[John Whitworth]

Here's another version of my Fruitcake ditty. I think it is better and it avoids 'wog' too.

Our England’s going to the dogs.
I stand upon the Saxon Shore
And peer through ever-thickening fogs.
So many things that I deplore!
White robed, black bearded demagogues,
Each with his mute attendant squaw,
Chant their appalling decalogues.
It’s not my country any more.

Our politicians root like hogs.
Parliament’s rotten to the core.
The people are no more than cogs
Forgetting what their freedom’s for.
The schools are stuffed with foreign sprogs,
And foreign scoundrels flout the law.
Better for me to pop my clogs.
It’s not my country any more.

[Brian Allgar]

deleted ....

[Brian Allgar]

Originally Posted by John Whitworth

Here's another version of my Fruitcake ditty. I think it is better and it avoids 'wog' too.

Still, John, as someone else pointed out, even the loathsome "politically correct" haven't yet tried to bowdlerize Debussy's "Golliwog Cakewalk" - nor Joseph Conrad's "Nigger of the Narcissus".

[John Whitworth]

Ther is also Firbank's 'Prancing Nigger'. But I am not testing the limits of our Freedom of Speech, I am trying to win £25. Besides, I think my new version is better, And 'wog' hovers behind it like a ghost.

[Brian Allgar]

My uncle’s a fruitcake, my auntie’s a tart;
My niece is a crumpet, and sells à la carte;
My nephew? Name any perversion, he’ll risk it;
When vice is on offer, that creep takes the biscuit.

My cousin, a gardener, visits the felons
In prison, to give them a taste of her melons.
Her daughter’s a baker, and constantly stuns
With her succulent, spicy, delectable buns.

My sister’s a cracker, and turns many heads
(And she also turns up in a great many beds}.
My brother’s a chef, but he’s working with crooks
In “Creative Accountancy”, cooking the books.

My son teaches maths, and eats tubers and shoots,
Thanks to which he’s invented the square pie of roots.
As for me, I’ve a taste for exotic Sultanas,
But don’t tell my wife - she would just go bananas!

[Ann Drysdale]

Oo- I'm going to be cheeky. "Quite" in the last line feels like a bit of a filler. How about "it would send her bananas"?

[Brian Allgar]

Originally Posted by Ann Drysdale

Oo- I'm going to be cheeky. "Quite" in the last line feels like a bit of a filler. How about "it would send her bananas"?

Thank you, Ann. As usual, I posted an early version that I'll continue tweaking before I send it, but you've saved me the trouble of scratching my head over one bit that I wasn't happy with.

[Jayne Osborn]

Not politically correct (the rubric subtly makes it clear that it's not an issue, methinks)... but this is very closely based on a true story about someone I used to know.

My sister made a Christmas cake
and, just about to marzipan it,
her schizophrenic boyfriend came
(nice lad, though on another planet!
He'd taken drugs which screwed his brain
at uni, out in Arkansas);
our parents desperately hoped
he wouldn't be their son-in-law.

My sister let him ice the cake,
which looked a sorry mess to me.
"A work of art," he proudly said,
"let's have some with a cup of tea."
At this point Dad came home. He'd missed
the bike outside (a vital clue):
"Will we have Nutty Fruitcake here
tonight?" he asked. Mum sighed, "We do."

[Nicholas Stone]

I do like that, Jayne! Do you think your old acquaintance is an Oldie reader. . . ?

[Jayne Osborn]

Thanks, Nico. I'm pretty sure he isn't -- so there's not much danger of him recognising himself as Nutty Fruitcake!