?”

“I wish I were. Come dessert time, it’s now every man for himself.”

“Honestly, John, you really do need to toughen up.”

“What makes you think I’m not tough?”

“Real men are killed by antlers, not kitchenware,” Laverne sniffed.

“I’m just as tough as you,” I began to feel a tad defensive.

“Prove it,” came the challenge from across the table.

“Okay… at work, I informed Zoe that if she doesn’t start contributing her share of the milk, I’ll be kicking her out of the coffee club.”

Laverne stared at me, her eyes narrowing.

“I waterboarded my godson to prepare him for Cub Scouts.”

“Andrew?” I asked, in disbelief.

“No, the little fat one who eats all the Lego,” she explained. “Andrew, I made dig a network of tunnels beneath the neighbourhood.”

“What does it take to be a godparent?”

“Godliness,” Laverne stated, matter-of-factly.

“And exactly which god-“

“-Sekhmet.”

“I don’t stand a chance against you, do I?”

“You never did, pumpkin.”

Heir Heads

While William and Kate keep tabs on what Meghan and Harry might do next, Princess Anne continues to lurk among the shadows. An examination of this royal princess isn’t for the squeamish, for while it’s true she is indeed very hard working, the same can be said of fire ants. For her Duke of Edinburgh Award, it’s rumoured a young Anne commissioned a wind-up doll capable of neutralising any lady-in-waiting who approached her without curtseying. Brooding and aloof as a teenager, an awkward Anne had clung to the fact that she remained the only princess in a stable of princes.

That is, until Diana appeared on the scene, which added up to one princess too many.

Dispatching her sister-in-law abroad in a stroke of genius, Anne next fixed her sights upon the latest interloper: Kate Middleton, Princess of Wales. Rumour has it that during Kate’s initial stay at Kensington Palace, Anne presented her with a Princess Diana doll sans tête. Examining it thoughtfully, if not warily, the young Kate made a mental note of her nearest exit.

“She was pretty like you,” Princess Anne remarked, “but she’s not pretty now… I’m the pretty princess now.”

“Isn’t she missing something?” Kate asked, pointedly.

“My bad,” Anne smirked, crushing her can of Pilsner and flicking it at her. “There’s the car.”

I Noah Guy…

In the spirit of the season, I drove an elderly neighbour to mass after claiming to need a lift due to the icy weather. About a mile from where we live, the Church of St Mary Magdalene (didn’t get that memo) is a Catholic landmark conspicuously situated between the Women’s Health Centre and Darth Vaper’s E-Cig Emporium. As we pulled up to the entrance, Mrs Malarkey gently enquired, “Aren’t you coming in? You can send a church calendar home to your mother.”

The old clam had me. At 85, she didn’t miss a trick and knew I hadn’t been to mass since my parents’ last visit.

“Of course,” I stated coolly, looking her straight in the eye. “It’s Christmas, isn’t it? Now, are you going to be alright managing those steps while I park the car?”

“I’ll just wait for you here,” she parried, then thrust, “and it’s not Christmas. It’s only the Fourth Sunday of Advent.”

Entering the church brought back a load of memories. I’d been an altar boy right through high school and was much more sanguine about the role the Church might play in later life. Uncompromising and unafraid to challenge the moral turpitude swirling all about me, from an early age I had developed a low tolerance to riff raff. After all, I’d been named after Pope John XXIII and unlike a lot of 12 year olds, had written my own Encyclical:

  1. When you overhear your parents choosing your high school, ask them to aim higher than one simply called St Richard’s or St Agatha’s, guiding them instead towards spiritual heavyweights like Our Lady of the Blessed Annunciation or St Anthony and the Holy Infant. This will disarm any cynics questioning the fact your parents stopped attending mass years ago.
  2. When adults catch the name of your school across your hockey jacket and ask what a Blessed Annunciation is, let out an audible sigh and look upon their children with pity. As you walk away rolling your eyes, ponder the fact that they can read at all.
  3. Wonder why all the nuns at school have names beginning with Mary and ending with a male name, such as Sister Mary Edward. Believe your older sister when she tells you they all used to be men, until God changed them into nuns as punishment for a crime only the Pope knows about.
  4. Think it a shame that priests can only wear black because it shows up dandruff and means they can never shop at The Gap in summer.
  5. When a pretty, young nun starts teaching at your school, tell your mother that if you were older and she lived next door, you’d marry her.
  6. When a cool, young priest starts teaching at your school, agree with your friends that if he grew his hair longer and learned how to play the electric guitar, he’d be the most famous priest ever.
  7. When your father informs you that he saw your parish priest swimming lengths at his health club, ask yourself if priests are permitted such indulgences, then check to make sure his bathing suit was black.
  8. When your teacher warns that thinking impure thoughts during mass will get you an extra year in purgatory, decide it’s worth it.
  9. Ask your RE teacher if Eve looked like the woman in the Timotei shampoo commercial.
  10. Double-check if Jonah crawled out of the whale’s spout or was simply pooped out.
  11. Ask if, after turning water into wine at the wedding in Canaan, Jesus then made chocolate milk for the children.
  12. Ask your parents a million times if you can go to midnight mass this year because you’re now an adult. Reassure them that you no longer believe in Santa, elves and reindeer, explaining that you only wish to fulfill a religious obligation. Don’t tell them your older sister reliably informed you that this is the mass at which God appears.
  13. Tell all your friends you were allowed to go to midnight mass. When you’re sure none of them attended the service, lower your voice and inform them that God appeared. When they inevitably ask you what He looked like, whisper that you’re not allowed to tell.
  14. Turn to your Dad during midnight mass and insist you just heard sleigh bells outside. When he chides you, wonder how he can seriously expect an 8 year old to think about God and not presents on Christmas Eve. Hope that Rudolph drops a big, steamy one on his Ford Bronco.
  15. Point out your neighbours during mass and say aloud, “Hey, Mom… you’re right! The Espositos only DO go to mass at Christmas and Easter!” Then report back each time the whole family sits down when they’re supposed to kneel.

Merry Christmas, sinners and all!