Harrendous, A Poem For Michael Mainelli’s Stag Night, 3 May 1996

Latterly a tea room in Maldon, at that time Rupert Stubbs’s home in Chiswick.

I wrote this parody poem for Michael Mainelli’s stag night, which was held on Rupert Stubbs’s barge in Chiswick.

A rare example of a piece I wrote and performed myself; given the cosy audience and their state at the time of the recitation, unsurprisingly it went down rather well.

HARRENDOUS
One of the most godawful lays made about the city MCMXCVI
(A poem not entirely dissimilar to Horatius by Lord Macaulay)

VERSE 1

Liz Lizbetchen, she of Chiswick
By the sauerkraut she swore
That the great house of Franken
Should suffer wrong no more.
By the sauerkraut she swore it,
And named a wedding day,
And bade her messengers set sail,
Letters, faxes, calls and e-mail,
To summon her array.

VERSE 2

Letters, faxes calls and e-mail
She let them know real fast,
In hamlet, town and cottage
And little places you’d drive past.
Shame on the false Etreusscan
Who lingers at the stalls,
When Lizbetchen of Chiswick
Has Michael by the balls.

VERSE 3

Now from the dock St Katherine’s
Could young Mainelli spy
The line of blazing bridesmaids
Across the midnight sky.
The buddies of Mainelli,
They sat all night and day,
For every hour some faxes came
With tidings of dismay.

VERSE 4

To London and to Franken
Have spread the Reusscan bands
Nor house, nor fence, nor dovecote
Unrenovated stands.
Bayswater down to Bishopsgate
Hath wasted in a dash;
Our Liz has stormed through Selfridges
And spent shitloads of cash.

VERSE 5

They held a council standing
Before the River Thames;
Short time was there, ye well may guess,
To stop him buying gems.
Out spake the Verschoyle roundly:
“That Liz must great go down;
Mainelli’s sense is truly lost,
We might as well rave on down.”

VERSE 6

Then out spake brave Harrendous,
The one from Michael’s firm:
“To every man upon this earth
Wedlock cometh like a germ.
And how can a man wed better
Than pissed as a bloody fart
Cos he’ll still be window shopping
For a fresh bit of jam tart.

VERSE 7

So start the rave Sir Rupie,
With all the speed ye may;
I with two more to help me,
Will get on down, way hay.
The legal limit of a thousand
May well be drunk by three.
Now who will stand on either hand
And get well pissed with me?

VERSE 8

Then out spake Lucas Clementus;
A boating man proud was he:
“Yo, I will stand at thy right hand,
And get well pissed with thee.”
Then out spoke Ricardus Sealyus,
Of filming man fame was he:
“I will abide on thy left side,
And get well pissed with thee.”

VERSE 9

Then out spake Marcus Schlossmanus,
A photographer proud and tall:
“Don’t mind if I do have a quick jar or two,
Until I’m senseless and I fall.”
Then out spake Julius Mountainous,
A friend from firms gone by:
“I’ll knock them back, build up a stack,
I can drink this damned barge dry.”

VERSE 10

Then out spake Rupius Stubbsius,
A Saatchi man by trade:
“Just hold it a tick with your big swinging dicks,
This is my party I’m afraid.
For stags at stag nights quarrel
Spared either girl or dame,
No maids, no duff, no bits of fluff,
Not even one that’s on the game.

VERSE 11

Imbibers oh imbibers!
It’s Michael we must drown,
A bachelor but a few days left,
So just shut up and party on down.”
So he spake and speaking sheathed
(tho “why sheathed” in this company? doesn’t it make you think??)
And with his wineglass in his hand
Plunged headlong in the drink.

VERSE 12

Years later, you’ll not remember
Much about that night gone by;
But you’ll recall the week of migraine
And that month of sustained red eye.
With weeping and with laughter
You’ll tell the stories right,
How well Mainelli held his drink,
On Michael’s wild stag night.

If you want to know what Horatius At The Bridge by Lord Macaulay actually reads like, click here for the poem. Trigger warning: if you think my parody version is too long, I wouldn’t try reading all 600 or so lines of the original.

