I thought I'd rewrite a few of my own nursery rhymes following the news that kids in school will now be taught to recite Baa, baa, white sheep. How about Wee Willie Winkie ran through the town, upstairs downstairs in his nightgown. He's now being held against his will in the secure unit of a local looney bin under section 24 of the Mental Health Act 1962. Or, little Abdul Horner, sat in the corner, eating a halal pie, he put in his thumb and pulled out a gun, and said...well we don't know what he said actually as he's only lived here for 15 years and doesn't speak a word of the Queen's. Baa, baa white sheep have you any wool? No sir, no sir, at least none that's been ethically sourced in this country. I can do you some nice Peruvian stuff flown in by jumbo jet from the foothills of the Andes this very morning for maximum freshness. Right, I'll have three bags of that then. One for the Master, acquitted of having sex with young boys in 1974, but found guilty of having sex with young boys in 1972, 1973, 1975 and 1976, one for Dame Judy Dench and one for the little boys of same sex parentage that lives in Sir Bob Geldof Avenue next to the Synagogue.
You couldn't make it up could you. I spent much of the weekend dozing on the sofa watching telly. Glastonbury was on, although sad to say there was no Snoop Dog, Bone Jovi or any other canine related artists. The big news seemed to be the lack of female headliners and now we know why as one scored a spectacular own goal. She missed her slot cos she was doing her hair. It takes ages she said. Why NOT start doing your hair well before your show time. Aaagh no where's my handbag I've left it in the car, I've got to back to fetch it.