If insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results
Then calamity is clearly what these guys are all about
It doesn’t make you a Luddite to say
“Well, with hindsight, our confidence in the ratings agencies was totally misplaced”
Does anyone else remember the way
That they acted yesterday?
They said to put your mind at ease with a few of these mortgage-backed securities
Good enough for your Lloyds TSB’s
Endowment funds at universities
And public sector retirees
Whose pension funds are intentionally designed not to invest in anything under a couple of B’s

And then, low on gumption, they made the false assumption
That all Eurozonia was fit for consumption
Served on a plate with a scotch at a luncheon
Whatever
Just triple A it
It doesn’t matter of what it consists
Or what it means for our parents and kids
Capital flows distort supply and demand
The price of the wheat and the price of the land
Banks act like they can increase their profits without increasing their risk
But leverage drowns in risk like crustaceans in bisque
A little whiff of Fitch saying “Greece is this way… and you’re late”
“It’s a fine time to play, the countries in the Eurozone have one blanket interest rate”
But the reality on the ground was different in different states
Acting as bait for straggling hedges
Club Med debt shorted to induce default
I guess it probably wasn’t triple A in the first place, but it certainly isn’t now

They haven’t even faced a fine
3 bedrooms in Liechtenstein
And one or two in Rome cost a dime
But no quarter for Italy
For me, it just beggars belief that people continue to take their nonsense literally
From John O’Groats to the Aegean Sea
People pay for this service, it isn’t free
And now NHS hospitals will be rated apparently
Seriously
I thought I saw them say it on TV, and I corroborated it on the PC
Just type it in, you’ll find it easily
In both the Telegraph and the Guardian, 2012, January 19
A Thursday I believe
But clearly this is no rhyming matter
The only reason any of these guys should go anywhere near a public hospital
Is to receive medical treatment
(Or to be at the side of someone close to them)

Hospitals should not be incentivised to compete
They should cooperate to cure disease
That’s what it’s there for
Not to make back door profits for Group 4 Securicor
If I didn’t know not to assume
I would assume that they will profit in some way from the new NHS
They certainly had no reluctance
To inhibit competition by hiring former public servants from the Ministry of Justice

Honestly
I fail to see a P.O.V.
From which these sleazy agencies
Have any credibility
They couldn’t find value in the Louvre
But they’d value the gold in the tomb of Tutankhamen
Their methods can’t be disputed
Because they’ll view your criticisms with the same, spurious cost-benefit analysis
That has perverted the incentive structures in our public and private sectors

They represent the epitome of the falsehood
That we should act the same in a social or political situation
As we would in a commercial situation
That’s a key facet of financialisation

Criminonymous

Mistakes are high is a post from: Anna Raccoon

In the NHS, we face a conflict of interest
No pilot studies from a market fundamentalist
Losing all the benefits of aggregate demand to the invisible hand
At least one company can’t procure and provide at the same time
Oh wait, they can
Don’t be surprised by the quality of fake hips
Competition reminiscent of the Scottish Premiership
Clegg thinks his grandfather would vote yes
I think he’d probably be on Bupa’s much shorter waiting list
Shorter now that they can use half the public beds, but I digress
The point I’m trying to make is that there’s a conflict of interest

You want a crime commissioner?
You think they’re gonna listen to ya?
You think they won’t use propaganda on the villagers?
Utilitarian policing is the intent
No incentive to represent the 49%
Consider turnout in Hackney and then you’ll understand
Why in London they’ll reject east for west like Ayn Rand
BNP candidates, to whom are they accountable?
Just to the racist motherfuckers that made this possible
Which unlucky group will be the next scapegoat?
Turned into an urban myth overnight like Raul Moat
It won’t make a difference to the CPS
They’ll process the victims of these conflicting interests

Maybe look at the financial system
If you want to see the ability of corruption to yield a lot of victims
S&P rate Greek bonds on the trading floor
Next assignment, short sell them even more
How can they say that it’s ok to profit either way?
A David and Goliath story that will never see the light of day
Still, Greece feels the pain of slavery like Monrovia
As the reins remain at the feet of the Troika
It’s a forced takeover like Wells Fargo and Wachovia
You still got assets? Then it’s not over yet
Seriously
It’s not just me
The ECB need to put away the handcuffs and stay off the PCP
Still, they’ve got the backing of the fourth estate
Sustaining what appears to be a conflict of interest rates