Hizbullah, NewsRevue Lyric, 23 April 1996

Gosh this was a tough topic to take on for a comedy lyric and an attempt to be even-handed. Not quite sure what made it topical right then – yet another Syrian/Southern Lebanese/Israeli skirmish I suppose.

The reference to Assad back then was to Hafez al-Assad, Bashar al-Assad’s dad.

I’m pretty sure the lyric never got used in public performance, which is probably just as well.

 HIZBULLAH  HIZBULLAH (To the Tune of “He’s So Fine”)

VERSE 1
Salaam salaam salaam, salaam salaam;

Hizbullah (salaam salaam salaam),

Waging a war (salaam salaam salaam),

That hunky boy over here,

The one with the galabia;

But now he’s deep in the mire (salaam salaam),

Down in Southern Lebanon (salaam salaam),

With Katyushas and rocket fire (salaam salaam),

Till all the people are gone (salaam salaam).

VERSE 2
He’s an Israeli guy (shalom shalom shalom),

With an eye for an eye (shalom shalom shalom),

Makes me wonder why,

He don’t give peace a try;

Cos these people shouldn’t fight (shalom shalom),

They should get along together (salaam, salaam),

Be all sweetness and light (shalom shalom),

End the lunacy forever (salaam salaam).

MIDDLE EIGHT

CHORUS He’s Hamas (oh yeh), Blowing up a bus (oh yeh);

TERRORIST: See you all later (oh no),

CHORUS: He won’t be back later (oh no).

TERRORIST: My bombs and me together (oh no), Will pull the chicks for ever (oh no),

CHORUS: He just can’t wait, he just can’t wait, to get to paradise.

VERSE 3
If I were Assad (salaam salaam salaam),

I would end this Jihad (salaam salaam salaam),

I’d do anything appropriate,

Except, perhaps, kiss Yasser Arafat;

Or Hizbullah (uh-huh),

Or Hamas (uh-huh),

Or Mossad (uh huh),

They’re all mad.

Here is a video of The Chiffons singing He’s So Fine, with lyrics:

I Am Old, NewsRevue Lyric & Ben Murphy Inspiration, 16 April 1996

The only version I have electronically is the one below, dated April 1996, but I must have sent Ben Murphy an early version in 1995 which he heavily adapted and recorded.

I prefer my lyric, but what do I know?

I AM OLD
(To the Tune of “All Right”)
VERSE 1

I am old, I’m obscene,
Keep my beard nice and clean;
Sleep alone every night,
Feel all right.

I wake up, scratch my arse,
Take my teeth from the glass,
Talk a whole load of shite,
But I’m all right.

MIDDLE EIGHT

Am I senile?
I can’t recall,
And I can’t learn me lines,
So me songs don’t all rhyme.

VERSE 2

Cos I am old, I am daft,
Cannot quite raise me shaft,
So I smoke and get tight,
But I’m all right.

Then I wank, have a shit,
A cantankerous old git,
In the pub, when I fight,
But I’m all right, I’m all right.

Alwight????????

And if you want to know what Alright by Supergrass sounds and reads like:

Letter To Mike Ward, Actors’ Workshop, 16 April 1996

 

Mike Ward 16 April 1996
Actor’s Workshop
West Grove Terrace
Hopwood Lane
Halifax West Yorkshire
HX1 5EX

 

Dear Mike

APOLOGIES!!!!

Life is something between anarchy and chaos since I got back. I don’t know what the “something” (as in “something in the City”) is, but at times I wish it was something else. Is that a cue for a song??

I have finally managed to down tools for long enough to print out my latest batch of stuff for you. Hope it isn’t too late. Some day soon I hope to find time to write some more – this weekend looks like a contender as I can feel the need to write welling up inside my tormented little brain.

Hope to see you and speak soon.

Yours sincerely

 

 

Ian Harris

Encs.

Liberia, NewsRevue Lyric, 15 April 1996

I don’t think this idea for a lyric worked very well and I don’t think NewsRevue used this lyric.

