And it never was, coming as it did, second-hand from Mitcham Stadium, the brainchild of entrepreneur Sydney Parkes who built it in 1935, hosting among other things, rugby league, baseball and greyhound racing and, although the latter is disputed, the gable was built to be in line with the finish line.
Mitcham Stadium closed in 1955 and the stand was bought by Leyton Orient who gave it a new lease of life at Brisbane Road in 1958.
There’s much more of this story here and here, but in the meantime, our brand new video premieres next week, and you can find that here:
Let me tell you ‘bout a boy named Harry And all the fuss about the girl he married She weren’t like them, she was a celebrity No eyes of blue, American too She would never fit in to their family
But she sang Harry, Harry won’t you fly with me It could be so much better Shooting Taliban together What a power couple we will be
Let me tell you ’bout a bloke called Charlie Spent his whole life waiting for his mum’s last party Crowned at last and everything would be alright Then son number one And son number two Had a set too and broke the dog’s bowl in a fight
While she sang Harry, Harry won’t you fly with me It could be so much better Shooting Taliban together What a power couple we will be
Let me tell you ’bout a woman called Camilla Charlie’s regular date for dinner The Princess of All Our Hearts ain’t for me I wanna be your tampon Come on, let’s get it on I don’t care if I’m indiscreet
And she sang Harry, Harry won’t you fly with me It could be so much better Shooting Taliban together What a power couple we will be
Let me tell you ’bout a prince called William The whole of Wales was his dominion Hier to the throne, all he has to do is stay alive But he fought with his brother In the absence of his mother About their choice of royal wives
And she sang Harry, Harry won’t you fly with me It could be so much better Shooting Taliban together What a power couple we will be
Let me tell you ’bout the whole damn lot of ‘em How much better it would be to be shot of ‘em Off with their heads, and those of all their friends Gold, gilt and greed Something we don’t need And that’s the way the story ends
While she sang Harry, Harry won’t you fly with me It could be so much better Shooting Taliban together What a power couple we will be
Stephen Graham OBE Virginia McKenna from Born Free Brian May, well he was in Queen Dara McNulty, the naturalist teen Four Lionesses but not the others Two dead kids’ campaigning mothers Lissie Harper for law reforming Rachel Riley who hated Corbyn Ivan Menezes for running a company Like Johnny Boden CBE Over half the honours still go to blokes Frank Skinner got one for telling jokes All summoned to Empire by royal shout-out Inside the tent now, pissing out
Robbie Coltrane, Bernard Cribbins Vivienne Westwood had a good innings Sidney Poitier, Ray Liotta Ronnie Spector, the Big C got her Wilko Johnson, Jet Black Christine McVie from Fleetwood Mac Hot Lips Houlihan, Dot Cotton Mrs McClusky won’t be forgotten Irene Cara, Keith Levene Elizabeth, who played the Queen Dame Olivia Newton-John Leslie Phillips dinged his last dong Nichelle Nichols, Kirstie Alley Fashion designer Issey Miyake Taylor Hawkins, Barry Cryer Olive, when her house caught fire Jerry Lee Lewis, Loretta Lynn Terry Hall, Joyce Sims Maxi Jazz, Coolio Meat Loaf revved up some place to go Pelé, Mark Lanegan Shane Warne, Dennis Waterman Bill Turnbull, Raymond Briggs Paul Ryder’s played his last gigs As has Martin Duffy too Angela Lansbury, Shirley Hughes George Cohen, David McKee Big Bird’s neighbour in Sesame Street James Caan, Hilary Mantel Vangelis, and Fletch as well Ruth Madoc out of Hi-de-Hi! And many, many more besides
Rover was the best dog we ever had Rover made a lovely kebab With chilli sauce he was really not bad Bless him, Rover, what a good lad Rover was the best dog we ever had
From Elwood’s Organic Dog Meat Farm Elwood’s Organic Dog Meat Farm Elwood’s dogs never come to no harm ‘Til they meet their fate And end up on your plate
From corgi curry to Pomeranian stew There ain’t a dish that dog meat cannot do Local, organic and sustainably raised You can eat ‘em grilled, you can eat ‘em braised Always fresh, why not pick up a cut or two
From Elwood’s Organic Dog Meat Farm Elwood’s Organic Dog Meat Farm Elwood’s dogs never come to no harm ‘Til they meet their fate And end up on your plate
Sausages should be made of sausage dogs And Labrador steaks, well just because Dogs and bitches make the best sandwiches Enjoyed of course With our special sauce
From Elwood’s Organic Dog Meat Farm Elwood’s Organic Dog Meat Farm Elwood’s dogs never come to no harm ‘Til they meet their fate And end up on your plate
*Lost in the mists of time is Steve singing Mary Had a Tory Baby. It went out live on a Punk 4 The Homeless live stream never to be seen again. If anyone has a copy, please let us know.
