An Ode to Auntie Mary (nee Loughlin) - A Late Happy Birthday.

Although your birthday's been and gone
I knew I couldn't wait so long
As another 12 months until next year
To raise a glass and raise a cheer.

So via this ode may I just say
To the best Aunt, Happy birthday.
So there we go: better late then never.
(P.S. We all hope you live forever).

An Ode on the Golden Anniversary of William and Mary Hurley

50 years ago today young William brushed his hair,
007 was in the cinemas, he tried to match Bond's flair
With a sparkle in his eye, a skip and spring in his stride
He was headed off to a beautiful church to meet his beautiful bride.

Mary Loughlin was her maiden name and a fair maiden was she
She paced, and fretted and tried on her gown (and went for her 50th wee),
But fret not Mary for your Bill awaits, his flowing locks all kempt
No rich man's gilded riches to forestall her fate could tempt.

"Oh William is the man for me" she told all those who would listen,
"And even if many years from now his shiny head doth glisten:
I will love him all the more you see for the family God will give,
I dream of a cottage with roses nearby - in Fairwater we will live."

Some mop haired youth were on the wireless, singing Love Me Do.
But Mary paid no heed to them, Billy was her love so true.
Her face aglow, her heart a flutter she stood aside the Church gate.
The music inside was audible - she would always be fashionably late.

"Oh my Billy, oh William, oh Bill my true love" she cried aloud to the skies
"I will always love you, handsome young man, you are my greatest prize."
Onlookers smiled at such a sight, the young bride made it clear,
That in 30, no 40, no 50 years, she would stand by her Billy dear.

Oh good times would come and bad times too, to test their quality,
Tough times we can't imagine, but seen through cheerily,
By two such wonderful people, who took all that life could give,
And gave it back a hundredfold, yes they have truly lived.  

In Fairwater's leafy glades they settled: in Gorse Place, near to friends.
If anyone asked "whereabouts?" - we'd say "up the posh end."
And for wedded bliss, there's little doubt, they are the golden rule,
To scorn the ways of Bill and Mary you would have to be a fool.

Yes fifty years ago they made their oaths that would they stay
Together - and they kept their word, and did so till this day.
"And for many more" we all do cry and with a glass raised cheer:
"Billy and Mary Hurley"      --   (this poem's sponsored by Brains Beer).

An Ode to William Hague

William Hague rarely looks vague,
In fact he looks intense.
Sepp Blatter is rarely the latter,
I wish that it made sense.

Happy Birthday to Old Ma Hurley

'Twas on the 3rd of April that Old Ma Hurley said:
"Where's that naughty Gareth - is he still asleep in bed?
"He must be a-snoozin' late, for the phone it hasn't rung.
"If he doesn't phone me sharpish I'll smack his little bum."

But still the phone stayed silent - just what was going on?
Old Ma stayed on phone-watch. "It surely won't be long
Until my Gaggsy phones right here, to sing 'Oh lovely Mum
A very Happy Birthday' (and if he don't I'll smack his bum)."

Others phoned -- and even called -- especially to say
'Happy Birthday' to Old Ma, on her very special day.
But where was her favourite child? (yes Gareth, doubting Tom!)
Still their was silence from her cherished, favourite one.

Oh woe is me for I am him, yes Gareth is my name
And yes today I forgot again (my memory's to blame)
Last year I thought it was the 5th and despite times being hard
This year I thought it was the 4th (but at least I sent a card!)

So now I know it is the 3rd, I don't think I'll forget (!)
This time next year I'll phone first thing (and even better yet)
I'll make sure it's a super day I'll be up nice and early
To wish my mum felicitations: "Happy Birthday Old Ma Hurley"

Tip of the Week: Water for Drought-Hit England

In those areas of England hit by drought (NB: certainly not Wales, Scotland or Ireland!) they have to conserve their water resources. What a great way for the Celtic nations to make money from the rich South East! Sell them water. Not least as it's only 100 odd miles from the Welsh border to the South East.

One big canal scheme would get lots of people in to work and would provide an income for Wales from the rich South East of England.

So come on Mr. Cameron! Put down your cutlery and get off your horse. We have three problems to solve: unemployment, the wobbling economy and a drought.

Meanwhile for those in the South East of England worried about water usage, here's a poem to help when doing your daily ablutions:

If It's Yellow: Let it Mellow.
If it's Brown: Flush it Down.
If it's Black: See the Quack.
If it's Pink: See a Shrink.

Thank you.

My services as an adviser to government on the environment are available. Ministers and Whitehall hirelings need only drop me a line for my very reasonable rates. Pip pip.

Happy Mother's Day... to Old Ma Hurley

For bringing me and my siblings into this world and putting up with us all.

There is an old Hurley called Ma,
Who to us is a bit of a star.
A long time ago
She married her Joe.
Can you imagine the mental scars?

And now she's a Nan many times.
The children form orderly lines.
They know she's a winner
And cooks a mean dinner
(And Ron's there Saturday bang on 9).

So a hip hip hooray for Mum (and Nan).
She's been around since the world began.
At knitting she's quick,
But gold at the Olympics?
If anyone can do it -- she sure can!

A Birthday Limerick for Old Pa Hurley

There is an old man called Joe
Who wreaks havoc wherever he goes
He was it at again
In the club at half ten
'Tis whenever the Brains doth flow.

An Ode to Robert Parsons OBE

Uncle Rob

AN ODE TO ROBERT PARSONS OBE


There was on old(ish) man from Cyncoed
Who was kind to all he employed
With a fatherly smile
He'd walk the extra mile
Whilst remaining incredibly coy

At Christmas he'd put on a big do
The whole family gathered there too
He'd go after a BAFTA
Have us crying with laughter
As he dressed up in drag - woo hoo.

His New Year honour "winnings"
Came from most humble beginnings
On Cardiff's mean streets
Shoes with holes on his feet
He dreamt of nights on fine linen.

Twas back in the year '88
He decided it must be his fate
To help families in need
He must now succeed
(Tomorrow was always too late).

And so now he has his earthly reward
(It was passed and cleared by the board)
He's been helping so long
He deserves this fine gong
What next? Will they make him a Lord?

An Ode to Super Joe

I normally enclose a poem to my dad on special occasions, but just before his last birthday a sickness bug crept up on me, and I had to rush to get his card in the post, poemless!

So here, better late than never, is a poem dedicated to my dear old dad. I hope it encapsulates all that is best about him, caricatures it in an amusing way, and hope he (and you) enjoy it (and forgive me!):

If your pub ever runs dry

And teetotalism is your foe,

Look up to the sky:

You might see Super-Joe.

He boycotts (expensive) shops,

Saving pennies is no game!

He's no dandy and no fop:

Super-Joe is his name.

Armchair expert par excellence

No ref or player can escape, 

For none match his eminence -

When Super-Joe wears his cape.

He swoops down on wastrels,

Like vengeance from the sky,

Like a mustachioed super kestrel,

Yes Super-Joe is nigh.

No alcohol-free beer please!

You will absolutely offend,

The numero uno big cheese:

Super-Joe, the good guys' best friend.

Like a Western hero of yore,

He's rode right into view,

His powers you can't ignore:

Super-Joe, his cause is true.

Sponsored by Brains Beer,

He's Cardiff to the core!

Everyone starts to cheer:

Super-Joe knows the score.

The Cons Club and St Peters

Are his (semi) secret lairs

Like an extra from The Sweeney

Super-Joe has true flair.

So give a cheer dear reader

His heroism is no game

He is our one true leader

And Super-Joe is his name.