INTERVAL TWO: Musical Moments
Julia Griffin: The Lunchtime Staple
A Hornpipe
What shall we do with the Lunchtime Staple,
What shall we do with the Lunchtime Staple,
What shall we do with the Lunchtime Staple,
Since it looks so boring?
EVOO we face a crisis,
EVOO we need surprises,
EVOO or just disguises,
O it looks so boring!
Serve it with a lettuce that we’ve hacked in quarters,
Serve it with a lettuce that we’ve hacked in quarters,
Serve it with a lettuce that we’ve hacked in quarters,
Still it looks so boring!
EVOO the trade capsizes,
EVOO the bank chastises,
EVOO who sympathizes?
O it looks so boring!
Shower it with little bits of candied rhubarb,
Shower it with little bits of candied rhubarb,
Shower it with little bits of candied rhubarb,
Still it looks so boring!
EVOO more compromises,
EVOO let’s slash the sizes,
EVOO and add some fries-es –
O it looks so boring!
Stick it in a pita and declare it’s Turkish …
Stick it in a pita and declare it’s Turkish,
Stick it in a pita and declare it’s Turkish,
Still it looks so boring!
EVOO forget surmises:
EVOO what I advise is
EVOO – a brand with prizes –
It won’t look so boring!
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Arthur White: Who Is That Old Codger?
(to the tune of “How Much Is That Doggie in the Window”)
Chorus
Who’s that old codger in the mirror,
The one with the scanty white hair?
I want him to explain what he’s done with
The young stud that used to be there.
I’m the guy who made that famous touchdown
That won us the state championship.
Now I depend upon my walker
To make sure my feet do not slip.
(Chorus)
How all the young girls once adored me!
A date spent with me was a treat.
But now all the girls do is offer
To help me in crossing the street.
(Chorus)
The wildest and loudest of parties
Were those for which I was the host.
Now would you please turn up the TV
Because I am deaf as a post?
(Chorus)
My eyes were as sharp as an eagle’s.
I read all the smallest fine print.
Now I can read the big headlines
With trifocals on and a squint.
(Chorus)
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David J. Rothman: Nice (Country and Western)
When we go out you always open the door,
And when we dance you sweep me across the floor
As if I were a queen.
On your way home you always offer
To stop by the store.
There's always money in the coffer,
You're a great husband, and you're a great dad,
You listen to me when I'm feeling sad,
You're handsome, you're smart, your sweet and you're lean,
And I ain't ever once seen you be mean.
But sometimes a girl wants a little more spice,
Sometimes a girl wants more.
Sometimes even being kind
Can be like a kind of vice.
So honey, baby, just this once
Let's have an uproar, let me lose my mind,
Tonight take a break and please don't be so nice.
Tonight when you come home from work,
I'm gonna get drunk and call you a jerk.
You can call me names and slam the door
As long as you come back for more.
Yes, kiss me, sweetheart, but please don't be so nice.
Tell me you're going to go out drinking,
Leave me crying, leave me reeling,
Tell me, laughing, that you just don't care.
Baby, give me that sinking feeling,
I'll give you an angry stare.
Curse a little, gun the car,
Tell the kids to shut up then head for the bar,
Yell at me because I burned the rice.
It's ok, sweetheart, just please don't always be so nice.
I don't want you to slap me around,
Don't want things to get rough.
Don't want my wedding ring in the lost & found,
Don't want any kinky stuff.
But if you want some free advice,
There's something kind of exciting about a boy
Who knows what I want when I'm playing coy.
Honey, you don't always have to be so nice.
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Julian Woodruff: Rigoletto Riservata
(Raffaele Mirate created the role of the Duke of
Mantua at La Fenice, Venice, 11 March 1851.)
“Where is the aria you promised me?”
The tenor could no longer be denied:
the opera’s premiere was close at hand.
“All right, Mirate, here you go, but see
that no one, if you prize your precious hide,
catches even one phrase. To no demand
to see or hear the thing must you agree.
And practice it far off, lest you be spied
and crept up on, as some have surely planned.”
'La donna é mobile,’ eh?’” “The high B
will test your lungs, for sure . . . It’s no wild ride –
a straightforward mazurka’s all – but land
that note, my friend, and I will guarantee
to you Venetians’ hearts will open wide.
When hoisted on their shoulders, you’ll feel grand!”
If Verdi overplayed his act a bit,
who could blame him? He knew he had a hit,
and feared the crowds would think he’d stolen it.
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Tony Dawson: The Sound of Silent Hair Loss
( With apologies to Paul Simon)
Alopecia my old friend
I see you’re spreading once again
because a baldness softly creeping
shed its hairs while I was sleeping
and the few that still remain
are such a pain
I shave them off; they’re not worth keeping.
Useless creams I’ve tried galore,
wasting hundreds, maybe more.
On busy streets grass does not grow
or so I’m told, perhaps it’s so.
Though not a single hair has grown
I shouldn’t moan,
about my alopecia.
Standing naked then I saw
Ten thousand pores or maybe more
Follicles with no hairs growing
Follicles with no hairs showing
Nothing but a shining old bald pate,
which was my fate.
“Oh, dear,” said I you do not know
That hair up there will now not grow
Alopecia progresses at top speed
Depilation’s spread fast indeed
For my hair like silent raindrops fell
Sending my hirsuteness straight to hell
Yet hair sprouts wildly from my ears
And my nose, a cause for tears.
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Jerome Betts: The Misread Flag
“Britain will 'never surrender' to far right
protesters who use the English flag as a
cover for violence and to instil fear, Keir
Starmer has said.” Guardian
St George’s cross is deepest red
Like drops that fabled dragon shed,
When, though the green may look askance,
He spitted it upon his lance.
No-one should seek to take the pith
Out of a potent pious myth,
But if it’s hi-jacked by the right,
Or wrong, it’s in a culture fight.
How sad should this affect displays
In cherished unofficial ways,
As at the Proms, the Albert Hall,
The Last Night’s banner-waving ball.
Or, even worse, a Wembley crowd
Told blood-stained bunting’s not allowed
And no more may it rise on high
When England score a goal or try!
