…incompatible technologies

Yes, thanks to the wonders of Mac and Windows and their almost complete imcompatibility this morning, the 1500-word piece I wrote last night remains trapped on th iPod. Tonight (with any luck) the wireless network at home will finally be operational again, so I will post it then. In the meantime, here’s a poem I wrote about modern-day Britain for my creative writing group. All comments welcome.

Festive greetings to you all!

The State of the Nation

‘Oh, the sun never sets on the Empire’
my great grandfather used to exclaim,
but our nation has gone to the dogs recently
and I feel that I ought to complain

On behalf of the much-maligned gentry,
(that gentile and refined little bunch);
for the gentlemen Lords of the Manor I speak,
as indeed for the ladies who lunch

I must raise our concerns for Britannia
and the state of her subjects within,
for she once ruled the waves while the world watched in awe,
but today she is living in sin

Britannia now lives in a tower block
in a flat on the twenty-third floor
and she watches her thirty-inch colour tv
then complains to her friends that she’s poor

But she dresses in Gucci and Prada
whilst the rest of us make do with tweed
and she spends all night drinking and laughing with friends
while the rest of us sit home and read.

She’s had more than her fair share of lovers
though they barely remember her name:
she gets out of her mind on Bacardi and coke
and then loses all concept of shame

Yes the country has gone to the dogs
and I know it’s a common lament,
that I can’t walk the streets for the drunkards and yobs
but my taxes are paying their rent.

And Burberry once was a stylish design
till the masses got hold of their stuff.
Now I’ve had to abandon my handbag and shoes
as they’re making me look a bit rough!

Now you may think that I am disdainful
if not just a despicable snob
but I don’t see why we, as the landed elite,
must now go out and find ourselves jobs

We are born to be movers and shakers
and on our backs the Empire was built,
yet the proles treat us all with derision and scorn
and they do it without any guilt!

I can barely afford my own gas bill –
heating nine-hundred rooms isn’t cheap;
yet I’ve sold all my land for affordable homes
and I still have to earn my own keep!

I have opened my gardens to tourists
and they stomp round the manor with glee,
yet the cost of repairing the damage they wreak
is not even recouped by the fee.

Is there nothing to stop this debasement
of the customs we once held so dear;
this descent into egalitarian hell
where the classes will all disappear?

I would start a refined revolution
but for want of a rousing refrain:
‘We have nothing to lose but our country estates,
and in truth there is not much to gain.’

So the next time you’re shopping in Harrods
or you‘re turning up late for a ball,
you are not living life in the blue-blooded style:
you are scum, like the rest of us all.

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