I’m not playing a financial instrument
No derivatives or appellants
I’m not in the housing market, which requires better judgement
Turn the clock back to 2004
House prices higher than anybody could afford
Got a cash injection, an enormous loan
110% subprime methadone
It’s no surprise that after a rise
The bubble will burst, with a subsequent price demise
Now your house is worth less than what you owe
An inconvenient time for your job to go to Mexico
CDO, there you go, it’s their M.O.
And now they’re cleaning up like Tony Drago
So now you see why you and me
Can’t trust the banks with impartiality
And it’s no different with elected representatives
For the next campaign I’m donating sedatives
There’s a revolving door between the banks and the democratic process
And this lament makes no dent in the current extent of such conflicts of interest.

Criminonymous

Photo credit  by chillhead

Conflict of Interest is a post from: Anna Raccoon

The too-Coldingham Turbine...

Though a turbine to some may seem pleasing
When it’s blowing quite briskly or breezing,
In the winter’s deep chill
When the air is quite still
They need heaters to keep them from freezing.

If to own them you still do aspire
As the subsidies mount ever-higher,
You should know that a gale
May well cause them to fail
And a hurricane makes them catch fire.

And though you might call it a shame
And look for somebody to blame
For the money you’ve lost,
You have found to your cost
That wind-power’s a zero-sum game.

©Macheath

Which makes this week’s competition the topical one of wind turbines and ‘green’ innovations – do your worst!

Last week’s winner was Mick Turatian with this effort on deposits in the central banking area of occupy lsx protest…excellent!

Get in touch Mick and the Willie Warmer is all yours. (do check sizing, there have been complaints….)

Friday Limerick Competition is a post from: Anna Raccoon

Try to dismember Greek debt by November

That ton of cash they begged and borrowed

Serial offender, they’ve been on a bender

They spent like there was no tomorrow

Tried to pretend they could endlessly fend off

The austerity which must surely follow

But in the end, ah, it’s something they’ll just have to swallow …

On the agenda of Eurozone members

To print more cash to make things mellow

New legal tender in all of its splendour

“Keep printing !” – hear Tim Geithner bellow

Who’s the defender of small private lenders ?

Joe Public is a luckless fellow

And in the end Euro-promises tend to be hollow …

(c) Nick Drew 2011

“Six Weeks to Save the Eurozone” – Osborne is a post from: Anna Raccoon

Prescott Doggerel. is a post from: Anna Raccoon

I’ve torched a shop in Croydon Town,
Its trading days are done,
Its flames have set the sky alight
And I’m famous in The Sun.

So don’t call me a failure,
Admire my nicked blue jeans,
My iPads, phones and trainers, Man,
And five new plasma screens.

The only thing a looter needs
Is a mask and i-ron bar
To smash to bleeding smithereens
That effing Po-lice car.

So ‘facebook’ tell the children,
To do what I have done
And hurl a home-made petrol bomb
In the land of the Rising Scum.

So I’ve one foot in a Nike
And one in Jimmy Choo
I’m going back to Tottenham now
To steal some gear for you.

I’ve smashed and grabbed and stole more jeans,
(Worn low, they show my bum)
And my picture’s on the TV now
And the front page of The Sun.

In the Land of the Rising Scum is a post from: Anna Raccoon

Simple Pieman met a newsman,
Following a dare,
Says Simple Pieman to the newsman,
For your views, I do not care.

Says the newsman to Simple Pieman,
Allow my wife to show you how;
To land a pretty punch,
- and on the floor you cower.

Simple Pieman went a-flinging,
To advertise his show;
All the coverage he had got,
Was negative, and so…

Simple Pieman went to gaol
For six whole weeks – not long;
He’ll be out in three, with any luck
Which made the newsman whistle.

h/t to The Magistrates Blog for the title.

Simple Pieman is a post from: Anna Raccoon

Elliot Morley
Pays off his mortgage and pockets a cool sixteen grand
All cash in hand;
‘Sloppy accounting’,
All a mistake and there’s nobody else he can blame,
Oh, what a shame!

All the crooked people,
Where do they all come from?
All the crooked people,
Where do they all belong?

Abuse of the system
Siphoning money into his investments for years
Ended in tears;
In mitigation,
Downing Street battles and strife with an enemy there,
A good friend of Blair.

All the crooked people
Where do they all come from?
All the crooked people
Where do they all belong?

Ah, look at all the crooked people,
Ah, look at all the crooked people.

