Weekly Muse
Your support helps us to tell the story
From reproductive rights to climate change to Big Tech, The Independent is on the ground when the story is developing. Whether it's investigating the financials of Elon Musk's pro-Trump PAC or producing our latest documentary, 'The A Word', which shines a light on the American women fighting for reproductive rights, we know how important it is to parse out the facts from the messaging.
At such a critical moment in US history, we need reporters on the ground. Your donation allows us to keep sending journalists to speak to both sides of the story.
The Independent is trusted by Americans across the entire political spectrum. And unlike many other quality news outlets, we choose not to lock Americans out of our reporting and analysis with paywalls. We believe quality journalism should be available to everyone, paid for by those who can afford it.
Your support makes all the difference.As St Catherine, foul or fair
So 'twill be next Febryair
The 25th now come and gone
Advice is: Keep the wellies on.
"Politician Told a Lie."
A startling revelation, that.
Well, who'da thunk it? Bloody hell.
Excuse me while I eat my hat.
How many other shocks to come?
"A Car Mechanic Found With Wrench."
"A Cabinet Maker Used a Saw."
"Odd-job Man Kept a Vice On Bench."
But Jeffrey Archer? Surely not?
His champagne and his shepherd's pie
Long down the throats of erstwhile crew
Who rush to join the hue and cry
Such charming captains on the bridge
Who want our money and our votes
And how they scrabble, kick and gouge
When ships go down, for seats in boats.
It isn't what he's done as such
No worse than many of us thought
A snapshot of the iceberg's tip
His cardinal sin was getting caught.
How times can change within one life
And how they had, the papers said.
Contempt long-turned to reverence
His Majesty the Queen was dead.
I had a letter some weeks back.
A mate from my old Putney school.
A correspondence started up;
Robert O and Martin Newell.
And as the pile of missives grew
A haemorrhage of memories came.
"Remember Irish?" Lovely bloke.
I never knew his proper name
A quiet kid and "well turned out"
As our friend Hedley used to say.
We're talking 30 years ago
And yet another ghost to lay.
Irish? Well, we all had nicknames.
I was Shirley (I'd long hair).
Irish? Think his name was Peter.
Pummelled memory. Nothing there.
We left early, undistinguished.
Made a living for ourselves
I became an office runner.
Rob and Irish? They stacked shelves.
Then in Monday's Independent
And that evening on TV
Irish? Robert had to help me.
Brosnan. Pierce. For it was he.
Another eco-battle looms.
This time in Essex, Hockley Woods.
Developer v Wildlife-lovers.
Guess which party got the goods?
A court decided. Luxury homes.
Protesters plan to go to earth.
A badger walked into my local:
"Guess 'ow much my sett is worth?
We only moved 'ere 'ninety-four
I'll be the last one to complain.
They've offered me a 'undred thou'
In cash. Sweet as. No ongoing chain."
Join our commenting forum
Join thought-provoking conversations, follow other Independent readers and see their replies
Comments