I’ve tried it with my finger nails, I’ve tried it with my thumbs.
I’ve tried it with a pencil and that little stick that comes
embedded in my mobile. The display just doesn’t change.
The icons stay immovable, refuse to re-arrange.
The screen is in the headrest, on a long haul flight, economy.
Attempts to find a channel have eliminated bonhomie.
It’s “thump-screen technology” for me, as touch don’t work.
The guy that’s in the seat in front just thinks that I’m a jerk.
I jab and prod his headrest as he’s trying to have a kip,
and there’s something in his attitude that says he’s going to flip.
(To the tune of the Dambusters’ March)
In ’52 Elizabeth became our Gracious Queen,
For 60 years as Head of State such changes she has seen,
The war had been quite shattering,
Our chip shop took a battering,
We listened to the radio, and children played with Plasticine,
When she acceded to the throne the world was brown and beige,
Austerity and rationing were symbols of the age
To play outside was still alright, the new TVs were black and white
And learning how to read and write not boring.
No one should ever frown on
Liz when she has her crown on
She has ruled with dignity
She deserves our cheers.
Be gone republican purists
She fetches in the tourists
Thrilled by pomp and circumstance throughout the years
Though she appears on postage stamps she’s never ever licked.
She has some barmy relatives she’d rather not have picked.
Who’ve talked about transgressions in seedy life confessions
And though at times she must have felt
“Those blighters need their backsides kicked”
She never flinched or lost her rag and used her Monarch’s power,
To send a gang of Beefeaters to lock them in the Tower.
Instead she’s simply hung about to keep the silly blighters out
and hope the crown will jump a generation.
Though she has loads of jewelry
She doesn’t like tomfoolery
When her kids went off the rails
She gave them such a look.
She still maintains discretion,
Through each embarrassing session
When minor royals grab the spoils
Or write a book.
Her Uncle was a bounder and her Mum bet on the nags.
And drank and swore a little bit and really liked her fags.
Her sister was quite wayward, and in her young heyday would,
Insist on being naughty with a sporty bloke who liked his Jags.
Though thrust into the limelight by her Dad’s untimely end,
Our Queen has never compromised by following the trend
Of finding someone else to blame for behaviour that’s a cause of shame
Whilst politicians try to frame advisors.
On coins but in nobody’s pocket,
Does her bit and we shouldn’t knock it.
On her diamond jubilee, she’s our crowning jewel.
We don’t need aircraft carriers
Who cares we ditched our Harriers
She’s something that the Yanks ain’t got and that’s so cool.
We’re glad that we’ve still got our Queen, our crow……ning…..jewel.