Elliot Morley,
said Justice Saunders, had quite thrown away his good name,
Covered in shame.
Sixteen month sentence,
Convicted for making deliberately excessive claims;
The end of his games.

All the crooked people,
Where do they all come from?
All the crooked people,
Where do they all belong?

©Macheath

The Ballard of Elliot Morley is a post from: Anna Raccoon

Had we but cash enough, and time,
To print our names would be a crime;
Our lawyers would devise a way
To keep the media at bay.
Super-injunctions fit the bill
When we’ve embarrassments to kill.
For, Lady, you deserve a break
(And I’d be free to play the rake).

But at my back I clearly hear
That bastard Hislop hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast ignominy.
Your reputation turned to dust;
Revealed to Ashley, all my lust.
The Beeb’s a fine and private place,
But Private Eye is on my case.

So now, before our cover’s blown
Let’s claim the high ground for our own.
“I would not gag a fellow hack -
I wished to spare the lovely Jack !
Surely a man and family
May have a little privacy ?”
Thus, though we cannot  thwart the Sun
We’ll still look out for Number One.

©Nick Drew

To his Oh-so-Coy Mistress … is a post from: Anna Raccoon

Oh! Mr. Porter, whatever will you do?
You want to stand as President,
And now they’re bullying you!
Tell me who to vote for as quickly as you can,
Oh! Mr. Porter, what a silly girl I am!

I joined the student union, just like you asked me to,
Came up to town to stop the fees.
Just a week we had of it, all round the place we’d riot
Wasn’t I sorry on the day I had to go back home?
Worried about the kettling, too late to demonstrate,
Dropped a concrete block on plod, my friends all fell about,
Got my photo taken, said ‘good – bye’ “You’re nicked.” the plod did cry,
But where the Hell were you?

Oh! Mr. Porter, whatever will you do?
You want to stand as President,
You say they’re bullying you!
Tell me who to vote for as quickly as you can,
Oh! Mr. Porter, what a silly girl I am!

Then you went to Manchester, and I had to follow you,
You tried to flash the race card: said they’ d called you Jew,
You said you’d give us leadership, and lead us from the front,
But your election portfolio was really an affront,
‘Building on a record year’? The only record thus is this,
The criminal one I got for ‘Riot and Affray’.
Now I’ll never get a job they say.

Oh! Mr. Porter, whatever will you do?
You refuse to stand as President,
You say they’re bullying you!
Tell me who to vote for as quickly as you can,
Oh! Mr. Porter, what a silly girl I am!

Oh! Mr Porter! is a post from: Anna Raccoon

Who wants to spend a year in gaol ?

Who wants their bid for Sky to fail ?

Who wants the bother of a big public fuss ?

A big public fuss is no good for us !

Who wants bad headlines ev’ry day ?

When Chinese markets are in play ?

Who wants shame and opprobrium too ?

And I don’t, cos all I want is Hu.

Who wants the wretched BBC ?

Who wants his stuff online for free ?

Who wants to burden Fox with neutrality ?

What, neutrality ? that’s no use to me !

Who wants to bother with the facts ?

Who wants to pay out any tax ?

Who cares for human rights, or for Liu ?

And I don’t, cos all I want is Hu.

©Nick Drew 2011

Rupert Regrets … is a post from: Anna Raccoon

My aim in life when growing up was to learn a trade,
A bricklayer or a plumber that would have me made,
I wanted all the trappings my earnings would then bring,
A lovely wife and children, a home where I’d be king.

Now I’ve served my time I find it really strange,
As a tradesman I don’t earn enough, I think it’s time for change,
That home I’ve always dreamed of is too far out of sight,
The wife has not materialised – I’ve really had a fright.

I then went on a training course to become a civil engineer,
I thought my God I’ll make it big then I’ll look back and leer,
Little did I realise this was not enough.
With the cost of living rising my life got really tough.

I then trained once again to make designer pottery,
I have to say I’ve failed once more I’ll have to win the lottery,
If I don’t make some money soon my landlord who’s a louse,
Has said to me get on your bike I don’t want you in my house.

I then thought I’ve got it – I’ll become an electrician,
This was it, I’d soon be rich; I was on a mission,
Five years on I’m still alone in a tow-er block,
The money like the electrics has been a dreadful shock.

I need to get a job now that will pay me loads of money,
I want it to be easy going, I want it to be funny,
I’ve slaved for over twenty years and now I’ve got the itch,
To try a life in politics for they’re all filthy rich.

