Canto the Fourth

In which Deco turns up…the cheating Twat…and things come to
a Head, amid great Drama…but then the Poet gets overexcited
about Snow, and goes Off on One, for fecking Ages.

Days came and went, relentless as the tides,
.Which sway the silent bones of sunken mariners;
They hung upon the news from Merseyside,
.Like schoolboys, at the mercy of examiners;
Their jokes were forced, but still they laughed, and tried
.To down Coronas (G4orce downed some Kaliburs);
Until, with still no sign of a reprieve,
The bells rang out for holy Christmas Eve.

And then a stranger peered into the pub.
.He looked like dwarfish gimptard Ronny Corbett,
Or shoeless Saffer nutjob Zola Budd;
.I’m sure you’ve seen him, flying into orbit.
His cocky countenance lets loose a flood
.Of feelings in me, best described as morbid;
He plays for Portugal, and Barcelona,
And when he saw him, Andy got a boner.

“Boa tarde,” said the nauseating link-man,
.(Which means ‘Good evening’, not ‘The snake’s a spastic’);
He’d stopped by for some beers, like Noodle’s bin-man,
.And glancing round him, unenthusiastic,
Addressed the landlord, “Can I get a drink, man?
.A Sol with lime, perhaps…do you take plastic?”
With which the sly, repellent little tard
Then held up an imaginary card.

It was his lucky day, for most improbably,
.None of the punters twigged that it was Deco,
He didn’t suffer murder, rape or robbery,
.Though total silence met the cheating fecko;
Let fall a pin, or peppercorn, or Wobbly,
.And you’d have raised the rafters with the echo:
For seldom do they hear a strange or foreign tongue,
In that good inn (well, shed),‘The Queen of Warrington’.

Then Welsh Red spoke: “The foreigner’s the thief!
..They stole the Stone of Scone, and Elgin Marbles -”
“No, we stole those,” said Ray, “You fecking chief,”
..“Who gives a fuck?” roared Mike, “Now let’s play hardball!”
“He’s innocent!” “He’s lying through his teeth!”
..The room filled up with shouts, and voices garbled;
Then Twenty-Sixth Of pushed aside his chips,
And these words passed his ketchup-rubied lips:

“Now, now, lads, that’s no way to treat a guest!
.He didn’t steal our likeness of Katona;
He’s tired and thirsty – let’s show him our best,
.So set him up a stool, and a Corona;
Relax, Mad Mike - don’t glare, give it a rest,
.And Andy, put away that bloody boner;
Prove it’s a classy place, where he’s arrived -
I’m sure he’s not the type who’d like a dive.”

‘And then a stranger peered into the pub’

“So how’d you find this place?” inquired Ray,
..To break the ice, and shoot the winter breeze.
“That picture on the roof showed me the way,”
..Replied the cheat, “It led me here with ease.
You see, like men of old, and Yanks today,
..I cannot read – not even Portuguese.”
“But our Sign’s been purloined…” said g4orce gingerly -
“Like feck,” Deco replied, and faked an injury.

They rushed outside. Behold, the sight they saw:
.It seems the winter chill had grown more placid,
Until at length, the feeble sun could thaw
.The snow, which had lain deep, and thickly matted;
The crew gazed up, their faces white with awe,
.And Twenty-Sixth Of croaked, “Well I’ll be twatted…”
For on the roof, just where it ought to be,
Was perched the pub-sign, swinging jauntily.

They trooped back in, lamenting, “Just our luck,
.The Sign’s been on the roof the whole time! Shit!
Damn it, bloody hell, this sodding sucks,
.Cocking wanking frigging twatting tit;
Cunting arses, bollocks, bugger, fuck,
.Pissing bastard quimflaps, cockbiscuit…”
Thus did the gang express their sad regrets,
Like MacEnroe, in traffic, with Tourettes.

They might have set Crouch free, had not the fear
.Of legal repercussions held them back;
But Shane had yet another bright idea:
.“Let’s ram a load of fireworks up his crack,
And blast him at Iran, or North Korea,
.Afghanistan, or Bradford, or Iraq…
That way, at least our disappointing error
Might go some way to help the War on Terror.”

So off they sent young Mickey, into town,
.To buy some fireworks (deaf to Ray’s objections);
They had their Sign back, yet their heads hung down
.In attitudes of sorrow and dejection.
Even Andy’s grin became a frown,
.Half-hearted and demure was his erection -
So hard upon their spirits was the blow
That they’d been dealt, by cold, deceitful Snow.

O whitest Snow, how black you are at heart!
. (That’s racist); for you make the dreary world
A blank new canvass, primed for vibrant art,
.A virgin future, flawlessly unfurled;
A second chance at childhood! A fresh start!
.But then you thaw, and back our thoughts are hurled
To jobs and duties, borrowings and spendings,
And council-tax, and shopping-lists, and endings.

One time I saved a snowball from the winter,
.Till August, in the freezer, just to lob
At my sunbathing, unsuspecting sister,
.(I nicked the scheme from off Calvin and Hobbes);
If life were like the comic, I’d’ve missed her,
.But no, I caught her, plum, right in the gob;
The ‘snow’ was ice, the throw was far from gentle,
It made her bleed, and she went fecking mental.

You know that Anna Livvia, my mate,
.Of Shit Sandwich/Made-up Elevens fame -
The one who told me “Liam Miller’s great”?
.Well, his wife, a few years back, used to claim
That Snow, in works of literature, equates
.With Death; and now I think I feel the same -
Though at the time, we’d tell her it was bollocks,
And then get thrashed all day, like alcoholics.

“The Eskimos have fifty words for snow!”
.Except they don’t, they have no more than two.
Nor do they force their elderly to go
.Outside to die (though, between me and you,
That seems a pretty good idea); And so,
.If they don’t do all that, what do they do?
Oh right, they use the ice to make an igloo,
Big deal – in Chad, they make their huts from pig-poo.

When I was just a tiny boy, my mum
.Once took me up a hill, upon a sledge;
So far, so good. She then did something dumb,
.And left me free, to slide over the edge;
I slammed into a tree, and broke my thumb -
.I’m fortunate I wasn’t left a veg;
Why did she leave me? So that she could natter
To some daft bint, re shit that doesn’t matter.

“Enough of fecking Snow!” I hear you cry,
.(Like last year, when I banged on about bees,
And hardly anyone could work out why,
.Save sleepy circle-jerker French Henry…)
Alright - now Mickeyredlad, wild of eye,
.Burst in upon the WGC,
And soon their world was rocked to its foundations
By his bizarre and shocking revelations: