1917: Nine Months That Shook The World

On Thursday, the women cried Bread, Peace and Land
On Friday, the workers walked out, joined their stand
On Saturday, more marched, a whole city spanned
On Sunday, the Tsar made the Duma disband
By Monday, Provisional and Soviet command

Farewell, Tsar
He went too far
Nasty Nick
Legged it quick
And now he's off -
Bye, Romanov

When Will The Revolution Come?

When the shepherd can't whistle
and the sheep will not herd
The alarm couldn't sound
and when nobody stirred

When the owner growls Sit!
and the dog won't stay
The conductor drops the baton
and the orchestra won't play

That's when the revolution comes

When the piper can't pipe
and the children won't follow
When the lenders can not lend
and the borrowers won't borrow

Whipping it all out

This morning, I was at Homerton Hospital preparing for surgery next month. So, what's occurring?

Back in January, the medics discovered something dodgy on my cervix. It turned out to be a cervical ectropion - nothing too serious, but it would need some investigation and treatment. (It's probably related to my having had endometriosis for many years, though fortunately, much more mildly than many women do.) Well, I pondered to myself, what's the point of treating this ectropion thing? Aged fifty, with all my child-bearing done, I don't even need a cervix any more anyway. 

Then I remembered the long list of Tamoxifen side effects, and that it included increased likelihood of uterine cancer. That's annoying, I thought: I don't even need my uterus any more.

And then I found out that having your ovaries removed reduces your chance of breast cancer coming back. That's interesting, I mulled: I don't even need my ovaries any more.

You can see where I'm going here, can't you?


Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that.
How awful.
I don't know what to say.

At least they caught it early.
Oh, they didn't?
Well, I'm sure you'll still be OK.

My friend's got that.
She's having chemo -
Head down the toilet all day.

My mum had that. They gave her a year.
That was sixteen years ago -
She's still here!


They sleep in mansions instead of tents
They never scale the perimeter fence
There's high-class bogs for the ladies and gents

Only the rich elite may come
Get orf their land, you common scum
Tarquin's squiffy on a shot of rum

So tell us a true-blue campfire story
It's better than bloody Jackanory
The tales that are told of GlastonTory

My Love Loves the River Lea

My love loves the River Lea
Discovered in recovery
Visits uncover mystery
On trips with children one, two, three
Took looks and books and maps and found
His sanctuary, his way around
Walking Summer at Rammey Marsh
Fetch the ball tossed in the grass
A cup of tea and a water tub
At the café by the rowing club


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