LIBERIA
(To the Tune of “America”)

 

CHORUS 1

Life is no good in Liberia,
Famine and war and hysteria,
Leprosy, AIDS and diphtheria,
Toss hand grenades in Liberia.

VERSE 1

Former American colony,
Product of trading in slavery (very);
Characters names sound like Mark Twain,
But soon as you learn them they’re slain.

CHORUS 2

Life is no good in Liberia,
Peacekeeping force from Nigeria,
Most would agree that’s inferior,
No-one feels free in Liberia.

VERSE 2

More fighting in Cape Mesurado,
Lining up forming a warfare queue (fa’ queue);
Roosevelt Johnson leads from the front,
But everyone says he’s a Krahn.
(That doesn’t rhyme with front??)

CHORUS 3

Life is the pits in Liberia,
Whole bunch of shits in Liberia;
Fight mercenaries in Monrovia,
Get dysentery and diarrhoea.

Below is America from West Side Story with lyrics on the screen, after a lengthy (circa three minutes) build up:

Unabomber I Want, NewsRevue Lyric Unfinished Fragment, 15 April 1996

The Unabomber was apprehended in April 1996 and I thought to make a NewsRevue lyric out of it. Mercifully, I either thought better of the idea or ran out of ideas…or both. The fragment below might make you smile, though.

UNABOMBER I WANT
(To the Tune of “You’re The One That I Want”)

 

VERSE 1 – THE BOMBER, STRAPPED TO AN ELECTRIC CHAIR

I’ve got bombs, they’re worth applying,
Cos I’m out of control;
But the power I’m defying,
Is electrifying (electrifying, electrifying, electrifying).

MIDDLE EIGHT 1 – THE COPS

You’d better confess,
Cos we need our man,
Keep the public satisfied.
You’d better confess,
You’d better understand,
Vengance has to be applied.
BOMBER: Are you sure?
COPS: Yes we’re sure to have you fried.

CHORUS 1

Unabomber

VERSE 2

 

 

CHORUS 2

 

VERSE 3

 

CHORUS 3

 

Below is a video of You’re The One That I Want with John Travolta and Olivia Newton John prancing about, plus the lyrics in both English and Spanish:

Letter To Mike Ward, Actors’ Workshop, 5 April 1996

 

Mike Ward 5 April 1996
Actor’s Workshop
West Grove Terrace
Hopwood Lane
Halifax West Yorkshire
HX1 5EX

 

Dear Mike

I’M BACK!!!!!

Sorry I missed your trip to London last month. Thailand and Vietnam were fascinating and refreshing. Now it’s back to reality I’m afraid and it doesn’t feel so good.

I recall leaving the country owing your charity money, as you did not deduct any angel money from the 1996 New Year Revels cheque. From memory, Angelling costs £25. Let me know if this is not the right amount.

Hope to see you and speak soon.

Yours sincerely

 

 

Ian Harris

Enc.

Don’t Let My Son Go Down On You, Unfinished Lyric, 27 February 1996

A rare example of an unfinished lyric. Deservedly so, though. Not enough possible laughs in this tacky little idea. Nice, sordid pun on the song title though.

DON’T LET MY SON GO DOWN ON YOU
(To the Tune of “Don’t Let The Sun Go Down On Me”)
VERSE 1 – QUEEN

I can’t lie,
No more over Charlie;
All these Windsors,
Seem to chase a bit of fluff;
I’m grown tired,
Of the papers here before me;
Making fun, of our soap opera stuff;
Too late,
To save my Chuck from screwing;
He took a bitch,
Could not resist her muff;
She was on heat,
Camilla had no contest;
Charles prefered her showing up to throwing up.

CHORUS 1

Don’t let my son go down on you,
(Don’t let the son)
Although it sounds obscene, it’s something royals shouldn’t do;

Here is Elton John singing Don’t Let The Sun Go Down On Me, with lyrics.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lIA9_ur0awc

It’s Mens Health Week, NewsRevue Lyric, 27 February 1996

I can see why I wrote this and I can see why, in all probability, it didn’t make it into NewsRevue.  One or two good lines though.

