satire Uncategorized

‘Twas The Night Before ‘lection

Twas the night before ‘lection, when all through the house,

Not a creature was stirring apart from a louse.

The banners were hung from the window with care, 

In hopes that St Corbyn soon would be there. 


The MP’s were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of Brexit danced in their heads.

And Boris in his kerchief, and I in his lap,

Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap. 


When out in Westminster there arose such a clatter,

The peasants were revolting, said the mad hatter.

Away to the window, I flew like a flash,

And Saw Boris the buffoon hide in the trash. 


The moon on the breast of the new-fallen Bo,

Shone like a beacon to the madmen below.

When what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer.


With a little old driver, so lithy and thin,

I knew in a moment it must be Corbyn.

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them rude names!


“Now, Swinson! now, Johnson! now, Sadiq and Pincher!

On, Priti! On, Javid! on, Farage and Duddridge!

To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!

Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!”


And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof,

The prancing and pawing of each little goof.

As I drew in my head, and was turning around,

Down the chimney St Corbyn came with a bound.


He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.

A bundle of flags he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.


His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!

His cheeks were like golf balls, his nose like sweet sherry!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.


He was grubby, a chump, a right silly old elf,

And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.


He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

Handed out leaflets, then turned with a jerk.

He introduced Gove with a tap of the nose,

And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose!


He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,

“Happy ‘lection to all, and to all a good-night!”

Lisa Baker for Pf Magazine


Carol Coombes – A Celebration of Life


It is with great sadness, and a heavy heart, I have to report the passing of Carol Coombes. Carol was awarded an O.B.E, and an honorary doctorate from Birmingham City University, for her outstanding achievements in business, and her tireless, compassionate, services to the voluntary sector in Birmingham. But this is only a fraction of what she did to inspire, and make everyone fall in love with her. 

Carol and I worked on some pieces for Pf Magazine, from the very first day she connected with me on LinkedIn, I knew she was the kind of person I had never met before, and am very unlikely to meet again. Once diagnosed with throat cancer, Carol took things head-on, like everything else in her life she gave it 100% of her time and energy. Carol wanted to make a difference, she tried many unconventional treatments, with the support of her close family and friends. 

It is evident among the many social media groups she ran, the way in which Carol touched peoples’ lives, people she had yet to meet.

carol screen 3carol screen 2Carol screen 1

I know Carol won’t mind me saying, but sometimes I didn’t have a clue what she wanted me to do. Several What’s App messages later, and one lengthy 3-hour phone call, and to be completely honest I was still none the wiser. None the wiser how to execute, and communicate the passion with which Carol spoke. Her head was bursting with ideas, nothing was just about her, she wanted to use herself as a human guinea pig through her cancer to help other people. 

Carol was entertaining, this powerful woman with her cute Brummie accent made my sides ache with laughter. I never met her. I didn’t need to. I was a sounding board, someone Carol said she could offload to, and meeting would spoil everything, it would make me real and she wouldn’t be able to share her feelings with me. 

When Carol found it difficult to communicate her thoughts, she was frustrated. She had been this extremely articulate and well-respected person people had listened to, and hung on to her every word. But you can’t keep a good woman down, she didn’t let any of that stand in her way, she kept on talking, and talking, and campaigning. She was going to be heard even if it took longer to get the message across. 

Carol left us surrounded by the people who meant the most to her. And boy, her passion for her family knew no bounds. Many calls were interrupted by the arrival of her ‘grandkids’, down the phone line, at opposite ends of the country I could not only hear, but I could feel how she lit up when they entered the room. Leaving her family was going to be the hardest thing she had ever done, selfless to the end, her thoughts were for those she was going to be leaving behind. 

Those who knew Carol will know what I mean when I say she was as zen as f*ck. Rest in Peace lovely lady, gone but never forgotten. 


A service will be held at Sandwell Crematorium on Wednesday 21st August at 3.15pm. Please spread the word as everyone who knew Carol is welcome; dress in whatever you feel comfortable in.  After the service, there will be a wake at the Wagon and Horses from about 4.30 until 8pm.

Carol Coombes

A Personal Message


Sex Education

To LGBT or Not To LGBT?- That is The Question

Sex Education


Sex education in schools has always been a topic of fuelled conversation among parents, and opinionated public house frequenters. I found myself within earshot of one such discussion as the question of whether to introduce ‘non-heterosexual’ education to the syllabus should be agreed upon. As half a dozen people voiced their objections I found myself squirming, and biting my tongue for fear of being run out of town with a pitchfork pointing at my posterior.  So, in this space, I would like to share my perfectly valid opinion, and I believe it is a very good one, but I am afraid of real life humans.


Children spend a significant number of waking hours in school, it is, therefore, a pretty massive contributor to the education of ‘all things’. Personal and social development is largely influenced by peers and those people in charge of the code of conduct. I can’t help but ask myself, of all those parents who object to the teaching of any matters of Personal, Social and Health Education (PHSE), how many of them take the responsibility on themselves? I was raised (quite poorly) by social worker parents; Sunday lunch was the time for questions and answers of all things sex related. Other children may not have had that privileged start in life, and if we want to avoid the second coming of the trauma of Carrie, kids do need mentors whether you like it or not.


