Cecil

Someone advised me the other day to write about what I know best, and as I’ve always given my P.D. a name I took that advice , this one is called Cecil

I keep him tied up in the cellar,

In the dungeon of my mind ,

and whenever I feel the need,

I go down there to be unkind.

His name is Cecil Parkinson,

and I’ve got his disease,

but now he’s in my cellar,

tied up and on his knees

Of course, it’s not really his disease,

he just has the same name,

but it makes me feel much better,

when I’ve got someone to blame..

You see I was exposed to far too much of Cecil ,

when I was younger , but that’s another story,

he really thought he was someone special,

the smug faced spawn of a working-class tory.

He was tipped as the next prime minister,

when he was at the witch’s side,

he turned out to be quite sinister,

trying to force his mistress, not to have their child.

Now, he’s bound and gagged,

on my cellar floor,

rolling around and pleading,

he can’t take anymore

but I don’t resort to violence ,

no no,no, ,that’s not my way,

I play Richard Madely’s greatest TV moments to him ,

,on a loop, …..24 hours a day .

Or sometimes I tap his big toe with a soupspoon,

for hours and hours on end,

whilst trying to tune a banjo,

it drives him round the bend

Sometimes I’ll just tell him lies ,

and tell him we have re- nationalised , the electric gas and water,

or that a Sun reading scaffolder, with massive hands,

has run off with his youngest daughter.

Once I covered him in wallpaper paste,

and put fish heads in his clothes

then I sat him in a bath full of sawdust

and pushed feathers up his nose

Sometimes I stretch him out on the floor,

in just his pants and vest,

I plug the kettle in and switch it on,

and balance it on his chest.

Then……. this is the good bit,….

I get some mouse traps,

If I fancy a special treat,

i’ll prime them and put them in his lap,

and use a feather to tickle his feet

Okay, sometimes I do resort to imaginary violence,

like earlier on today,

I imagined kicking him 13 times up the backside,

but Mark,13 is an unlucky number,

I Imagine I hear you say,

so I rounded it up to 20,

I know this bit doesn’t rhyme,

but I’m just visualising it……..

So I can give Cecil some grief, if I feel a bit rough

or I can do whatever it takes ,

and although it’s only in my mind, funnily enough,

it does seem to give me, some relief from the shakes .

You can think what you like about Cecil,

but he’s not defining me!

you see, I don’t live with Cecil,

Cecil lives with me.