IT’S MENS HEALTH WEEK
(To the Tune of “It’s Good News Week”)

INTRO

BBC ANNOUNCER: And now, as part of the BBC Mens Health Week., a documentary for men with testicular cancer and gonorrhoea; “Great Balls of Fire”.

VERSE 1

It’s Mens Health Week,
BBC’s new festival, about an enlarged testicle,
That looks odd when you streak;
It’s Mens Health Week,
Prostate gland is getting big, and balding men won’t wear a wig,
To hide their ugly peak.

MIDDLE EIGHT

Have you seen the shows? What did they say?
Men under stress. One in ten at least is gay.
(One in ten at least is gay)

VERSE 2

It’s Mens Health Week,
BBC’s huge influence, will tackle British impotence,
Of which we seldom speak;
It’s Mens Health Week,
Phone the helpline, read the book, but don’t look down and take a look,
In case you are a freak.

MIDDLE EIGHT 2

Have you courted help? Which way to turn?
Claire Raynor’s crap. So’s that cow Anna Raeburn.
(Not that cow Anna Raeburn)

VERSE 3

It’s Mens Health Week
BBC afflicting men, with fears about their little friend,
Which dribbles when they leak;
It drips all week,
Alan Yentob’s master plan, to paint himself as superman,
And spare us from repeats, and spare us from repeats, yes spare us from repeats.

Below is a video of It’s Good News Week by Hedgehoppers Anonymous:

Click here for lyrics to It’s Good News Week.

Cézanne, NewsRevue Lyric, 26 February 1996

I didn’t often write lyrics for news items such as major art exhibitions, perhaps for good reason. I don’t think this one made the cut…

…which is a shame, as it has a lot going for it.

Coincidentally, I got to this lyric quite by chance on the day that Daisy and I are off to see the new Giacometti at the Tate (16 May 2017) – naturally to be reported on Ogblog very soon.

I could give Cézanne a go on the baritone ukulele; that would be fun.

CEZANNE
(To the Tune of “Suzanne”)
VERSE 1

Cezanne takes you down to the Tate near the river,
You can hear the crowds go by, you can spend the night there queuing;
And you know that he was crazy, but that’s why you want to be there,
Cos he painted Mont Sainte-Victoire, in the shape of a large phallus;
And just when you mean to savour, the large pictures of the bathers,
Then he gets you with his missus, sitting in a yellow armchair,
Cos he always was pretentious.

CHORUS 1

And you want to ease your bladder, and you’re dying for some space,
But you dare not leave the circuit, cos you queued all day and mustn’t lose your place.

VERSE 2

And Degas was a painter, who was daft obsessed with water,
And he spent a long time watching, all the ladies in the bathroom;
And when he knew for certain, that those ladies couldn’t see him,
He said “artists should paint bathers that’s a good excuse for peeping”.
So Cezanne painted bathers, they’d not yet invented ravers;
In eighteen ninety something, they hadn’t learnt to party much at all.

CHORUS 2

And you want to ease your bladder, and your vitals are so sore,
And you’d die for a Pissaro, or an artist who had once learnt how to draw.

VERSE 3

Now Cezanne takes the stand, at the Tate near the river,
He’s the nation’s new obsession in the hyped up exhibition;
And the show makes heaps of money, from an unsuspecting public,
Who wouldn’t know the difference, between garbage and grand masters;
So don’t you try to tell them, that the merchandise you sell them;
Is a massive con that’s bigger, than his painting of card players,
Cos Cezanne turned them silly.

CHORUS 3

And you want to say you’re cultured and you want to be refined,
But you don’t know arse from elbow, the impression that you give is that you’re blind.

I tried a variant of the lyric a few days later, merely changing the third verse opening couplet to refer to a newly launched fizzy drink named Shazam (see below). I can find no references to that particular fizzy pop on-line, which must make that substitution an even more obscure story. Now, of course, everyone thinks of Shazam as the app to help identify a tune/song.

VERSE 3

Now Shazam tastes real bland, like a pee in the river,
It’s a fizz without a mission like the Cezanne exhibition;

Here’s Leonard Cohen singing Suzanne with the lyrics on the screen: