Over eighty thousand people died Or under four hundred according to Paul Who doesn’t count the over-60’s at all Or anyone with a pre-existing condition Like asthma, diabetes or hypertension Or maybe just walking with a limp.
(You can check out the numbers for yourself here).
My postie’s being bullied by Iain Duncan Smith With his smug face and folded arms On posters showing all his charmless DWP-ness And shaming sick statistics, A careless Tory trick which Doesn’t mention COVID at all. A deliberate omission From a man in his position. “43% are absent from work” he cries To his allies About workers they despise Though, in truth, deserving of a pay rise For tireless work on the pandemic front line Getting your mail to you on time, Because when it’s not just a touch of the ‘flu Post every other day will do. So, I am righteously miffed That my postie’s being bullied by Iain Duncan Smith
Henry Hooray Huntingdon Hunter Pretends to no one it’s a trail hunt With his pinks and his horse and his Boxing Day booze He’s got the horn for a bit of sport “I say, fine day” for folk of his sort
Julia Hooray Huntingdon Hunter Would rather be a supporter Her and her daughter 4×4 around Checking out the hounds And the horseback clowns
Terry the terrierman Keeps his dogs in a box Next to shovels and spades Used to dig out a fox King of the quad bike A doffer of caps Not the nicest of chaps
Sebastian, field secretary The collector of subs From the killers of foxes And murderers of cubs Rides at the rear Prefers the hilltop scene Likes to imagine that his hands are clean
Walter whips-in For Henry Hooray Huntsman Summoned to trouble shoot By Henry Hooray’s horn He’s paid to spot foxes He’s paid to control hounds To keep them out of the neighbours’ Gardens and grounds But when called to explain A fox ripped limb from limb It was never anything to do with him
Inspector Carl Copper See nothing wrong here A country pursuit That the locals hold dear If there’s a breach of the peace It’s not that of the fox’s And he’ll brook no disruption Or interruption Of Henry Hooray Huntingdon Hunter’s day out Today or any other day He’ll just say “go away”
The hunt saboteur Recognises them all Julia Follower Henry Hooray’s hunting call Terry the terrierman With his dogs in a box Walter whipping-in Denying chasing a fox Sebastian the secretary Who never gets near And Inspector Ineffective Who will see nothing here
So when you’ve finished the tofurkey Tucked the last mince pie away The sabs will still have work to do On Boxing Day
Behave as if you have the virus, they said. So, I went back to bed. They said, Work from home if you can work from home. So, I got my work on the phone And said, I’ve got the virus Because they said Behave as if you have the virus And if I had the virus I’d be certain to tell my work on the phone Who then sent everyone else home, Because they clearly hadn’t been Behaving as if they had the virus Well enough.
Six tier one folks can still meet inside It’s the tier where the science and the politics collide Where the rule of six guide stands ready for the slide Over to the hundred in one hundred thousand side
So, we’re standing on the precipice of tier two Sadiq says that it’s coming very soon But I’ve got people to see and things to do While COVID’s turning the screw
Meanwhile there’s a new slogan in tier three Where you can’t have a pint except with your tea It’s like Tim Wetherspoon’s writing policy: Hands. Face. Pasty (and chips).