Then I seen the local news there was to be a by-election,
As I knew the chairman I’d ask him for selection,
The chairman knew me well for reasons he’d rather not,
But the info that I had on him left him rather fraught.

His attitude towards me was really quite abrupt,
He said “you’ll make a good MP for you truly are corrupt”,
I won the right to fight the seat at last I’d been selected,
Then when the votes were counted I duly was elected.

When I entered politics and finally took my seat,
My earnings were enormous my life became so sweet,
Now I have my penthouse, my wife and children too,
My mistress and my fancy Jags. I’m among the chosen few.

I pay my wife to work for me, my children and my dog,
They do not ask me for receipts or a financial log,
You even give me money for the maintenance on my boat,
Then you go and pay for a duck house for my moat.

We thank you for the shaving cream and our fancy combs,
But we truly are indebted for our flipping second homes,
That means the house you bought me you don’t make money off it,
For I can sell it, make a mint and keep the bloody profit.

I can claim for anything, as I travel from coast to coast,
I then claim back all I’ve spent including tea and toast,
I travel all around the world languishing in the sun,
Champagne and caviar each day, my life is so much fun.

Everything I buy now I put on my expenses,
All the money that I spend the taxpayer recompenses,
One thing we don’t agree with is travelling with the lower class,
So kindly drop that notion, it really is quite crass.

When they caught me fiddling I heard the speaker say,
“Though you’ll be suspended, we’ll let you keep your pay”,
Whenever I’m caught stealing, I need not fear the sack,
I just keep my head down and within a week I’m back.

Telling you what we fiddle that we will not abide,
We’ll tell you what you need to know, the rest of it we’ll hide,
If I ever lose my seat that won’t cause me tension,
I will then just walk away with my gold plated pension.

Just when I think I’m finished now with all the crossing swords,
I’m suddenly promoted to the illustrious House of Lords,
Now I’ll in live in comfort all my problems now have ceased,
I’ll live my life of grandeur with all the cash I’ve fleeced.

I’ll be rolling in the money then I’ll write my book,
Telling how I sold my soul and the morals I forsook,
I don’t care a damn about the fact the system stinks,
As I am now his lordship – who cares what you lot think?

There is no hint of conscience for now I can be sure,
I’ll never need to work again, I never will be poor,
All the previous jobs I’ve had just gave me endless strife,
That is why I’ve chosen to be in politics for life.

The most I made from other work was as a civil engineer,
Even then I struggled to buy myself a beer,
I’ve been a bricklayer and a plumber, a potter and electrician,
But I didn’t hit the big time till,
- I became a POLITICIAN!

The Plumber’s Tale. is a post from: Anna Raccoon

There’s a one-eyed yellow Scotsman of a dour and sullen hue
There’s a stench of pious bullshit all around
There’s a broken-heated woman dreams of socialism true
And the yellow Scot forever lets her down

He was known as Red McBroon, and he made the Party swoon
Though his cowardice had long begun to smell
But for all he was a wanker he was feted by the bankers
And Polly Toynbee smiled on him as well

He’d been stringing her along with his socialism strong
She’d swallowed all he put into her head
When she judged Blair’s time was short, she said Broon had her support
Provided he would prove himself True Red

He wrote to ask what promise she would like from Red McBroon
They met for lunch as many times before
And fervently she told him then that nothing else would do
But his vote against Blair’s mad Iraqi war

On the night of the debate, Red McBroon was in a state,
His followers could bring mad Tony down
But he’d never in his life had the balls to wield the knife
For he knew the wielder never wears the crown

When it came to the division, courage gave way to ambition
And his scruples failed as surely as his balls
When she heard them read the vote, fury welled up in her throat
And ‘betrayal!’ was her cry around the halls

Now Hell it hath no fury like a jilted Polly Toynbee
First Blair and now McBroon had sold his soul
As she stomped off in the night, for her op-ed piece to write
She vowed vengeance on the yellow Scots arsehole

There’s a one-eyed yellow Scotsman of a dour and sullen hue
There’s a stench of pious bullshit all around
There’s a broken-hearted woman dreams of socialism true
And the yellow Scot forever lets her down.

