The Mirror Crack'd
I am as British as bilberry pie
I sleep through my British nights snugly
I drink all my beer, am addicted to fry
Look at my mug: I’m plug ugly
The Queen has my word, my devotion and duty,
My salute to the Union Jack
Like her I’m bereft of all physical beauty
I look as sad as a sack
English or Irish or Welsh, (not the Scots),
I have some horrible features,
Complexion is poor, it’s more than the spots:
Sour cream and some addled old peaches
No good you telling me that I should ‘chin up’,
For I’m plain as the nose on my face,
Never a poster boy, never a pin-up,
Lacking style, lacking looks, lacking grace
My appearance is merely a horrible folly
And my smiling as crooked as Gove’s,
With a sneer on my lip, and each ear a cauli,
And my eyes like a couple of cloves
But the Scots … well, they’re off, and they’re utterly dashing,
And they’re gorgeous both Celtly and Pictly.
Good luck to them all. Aye, you look smashing.
That’s the reason you’ll never miss Strictly
Click here for an Independent article
Click here for an Irish article on the Scots referendum
