18th February - 19th March 2003
 

Given the recent tenth anniversary of the 2 million anti-war march in London - and of the many other ones around the world - I wonder if we might, since the NS, WP and Speccie have all failed to challenge us on this, run a thread inviting suitably scathing/satirical/comically wersh (a good Scots term for things whose taste makes one draw in one's cheeks) takes on the demos and/or on the outbreak of the Iraq war? I'm perhaps particularly aware of the anniversary as I have a connection, through one of my daughters, with Ian Sinclair whose new book "The March That Shook Blair" (see the Peace News website) is an oral history of the 15th February 2003 in Britain and the actual anniversary of the start of the war is also now imminent.

Given the recent fun being had with spoof Shakespearen renderings re Richard III's unfortunate remains, I thought I might start the ball rolling with this.

18TH MARCH, 2003

This day is called the Feast of Tony Blair.
He that outlives this day and holds his seat
Will stand a-blushing when this day is named
And blench him at the name of Tony Blair.
He that shall vote this day and live t’old age
Will yearly on the vigil dodge his neighbours
And say, “Tomorrow is not Tony Blair’s?”
Then will he duck the Press and hide his part
And say, “These deeds I did on Blair’s orders.”
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he’ll remember, with apologies,
What flights he fled that day. Then shall our names,
As soft soap in his mouth as household brands -
Tony the Mad, Bradshaw of Exeter,
Jack Straw and Amos, Hoon and Reid the cur -
Be in their guilty cups rarely remembered.
This story shall the good man teach his son,
And T. Blair’s foul name-day shall ne’er go by
From this time to the freeing of the world
But we in it shall be recalled and cursed,
We few, we shabby few, we band of bullies.
For he today that sells his soul with me
Shall be my doormat; be he ne’er so fine,
This day shall humble his condition.
And decent folk in Britain now abed
Shall think themselves accursed they had no vote,
And hold their suffrage cheap whiles any lives
That spoke for war upon false Tony’s day.

(With apologies to William Shakespeare)

A good one, Nigel. Nothing much comes to me for the moment, except

Outwardly fair, but thanks to thee, St Swithin,
For showing us the filth that festers within.