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Christian9

      Noticed he was good at sprinting.

      He arranged a 100 metre fun run for his congregation.

      Not only did he finish a disappointing fifth,

      But his vicar beat him wearing a gown and cassocks and clutching an orb.

POEM#1101

      ‘THE INCIDENT IN RYMAN’S’

      Chris hadn’t seen Tania for about three years when they bumped into each other in Ryman’s and he forgot her name.

      This was very embarrassing, to say the least.

      But, typically, Chris talked his way out of trouble.

      And soon he was fucking her against a fax machine that also photocopied.

POEM#584

      ‘SHOPPING GARRETT’

      Lesley Garrett10 frowned.

      Her fist was bleeding.

      ‘I’m afraid we simply don’t recognise that as a method of payment,’ the sales assistant repeated.

      ‘But it’s worth more than that telly!’ Garrett yelled; and she punched the bit on the till again.

      The bald sales assistant went deeply ashen.

      ‘You can’t pay by singing,’

      He reiterated.

      But Garrett had already slotted her backing CD into a nearby Denon.

      She waded back to the till, ordered a weak boy to bag up her widescreen, spat out her gum and began to sing.

POEM#680

      ‘THE FUTILITY OF WAR’

      All the soldiers were on the beach throwing bombs at each other.

      After two hours Alan hit a horrid German and that meant they’d both lost exactly 300 sons/people.

      Richard giggled.

      ‘We’re back where we started.’

      Then an accurate German fired a bullet through his neck, and that was him done, too.

POEM#838

      ‘THE FURIOUS CITIZEN’

      Philip dropped a bomb from his plane onto some foreign soldiers.

      Everyone who knew someone who died was very upset.

      One woman actually shook her fist at Philip’s plane.

POEM#324

      ‘THE SIKH AND THE CHRISTIAN’

      A Sikh and a Christian11

       Traded religions

      For the rest of the day

      The Sikh died that afternoon – an enormous icicle fell through him.

      The Christian – as a tribute – stayed Sikh for a further month.

POEM#1010

      ‘CORPORAL MOORE’S MISSION’

      Corporal Moore

      Was asked to go undercover.

      He would be shot, pierce enemy lines as a ghost

      And – hopefully –

      Report back to Sergeant Cornwall (a medium).

POEM#1183

      ‘THE END’

      The penises in charge of the world

      Set off two whopping great nuclear bombs –

      One going in each direction.

      Everyone died, including the guys who had organised the bombs.

      There was a pretty depressing silence.

      Some Eskimos survived because they were wrapped in thick coats made out of seal blubber and penguin fur.

      They continued to bore holes in the ice and pull fish from the ocean to eat.

POEM#335

      ‘PRAYER’

      Jack Manchester went to church 100 times.

      He got brilliant at praying.

      One day he prayed that Denise would sit on the same pew as him.

      She did, and he allowed himself the luxury of touching her knee with his wrist.

POEM#922

      ‘INVESTMENT’

      Abigail spent twelve grand on a haircut.12

      In fairness to Abigail, it suited her and she pulled a Premiership footballer.

POEM#1182

      ‘THE LOGISTICS OF WAR’

      China and America both wore blue to the war.

      The Chinese were furious.

      ‘Didn’t you get our emails!!!?’

      The Americans explained that Elaine, the girl who dealt with all that side of things, was off on maternity leave.

      They agreed it was their bad and offered to go skins until their away kit could be flown over.

      They stripped down to their boots and trousers and put their war jackets in the backs of their tanks.

      Then they poured forward across the deserts, shouting their heads off and firing their guns and chucking grenades and rocks at the Chinese.

      The Chinese returned fire,

      Warm and smart in their blue fatigues.

PAGE#1095

      ‘GOD BEING GOD’

      God made a cloud in the shape of a famous politician taking a shit.

      Then he waited for people to notice it,

      Trying hard to suppress his giggles.

      WOOING, SCREWING AND CHEWING

My father pulled my mum at a fancy dress party. He was dressed up as a schoolmaster and she was there as a pirate. One doesn’t like to rake over old ground but I imagine he probably spluttered some bon mot about piracy, got her giggling, engaged her in conversation, discussed his voluntary work as a scout leader and then possibly had her feel his beard. There would have been nothing smutty or improper. Because it was a different era! There then would have followed a respectful period of courting. My father would have bought or stolen flowers for my mother and she would have blushed and entered whichever restaurant or bingo hall my father had opened the door to and ushered her into. He would have been respectful, and ultimately he would marry and sleep with her. My mother. These days such exploits would be unheard of. These days people grab whoever’s nearest, get off with them, get their full name for Facebook purposes and hope that warmth and companionship will automatically follow. Young men and women just don’t have the patience to wait for a fancy dress party. Their heads have been contaminated by Page 3 and Skins and Richard Keys and pornographic websites, and they roam around in a daze, like zombies, banging into each other, falling on top of each other, humping each other, apologising to each other. It doesn’t do to overthink this sort of thing but I imagine part of the problem is the fact that the Church has had a difficult few decades, so they can’t make people act the right way like they used to be able to. So you’ve then got to ask why this has happened. How has the Church lost it? For my money, it’s in large part due to the fact that people have begun to find the sermons limited and unexciting, and

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