Such a prescient, beautiful sentiment.

Tuesday, 21 September 2010

BBC Breakfast Cuts.

"Bacon" Cuts Or Government Savings?

Two faces you would never tire of slapping.

Two, tiny,  twee, chatterati are we,
Too small to cut, so you must see,
Not ours, of course at the BBC,
That for Billy must never bee.

Or, indeed for slinky Sian.
For whom the cuts were for her former man,
When his poor heart was not to charm,
Her anymore and he was cut!

Yet fie, let not those cuts speak,
It's the loss of our dear Labour,
And there return we seek.

So savings, sense and competency,
Must fall beneath our "cuts" of hyperbole.
We talk of hair and Jewish boys,
Anything  where cut's become employed. 

Playthings of the left are we,
The mantra daily must be,
Cuts about us here,
And cuts about us everywhere.

Let not our propaganda fail,
We must at every second, bewail,
A regime of some commonsense,
Can never fail us to incense.

So cuts it is at every turn,
Our duty is to ever burn.
With smug delight,
The joy of debt we never earn.

For smug and funded twats are best,
When every morning free to jest,
About the poverty and frets
We are so safe from, by their largess.

Here's Carol with the weather doom,
Then sport and cheats enter the room,
Then books and plays and films to plug,
Be careful not to be a mug.

By that ensure at every sec.,
You say "cuts" for what the heck,
Every time we say and use that word,
We get a bonus of a third.

A third of our uncut pay,
Does pay for us to go away,
Each week, to somewhere
Bright and gay.

Perhaps a yacht or super cruise,
Anywhere there is free booze,
All paid for saying "cuts" apace,
For we have no need of saving face.

For we are chatterati, we.

Dedicated to the BBC Goebbels of Labour and Nick Robinson's pieces of silver.


  1. Two little Troooooots, are we!

    Good one, OR. ;-)

  2. Wonderful stuff OR!

    Took me right back to extra tuition days (for Pure Mathematics as it happens - but in the distant background there warbled Three Little Maids, A Wandrin' Minstrel and - for some reason - On Mother Kelly's Doorstep by the local choral society). I can still taste the bloody awful coffee from the machine. 6d, a bloody tanner, for stuff that looked like bat piss. Ahhh - memories!

  3. Thanks, Caratacus. How on earth can you know what Bats' piss looks like?

  4. OR - I could tell you but I'm not sure you'd believe me.

    At least I didn't say it tasted like bat piss...