The fear? That lessons will take the form of a scene from the Meaning of Life, teacher and wife ‘at it’ in front of the whole class. I know my school days are far behind me but I’m pretty sure that kind of demonstration would be frowned upon even in the 21st Century. Or are you scared your children will be encouraged to have a physical relationship at a young age, because all that talk about orgasms and hormone surges will send them running to the back of the bike sheds? In reality, children of a certain age find ‘all that stuff’ pretty disgusting, because they don’t want to think their parents ever ‘did it’. And, this is not the education we are talking about. We are talking about teaching young people about loving, caring, healthy relationships with people it is legally allowed to have those relationships with.


The first step towards an all inclusive curriculum is to get more people writing about the variety of relationships people have with each other (my next move). Under no circumstances should there be any divide between heterosexual and non-heterosexual education. Education should be all encompassing. Let’s talk about humans and human love. We don’t need a breakdown of gender identification, that instantly makes things ‘different’. If sadly, parents object to the  ‘normalisation’ of non- traditional stereotypes, they also need educating.


We need diagrams, images, and a long pointy stick. Images of people from all walks of life, demonstrating warm loving interactions. We need to talk about that love between ‘people’, all people. How some of them can make babies the conventional way, and how some have to find alternative ways to complete their loving families. Children start their lives with more compassion, tolerance, and love than most adults will ever have. It is up to us as a society to nurture those personality traits. Rome wasn’t built in a day, but with any luck we will rid ourselves of the racists and bigots, to be fair they will all die out eventually, let the new kids on the block come fighting up the rear and show them how it’s really done. What is normal anyway?

Lisa Ives for Pf Magazine


GoFundMe Replaces The Bank Of Mum And Dad

When Mum and Dad said no to buying that expensive pair of trainers ‘everyone at school’ had, one young man took matters into his own hands.

“I was really surprised when my eldest started buying the local paper, I didn’t even know he could read, to be honest.” His mum told us.

“I was relieved at first, stopped him bleedin’ naggin’ me for stuff all the time, his head was always in a paper of some kind.”

Terry, 17, from Kent, was the first in the family to show any real initiative. He scoured the news items and obituaries for credible sources, enabling him to set up fundraising pages with countless sob stories.

“I saw on my Facebook feed that someone was asking for money cos someone couldn’t pay for the funeral of their dog. I couldn’t believe how many people clicked on the sad face and started giving money.”

Terry began to make up stories to go with the things he read in the news. He would say they were friends or relatives, and the money started flooding in.

“I had to set up loads of new accounts, at one point I think I had about 30.”

When we asked him if he felt bad about tricking people like this, he told us;

“Nah. They give what they can afford innit. I learned about it in school, it’s Communism.”

Terry’s parents are so proud of his entrepreneurial skills, and are thrilled with the caravan he bought them in Leysdown-on-Sea.

His mum’s final words? “ If there were more kids like Terry the world would be a better place. I have ten more like him to pay their own way from now on.”


Lisa Ives for Pf Magazine


Dog Blog

Charlie The Rescue ~ Blog

When my owner (not calling her mum) said she was going to start blogging as me, all I could do was bark. Sadly she told me to stop barking and hit the computer keys. I’m a dog, I can’t type and I certainly can’t communicate much more than, ‘I need a shit’ and ‘feed me’. Yes, there are times she thinks I’m ‘asking’ for a cuddle, but really I need an itch scratching I can’t reach, or I have a bit of dry poop stuck to the fur around my back bottom.

You know when your dog closes its eyes while you stroke it and talk in a silly voice saying ‘what a good doggy you are’ – and you’re like, ‘oh look, she’s loving it’. Truth is we’re closing our eyes and taking ourselves to a safe place, drowning out that silly high pitched baby voice that is making our ears bleed.

My owner came at me with a bandana once, what!? I’m not a cowboy, I’m a dog. I have concerns that now the weather is getting a bit cooler she might start dressing me up in silly coats. I know she likes tartan but everyone already thinks I’m a boy. Doesn’t help my cause that I cock my leg to pee. I have a dodgy back knee, don’t judge me.

I get praised for my ability to stand nicely on my lead while waiting for the humans to stop chatting. It’s always nice to get praise but to be honest I’m usually just bored stiff, literally. The drivel they come out with. It’s worse when we meet people with dogs, we just circle each other and sniff bums, and she tells the same story over and over again. Each time it gets that little bit longer and more embellished. When she says she rescued me the reaction is equivalent to suggesting she ran into a burning building and pulled me out.  She didn’t.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my new home, she’s a complete pushover. I’d go as far as saying she’s a bleeding heart liberal, aka snowflake. There’s a bloke I quite like who turns up almost every day, sometimes I have sleepovers with him as well. He likes to train me ‘properly’. I let him have his ‘moments’, why not, it’s fun to look like I’m attempting to get it right; I know he’s so stubborn he’ll keep going until I do, more treats for me!