Poetry annex

Poet Laureate Bishop Manfred Collinwood lets fly like bird on wing with his recent poem dealing with the noblest of our avian bedfellows, the Swan. This poem was recently read at the 'East Riding Women against Chimp Study Society' and was greeted with barely contained indifference all round.

A treatise on the noble Swan

Gliding like be-feathered yacht ‘cross the silk of the river,
Your grace and such elegance bring forth such a shiver.
Your sleek lines, your poise, your silhouette so serene,
‘Tis shame such fine fare can only be ate by the Queen.

But how does she consume thee, oh schooner so sublime?
Like a feathery margarita with salt and with lime?

Are you butchered and hung, fried lightly with capers?
Are you stuffed with such vigour it gives women the vapours?

Are you tossed and reformed, garnished heavy with cumin?
‘Tis the uncertainty of not-knowing that keeps me so fumin’

Are you plucked and slit open, your gizzards torn free,
Are you spatchcocked and seasoned set to cook on gas mark 3?

Are you riddled with cloves and baked long in sweet honey?
Are you basted with fine butters so your juices stay runny?

Are you marinated in wines formed from the finest of stock?
Are you roasted and choked on like any old cock?

Oh how does she eat you, maestro of birds marine?
‘Tis none of our business! God save the Queen!

At the theatre this coming week ending...

Steam-age singles

We introduce a new feature to this site today with the inclusion of several readers courting profiles. These details are submitted by these good people in order that they may introduce themselves to potential suitors and begin the long process of courtship. We for our part shall be the virtual chaperone. Ensuring no contact of the knees, needless eye flutterings or passing of lewd notes shall be undertaken. Should you wish to pass a missive to any of the ladies and gentlemen below, please write to your Member of Parliament seeking the ‘Commencement of opposite gender communication’ paperwork, which when processed by your guardian and or parent, solicitor and local clergyman can be forwarded to ourselves. Every third document received will be indiscriminately burned before opening in order to preserve some mystery to the proceedings.

Lady Florence Xerox
About myself: I am a timid creature, with no real sense of depth perception or smell. I have twice been engaged to the same Count from Bavaria and both times retreated from such commitments due to his insistence on beating a kettle drum during dinner. Be warned. I am of slim build, with brown hair and mousey eyes.

Looking for in a gentleman: Nice fingers that join to the hand. Must be of independent means and of good family stock. Size is irrelevant but must make me feel as if a goods train has mistaken me for a station during intimacy. No quakers.

Dowry: Dorset.

Doctor Rasputin Broom
About myself: I take no nonsense from the female of the species and believe that a good wife should be a whore in the kitchen, a cook in the bedroom, a chicken in a basket and a Turner in a Hooch. I seek only something to sire me children for the continuation of my genetic nose-bleeds which have thrilled the Princes of Europe.

Looking for in a lady: Breath in it’s lungs and fertility in it’s belly. I already have a dog, so lack of fondness to me, or downright hatred, is of no concern.

Dowry: Less than the cost of shipping you to me from Dover.


Martin Martindale, Esq.

About myself: I am currently a book maker in Hartford, but some day wish to make pamphlets in Harrogate. I am warm, calm under pressure and sometimes have even been known to weep gently at moving tapestries. I am in touch with my feminine side in that I own some buttons, a shoe and some soap.

Looking for in a lady: I wish my wife to be a good hearty woman, with a good soul, a cheery smile and enormous juggs.

Dowry: I have some silver plated teeth, will that do?


Rolanda Twick-morestyle
About myself: I have campaigned fervently for the continuation of the slave trade, yet believe in emancipation for women. I am deeply conflicted and sometimes argue with myself to such degrees I batter my head against a pillar in my garden with such ferocity I have blacked out and woken up in a field where the cows are all smaller than they should be.

Looking for in a gentleman: About twelve times more body hair than I and a propensity for rickets is a must. I have large hips and a habit of running about on my hands and knees, I must be able to run between the knees of any potential suitor with ease.

Dowry: Some sparrows will do.


