I Always Wear Sun Glasses

I always wear sun glasses
Because the sun never sets
On the British Empire
You must have learnt this in classes
Because History never lets
Britain's fame expire
Of course some Brits are asses
Because their stupid pets
Poo-poo all over the shire

ps: I must thank Facebook for inspiring me with this poem. There exists a group on Facebook named: "I always wear sun glasses because the sun never sets on the British empire". I was instantly enchanted by it.

Spring Forward, Fall Back

What a charming British tradition
Summer Time they call it, oh bless
Every October the clocks go back in unison
All rejoice at an extra hour in bed, no less
But comes Spring, a full hour'll face demolition
The bloody clocks March forward, what a mess

This never fails to cause confusion
Through which the Brits aim to impress
The rest of the world via substitution
Of every common way with one less
Bloody simple. How's that for complication
Whatever next's anyone's guess

A London Bus

A London bus is like...

a summer storm

You wait months for a single drop
All of a sudden, the road's aswarm

A London bus is like...

a buzzing busy bee

Its roaring engine pisses you off so
That you wish you could kick it and flee

A London bus is like...

a piece of modern art

Curious tourists flock to admire it
Only to discover it's falling apart

A London bus is like...

a red herring

You follow the timetable and route map
It gets diverted. All routes are erring

A London bus is like...

a misleading Italian signpost

Your heart's lifted when you spot one. Alas!
It reads "Not in Service", but means "Get Lost!"

Weather; Bleeping Brit Weather

If you live in England you will know
That Weather could very well blow
Your hat off your head and make you bow
Until you gasp for breath and vow
To take the first flight out of this cow
Of a country where the sun's low

Happened to me one weekend
We marched in a storm no end
Icy gusts whipping us front and end
Winds howling in our ears you understand
We were after hot tea, scones with jam and
Clotted cream, courtesy of The Orchard land

On the way back there was hail
And snow and rain and joggers trail
Still we marched and marched without fail
Our bare faces pushing againt the gale
Our skins looking all colours but pale
We wanted to get home and check email
We knew it would be foolish to rail
For Weather would only laugh not quail