Whatever the story of the day may be, the Bard can be counted upon to resume the tale in suitably irreverent or profound phrase.
On National Poetry Day in October, Richard and Annabel invited verse on the plight of the financial world, and the continuing strife caused by the Credit Crunch. It's amazing how many things are being blamed on the economic slowdown, as the R&A Bard explains…
We're eating fish fingers so may be that's why
The only one smiling is Captain Bird's eye
It's baked beans for dinner and baked beans for lunch
Now we've all got wind of the great credit crunch
They tell me that tripe can taste good if you fry it
But small metal fasteners are my staple diet
If it's cheap there is nothing we'll not try to munch
I'll even try Mcdonalds in the great credit crunch
But one pleasant thought has just entered my head
Less time spending money means more time in bed
I must tell the missus, she'll say "thanks a bunch!"
And pray for the end of the great credit crunch
In August 2008, a care home was in the news for allowing an elderly resident to have a wish fulfilled. An unusual wish - she wanted a man in a thong to serve her fish 'n' chips! Here's how the R&A Bard summed it all up…
In the twilight of my earthly years, I have but one last wish
For a portion of the crispest chips served with the whitest fish
Topped off with salt and vinegar, you really can't go wrong
And served for me by a handsome man in nothing but a thong
My care home really cares for us and makes our dreams come true
Days out in Blackpool, pints of beer, there's nothing they can't do
Some folks want to see a show or hear their favourite song
But no-one's ever asked them for a waiter in a thong
My family told me I was madder than a hatter
I said "I don't want normal things, I want to go one batter"
They cried "you are too old for that and you should hold your tongue"
But I want my chips from a Chippendale in a shiny sequined thong
In May, it emerged that the work of the man acknowledged as the "World's Worst Poet" - William McGonagall - could fetch several thousand pounds at auction. Step forward one of the world's greatest poets…
Twas in the year eighteen hundred and twenty five
That the great Scottish poet was himself first alive
He was born in the Edinburgh, the great capital
Where life was often happy, if occasionally quite dull.
Brave William was a boy who we really all do hope has
Forgiven his mum for giving him the middle name of Topaz
He was a weaver when poetry he first began conceiving
And his friends all gently told him he'd be better off just weaving.
Alas, Alas, in eighteen seventy-nine the Tay bridge fell
And Bill took up his pen, the story sad to tell...
"And the cry (he wrote) rang out all round the town,
Good heavens! Look, everyone! The Tay Bridge has just blown down."
But William's many talents still would fill another page
As an actor he once did stumble across the mighty stage
He played Macbeth but at the end when wounded he did lie
He couldn't leave the spotlight so he just refused to die.
And when the Great Lord Tennyson departed from this life
William took up his coat and said "bye" to his wife
To London in the rain he went and got there in a sorry state
To ask the Queen if he could be appointed Poet Laurete
In the month of September only on the second day
In nineteen - 0 - two I am very sorry to say
The famous Scottish Poet passed away
But his ghost haunts us now seeking his very last wishes
Haggis, neeps and tatties served on Desert Island Dishes
Back in January, the Chief Executive of Northamptonshire County Council recorded videos for broadcast on YouTube, during which Katherine Kerswell urged employees to "taste the strawberry" (we still don't know what she means) Here's the R&A Bard's take on it:
Some councils are like lions, proud guardians of our land
Some see themselves as angels, always there to lend a hand
Some are just like soldiers - their courage we salute
But I see mine as a strawberry and that's a kind of fruit
My council runs the highways that go from A to B
Past burnt out cars and landfill sites - our lovely scenery
While other councils fix their roads and seem to give a damn
My council is a strawberry so you're always in a jam
Some councils run their schools well and teach all those that truant
In maths they learn to calculate, in languages they're fluent
Those youngsters pass exams and use the skills that they have shown
But we let them pick strawberries down the local "pick your own"
Some councils love their heritage and celebrate their past
With popular attractions and monuments that last
Though we attack our history like a really hungry vulture
We've got yoghurt full of strawberry so at least we have some culture
Some council bosses want to serve the public, so they say
And make things run much smoother in each and every way
Some say I took this because the salary's a dream
My council is a strawberry; I'm the cat that got the cream
Following a discussion on the underwear preferences of Richard and Annabel's male listeners, the Bard felt moved to pen the following:
I'm an undercover journalist
Working in Northants
I've covered almost anything
But I've never mentioned pants
I've been on many war fronts
In Austria, Turkey, France
But I draw the line at Y Fronts
Cos I don't discuss my pants
I've tackled politicians
On the theories they advance
I stop them looking at their briefs
As I care not for their pants.
I've met lots of famous sportsmen
Who you'd all know at a glance
But I'm not involved with boxers
Cos I don't report on pants
I've shocked a lot of listeners
with facts I've found by chance
But the biggest shock stays secret
Cos it's hidden in my filing cabinet.
On the day that news arrived of the newly-published Testicle Cookbook, the Bard offers his thoughts on the rather unappetising recipes…
If you have a free minute, why not just have a look
At a rather unusual recipe book
You can cook for a lunch, a party or festival
With a great new ingredient that they call a testicle
If you're counting the pennies then take it from me
Whenever you buy one, you can get one more free
With gravy or sauce or wine you can coat 'em
Just make sure you get them all fresh from the scrotum
So gird up your loins - ask for them at the shops
Don't get the thighs or the legs or the chops
They taste far better than the finest cuts
As long as there's no-one allergic to nuts
Your cooking will soon be admired by all
And no-one can claim that they've not had a ball
You'll be asked to cater for everyone's frolics
And all that you need is a good load of
