the weekly

Jack Queues

I don't like pointless exercise
Like standing in a queue
With both eyes fixed upon a prize
And both feet turning blue.
It isn't English, politesse,
Despite the archetype
Of toast and tea, and formal dress,
And puffing on a pipe.

I want tomorrow yesterday.
It drives me from my wits
To stand here. I won't say hooray
For the spirit of the blitz.
Patience? I won't mention her –
Who cares for etiquette?
I am an English pensioner:
Bring me the internet.

Old fogeys do not have the time
To hang around in churches
And wait for distant bells to chime.
I only want to purchase.
Shopping is the English sport
Where reverence is due:
It is a very foolish thought
To say I love a queue.

Youngsters, I may have to spank you,
If you do not shift:
Never mind this 'please' and 'thank you':
Move it. Get my drift?
Times have altered; clocks move on:
Dunkirk is auld lang syne.
I'm logging on to Amazon.
I will not stand in line.

I am supposed to bite my lips,
To worship the polite:
But if I want a bag of chips
I can't stand there all night.
My hair is grey as ash, my face
Is whey, I have one tooth.
Log me on, or up your pace,
You dreadful English youth.

Read the Telegraph article here

Read Bill's 'Bill Posters' blog by clicking here

Jack Queues
The English love of queues is said to be a thing of the past, with the over-55s particularly intemperate about them.
11 November 2010


Home/Join | List | Next | Previous | Random