A group of writers in Chichester coming together once a month for inspiration, collaboration and sensation
I wake up and lie in bed
Warming up my sleepy head.
Make some tea, put on socks
And turn on that accursed box
Don’t know why I switch it on:
Waste of time; a total con
I should burn the telly really,
Times like this I see it clearly.
Same old story every day.
Change the record, won’t you, eh?
Politics just winds me up
And as for sport, oh do shuddup!
I can’t stand their phony grins,
Perching on their bony chins.
Are they feeling at their best,
Or are they secretly depressed?
Here comes Carol with the weather,
Knock me over with a feather.
Weekend rain and gusty winds,
Back again in fifteen mins.
And now, that Robert Peston chappy,
Just the one to make me happy.
Practicing his tones of gloom,
Might as well say “We’re all doomed!”
And now it’s time for Local News,
I can’t wait to hear their views:
A fallen tree; a missing cow!
Someone please just kill me now.
Oh jolly good, oh life of glee:
It’s the Diamond Jubilee.
Excuse me while I load this gun
And shoot myself, with all the fun.
Torch runners under driving rain,
I feel as if I’ve gone insane.
Now come along and don’t be coy,
Almost time for Olympic joy!
I think I’ll just go back to bed,
Off it goes, my sleepy head.
Dreaming of a life that rocks
Without that damned accursed box.