©Nick Drew

Poor Polly – betrayed again! is a post from: Anna Raccoon

Tony-Blair-Slough-Police-Station-25novembre2004

They went to war in a Sieve, they did,
In a Sieve they went to war:
In spite of all Hans Blix could say,
At Bush’s command on that fateful day
In a Sieve they went to war!
But when no weapons were found in the place
And every one cried, “You have no case”
Said Tony Blair “we’re trusting to luck”
We don’t care a button! we don’t give a f***!
In a Sieve we’ll go to war!’

Far and few, far and few,
Are the scruples of Tony Blair;
His lies are bold and he’s shameless too,
And they went to war in a Sieve.

They went to war in a Sieve, they did
And totally unprepared
With not enough armour for soldiers to don
With too few choppers – the list it goes on
But Blair, he never cared.
And every one said, who saw them go,
“O won’t they be soon undone, you know!
For the list of shortcomings is terribly long,
And happen what may, it’s extremely wrong
To send our boys unprepared!”

Far and few, far and few, Are the scruples of Tony Blair…

The casualty figures soon started to rise,
The coffins they soon came in;
So to cover their arses they lied and lied
(No sign of remorse for the many who died)
And they gave the order to spin!
And they hunkered down at Number 10
And they lied and they spun and they lied again
”Though the charges against us be ever so long
Yet we’ll never admit we were rash or wrong.
While we have breath, we spin!”

Far and few, far and few, Are the scruples of Tony Blair …

©Nick Drew

They went to war in a sieve, they did…. is a post from: Anna Raccoon

Three former Labour MPs and an ex-Tory peer facing expenses fraud allegations have lost appeals over a ruling that they are not protected by parliamentary privilege from prosecution. Elliott Morley, David Chaytor, Jim Devine and Lord Hanningfield had argued at the Court of Appeal that only Parliament could hear their case.

And did these men in recent time
thieve upon England’s voters green?

And was Lord Hanningfield
to fiddle his expenses seen?

And did the hand of Jim Devine
reach out into our barren tills?

And was Chaytor’s thieving clear
among those damned redacted bills?

Bring me the truth of Morley’s gold!
Bring me the means to trounce a liar!

Bring me my constitutional rights! Evidence, unfold!
Bring me a prosecutor of fire!

I will not cease from contumation
nor shall my pen sleep in my hand,

Till we have jailed the thieving scum
from Parliament’s accursed land.

Jerusalem! Halleujah! is a post from: Anna Raccoon

With apologies to the incomparable Flanders and Swann

Another example of a Council’s left hand not knowing what the right is doing. I’ve availed myself of poetic licence to telescope the timescale, but this has all been happening recently in a street near me…

‘Twas on a Monday morning that the sorry tale began;
The locals were complaining so the Council sent a man.
He stood there with his clipboard and eventually he said,
“We shall have to put in speed bumps or someone will wind up dead”.
Oh it all makes work for the working man to do….

‘Twas on a Tuesday morning that the workmen brought their tools,
They shut down all the bus stops (which upset the local schools),
They put up lights and barriers as far as you could see
And set up a diversion, then went home to have their tea.
Oh it all makes work for the working man to do….

On Wednesday they were back again, they worked from morn till noon,
They drilled and dug and shovelled busily and pretty soon
We had half a dozen speed bumps lined up all along the road
And the merry sound of squealing brakes as all the traffic slowed.
Oh it all makes work for the working man to do….

But on the Thursday morning the ambulance cried ‘foul’,
Every time they hit a speed bump they could hear their patients howl,
And it turned out every time a driver met one in a bus
The passengers got whiplash and they made an awful fuss.
Oh it all makes work for the working man to do….

So on the Friday morning, the council sent some men
Who filled the road with barriers and traffic lights again;
They turned the solid speed bumps into hummocks four feet wide
So the wheels of public vehicles could pass on either side.
Oh it all makes work for the working man to do….

On Saturday came lorries, ‘twas the workmen back again
Armed with a council order for resurfacing the lane;
They put back every barrier and every traffic light
And then they went off home again – they wouldn’t work at night.
Oh it all makes work for the working man to do….

On Sunday they were there again, all working on the street
They laid down lots of tarmac, left the edges clean and neat,
And when the job was finished and the surface nearly dry,
All those useful brand new speed bumps were a centimetre high.
Oh it all makes work for the working man to do….

Once again the road’s a rat-run and the residents complain
So the Council’s just about to send the clipboard man again.