Edward Force III
About myself: I am a lover of life and often indulge my passion for wildlife by tending to injured badgers or fucking a piglet. I can be found most days strolling on my 50 acre estate while reciting poetry and kicking orphans. I am an enigma. Can you solve me?

Looking for in a lady: Trust. Passion. Virtue. Duty. Family. These are just some of the words she must be able to spell. Other than that a cracking pair of thighs and I’m done old boy…

Dowry: I will give you the moon. The star light. (I will not actually give you the moon or star light.)

At the theatre this coming week ending...

Poetry annex

Poet Laureate Bishop Manfred Collinwood continues his poetry annex with his stirring ode to the Battle of Osstermonger. Wherein two companies of the Queen's Hussars defeated a hospital full of Dutch Nuns.

The Battle of Osstermonger
Come crack of musket and zip of cannon,
‘Tis time to fight good men of mammon!
For God, for Country, for Queen, forsooth!
The eye of time snorts ‘battle for truth!’

Along the line, no faint heart beat-ed,
No man-o-war dare remained seated!
Crimson warriors, all to a man!
The rabble opposing, a tremulous clan.

‘Bang’ went the cannon, ‘crack’ went the whip,
‘Zing’ went the musket and shatter went the hip.
‘Blart’ screamed the rider, ‘Ba-doing’ went the gun,
The British standard still erect, at the setting of the sun!

Hoorah went the General, Hussar called the men,
Set the rabble on it’s feet and we’ll have it all again!
‘Mercy’ screamed the prisoners, ‘No’ begged the cripples,
But the cannon cracked and mercy lacked as they blew away their nipples.

Slaughter called the statesmen, genocide the writers shouted,
But sour grapes is the last recourse of an enemy so routed.
‘Zing’ went the medals, ‘hip-hip’ the screaming crowd,
Another British victory, for which we are so proud!

God save the Queen!

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At the theatre this coming week ending...

Poetry annex

Poet Laureate Bishop Manfred Collinwood begins our poetry annex with a hearfelt ode to the great British favourite, Beef.

'Ode to Beef' or, 'To the Cow, the crown.' By Bishop Manfred Collinwood. 1886.

Oh succulent loin, so braised, so beautiful.
You bless our plate with your cutlets so chewable.

Your sweet flesh divine for the nourishment of all,
You answer our hunger, our stomachs clarion call.

Be you in bap, in sauce, in stew or in batter,
You plump up our bellys and let our ankles get fatter.

Oh beef, oh beef, I ne’er tire of your name!
Please cut me a slice and let gravey doth rain!

A Victorian picto-report: Sir Maximillian Gadaday's recent exploration of the Niger basin. Part 1

The following images are used courtesy of Sir Maximillian Gadadays estate, and are taken from his recent Niger basin exploration from June 1883 - October 1883.

The text is kindly reproduced from the notes and slides used in his recent talk at the Wollington Womens Institute. Some images have been ommitted due to the daring nakedness featured within this primitive jungle. But, as Sir Gadaday remarked, 'One had to get starkers before johnny-native or he wouldn't let one start filming...'


Sir Gadady (centre) poses with his bat-man Mr Cracknell (left) and expedition pastry chef, Maurice St Germaine. Just out of frame - the 80 foot long rubber dirigible, 'The afront to God'.

This charming native boy, Mnengway, was sadly the first to succumb to the giant puffer leechs to be found on the muddy rises surrounding the Niger. Armed only with his spear and shield he fought several of these foul beasts but was overwhelmed when they vented their ear-sacks and broiled his shins.

To the uninitiated this may look like nothing more than a screen of native trees. In fact, and this may surprise you, it is in fact a screen of native fern.

Further into the jungle we found this group of itinerate quantity surveyors. Largely ferral now they seemed harmless enough, although one did try and break into our biscuit box, so we shot him.

I don't claim to have any understanding as to what this is. But it is recorded here none the less.

Taking time at the Nigers source. Mr Cracknell rests near the banks while taking topographical surveys of the rivers tributaries. Marvelling at the winding shape Mr Cracknell would later describe it as 'a cock-crooked French tickler kind of shape!' to no-ones amusement.