They’re running rather than getting beat They’re starting to vote with their feet The rats are leaving faster than the ship can sink Like their shit doesn’t stink Like their shit ain’t on the brink Like it ain’t shit to think That money goes to money is okay That money goes to money is the only way That money goes to money Goes to money goes to money
Meanwhile in an imaginary navy Penny’s insincere smile Mouths coyly look at me Admire my philanthropy Admire my new food pantry While opposing free school meals Don’t that just hit you in the feels? A proper Scrooge turned fake Marley As the money goes to money Goes to money goes to money
The posties on the picket know They’ve got to hold the line Firefighters, nurses, teachers Among the left behind As the money goes to money And the warm bank number grows The money goes to money And the pubs begin to close As the money goes to money Goes to money goes to money
They ain’t here to manage the crisis Just the TV news This morning’s media message is Another excuse to bruise The money goes to money As they put the word about That there ain’t no money You’ll just have to do without As the money goes to money Goes to money goes to money
Lynch’s mob don’t need to strike The train’s already fucked And Mrs Smith’s replacement hips Well, she’s just out of luck Hancock, pushed, jumped anyway Says he’s still got lots to say Not even in opposition Would there be a point to listen While the money goes to money Goes to money goes to money
The money knows no borders The money knows no shame The money only hears the sighs Of the rich who coo its name Like Michelle, Robber Baroness The PPE millionairess Banished as Rishi fakes it tough She’ll be back soon enough As the money goes to money Goes to money goes to money
Money goes to money While the rest get less and less Money goes to money What a fuckin’ mess
Sir Richard, Knight of the Shire in 1339 Son Richard, Speaker of the House in Richard II’s time Another Richard, Lord of Bures Then William, then Edward, the name endures Another Edward, a baronet Without a peerage, as high as you get Then Henry, married the King’s daughter Then James Waldegrave, sailing back over the water For a seat in the Lords, mates with the PM His son James, George II’s best friend His son William, an admiral, nice one His son Granville only a vice one As Britannia ruled the waves Next was George, the 4th Earl Waldegrave Who lived at Strawberry Hill The house is in the family still George and James were 5th and 6th The 7th, George, the name still sticks The 8th another William With still more Waldegraves to come He was known as Viscount Chewton With his land to hunt and shoot on Succeeded by Henry, who the records tell Was succeeded by Geoffrey, who married a Grenfell Whose daughter… yes it must be It’s Susan, Baroness Hussey Who knows just what it’s like to belong And demands to know where you are from
On Friday 16 December, we’ll be playing at a fundraiser for local food banks and supporting local homeless people at The Hoe Street Club in Walthamstow. It’ll be a rare outing for Steve, Lol and Simon playing as an acoustic (but plugged in) three-piece.
And on Saturday 17 December, Steve makes the trip to Nottingham, acoustic guitar in hand, for a Punk 4 The Homeless all-dayer at the Sumac Centre and (shh) a celebration of Eagle’s birthday.
Will there be poetry? Will there be Christmas songs? Can Steve remember the words to Mary Had a Tory Baby? There’s only one way to find out….
Steve White & The Protest Family 