©Macheath

bumpety-bumpety-bump-true-story. is a post from: Anna Raccoon

“Tony Blair was warned … that an invasion of Iraq would be illegal the day before he privately assured President George Bush he would support US-led military action, documents released by the Chilcot inquiry reveal… Lord Goldsmith, then the attorney general, repeatedly warned the prime minister of the potential consequences of invading Iraq without fresh UN authority – much to Blair’s irritation.

Goldsmith changed his view shortly before the invasion on 20 March 2003″  (Guardian) (June 30th 2010)

When I was a lad I made it big
As fixer-in-chief in an Attorney’s wig
I cleaned up scandals and I swept up sleaze
And I pandered to the wishes of the Big Big Cheese
(He pandered to the wishes of the Big Big Cheese)
I pandered to the wishes of the Power in the Land
And now I’m sitting here with his balls in my hand

As Attorney General I made such a mark
That he asked me to change my advice on Iraq
I quickly saw the error of my ways
And gave him what he wanted without delay
(He changed his advice without delay)
I told him he could do whatever he planned
So now I’m sitting here with his balls in my hand

Now lackeys all, whoever you may be,
If you want to rise to the top of the tree,
If your conscience isn’t fettered by scruple or qualm,
Be guided by this rule and you’ll meet no harm.
(He is guided by this rule and he’s met no harm)
Keep your own head down during Custer’s Last Stand
And you may come away with his balls in your hand

©Nick Drew

The Fixer-in-Chief in the Attorney’s Wig… is a post from: Anna Raccoon

La la la la la la la la
La la la la la la la la
La la la la la la la la
La la la la la la la la

I just can’t get you out of my past
Boy your cockups are all they think about
I just can’t get you out of my past
Boy it’s more than I dare to think about

La la la la la la la la
La la la la la la la la

I just can’t get you out of my past
Boy your cockups are all they think about
I just can’t get you out of my past
Boy it’s more than I dare to think about

Every tax, every woe
Just to be free of your harms
Won’t you go
Won’t you then go forever
And ever and ever and ever

La la la la la la la la
La la la la la la la la
La la la la la la la la
La la la la la la la la

I just can’t get you out of my past
Boy your cockups are all they think about
I just can’t get you out of my past
Boy it’s more than I dare to think about

There’s a dark secret in me
Don’t leave me locked in your past
Set me free
Let me Leader be
Set me free
Go forever
And ever and ever and ever

La la la la la la la la
La la la la la la la la
La la la la la la la la
La la la la la la la la

I just can’t get you out of my past
La la la la la la la la
La la la la la la la la
I just can’t get you out of my past
La la la la la la la la
La la la la la la la la
I just can’t get you out of my past
La la la la la la la la
La la la la la la la la
I just can’t get you out of my past
La la la la la la la la
La la la la la la la la

With apologies to Kylie Minogue is a post from: Anna Raccoon

Those who can peck,
peck.

Those who can’t peck,
teach pecking.

Those who can’t teach pecking,
administer the teaching of pecking.

Those who can’t administer the teaching of pecking,
regulate the administration of the teaching of pecking.

Those who can’t regulate the administration of the teaching of pecking,
advocate at the bar, for or against the regulation of the administration
of the teaching of pecking.

Those who can’t advocate at the bar, for or against the
regulation of the administration of the teaching of pecking,
legislate about advocating for or against the regulation of the
administration of the teaching of pecking.

And this whole house of cards, legislation about advocating for
or against the regulation of the administration of the teaching of pecking,
is all paid for only by those who can and do peck :

Noting the fat of the cat at the tip of the top -
(or indeed the flats of the cats at the tops of the tips) -
declining to support further, such unedifying edifices -

their resources taxed beyond endurance -
failing to keep their peckers up -
drooping -
wilting -
they simply cease to
peck.

Alan McAlpine Douglas.

Bureaucratic Pecking Order is a post from: Anna Raccoon

At Party Conference in September
Gordon Brown his fate confronts
He must contain his throbbing … brain
While he recalls some famous … foes

He thinks of Blair, who wooed the bankers
Of Kinnock and his way with words
Of Foot and Benn and such great men
From whom poured forth such steaming prose

The party faithful sing of succour
Owing to the working class
The song was writ by some bright wit
Who knew not elbow from his nose

But haunting Brown’s the thought of loss
A by-election may fortell
Let him lose sleep, the brooding creep
And may he after rest in Glenrothes.

©Nick Drew

Trading in Brown Futures…… is a post from: Anna Raccoon