Lyrics for a song by someone who is called Matt Lucas

Yesterday evening I turned off the TV and arsed about online instead, drinking cider. On Twitter, the lovely Matt Lucas had posted a sort of song sketch he was working on, so I wrote these lyrics to it and nobody cared. Still, I think it's kinda nice.

Here's the song - click to play




And here's my half-drunk words:



Talking to neighbours... Over the fence.
Me on my deckchair. They're on their bench.
The sun smiles above us, the blue sky immense.
Keeping our distance. Comparing sheds
What is two metres between good friends?

See the magpies flying free
Kissing clouds so tenderly
Now I have the time to see
Birds dance on the wandering breeze
Wings of passion, wings of joy,
Sharing secrets, sharing dreams
Fragile zephyrs whisper hope
Earth-bound fetters hold us down

Maybe tomorrow I'll see your face
Maybe tomorrow we will embrace
Maybe tomorrow we'll pick up the threads
Piquant the memories in this sunset
Keeping our distance
Comparing sheds



Anyway he seems like a top bloke all round so go and follow him asap.

Robot symetry character

I had high hopes for this one but it didn't seem to hit the mark with the publishers who'd asked for ideas on spec. Bastards. Imagine these with suitable artwork to illustrate...

1. I am SYM-R-3

King of symmetry

I am straight like a ruler

And shiny like a mirror

Question One is ace

Cut in half these shapes

Findthe line down the middle

And we will solve the riddle

2. Half this square has gone

Please don’t get me wrong

We can put it back

Check the squares at the back

So if you can find

The straight dotted line

That is where I reside

With my mirrored side

(It is two across

And four down and then

Take the two back to

The dotted line again)

3. On the planet Klong

Things are strange and wrong

Naughty robot A-SYM-3

Has messed up the gravity

So these three whole shapes

Have been torn in half

Can we use our sight

Can we make them right?

Then on planet Klong

We will sing a happy song

4. The mayor of Klongtown

Tried to cut a tree down

But, oh no! Instead

He cut in two pieces his shed

We can draw it back

With our magic intact

But be sure to include

That tricky sloping roof!

(Remember to use the distance

Of the points from the line

Because that makes the difference

Every time!)

5. Oh no, not again!

Just as it was on the mend

The naughty A-SYM-3

Has once more broken gravity!

These shapes are pretty spiky

So use the line of symmetry

To check which of their lines

Are mirrored on the other side

(Remember you can use me

As a mirror, to see!

So let’s get to it,

One... two...three...)

6. I am SYM-R-3

King of symmetry

But my blocks of cheese

Are too big for me.

So what I need you to do

Is divide each into two

So I can freeze one half

In the land of Skaddleskarf

Where there’s ice and snow

And the polar robots go

In the planet of Klong

Where sometimes gravity goes wrong

And where we need your help

To divide things up for ourselves

I am SYM-R-3

Will you please help me?

Some sums, son

About five years ago I applied for some work which involved having to invent characters to support maths puzzles for kids. I didn't get the job, and the company was shit at replying so I reckon I had a lucky escape.

Forgot about it til I found an old laptop backup on an ext HDD. I quite like them actually.
DIVISION:

Hey there buddy, I’m your robot pal,

My full name is D-VISION but you can call me Al.

You’re looking like a helpful chum

So let’s take time and do some sums.

Here’s a problem we can see,

There’s thirteen cakes for you and me.

So let’s share them out, what a tasty treat –

But wait! How can we make this neat?

Calculating... calculating...calculating

13/2 = 6.5

* D-VISION CALCULATES ANSWER IS 6.5

(*NB Answers can be written at the back of the worksheet )

Now a naughty dog has eaten three cakes!

That leaves only 10, for goodness’ sake!

But we can practice, here’s one for you:

The dividend is 10, the divisor is 2.

Calculating... calculating...calculating

* D-VISION CALCULATES ANSWER IS 5

(*NB Answers can be written at the back of the worksheet )

At a 5-a-side match there were 135 pies

And five hungry players wanting food at half time!

Quick, friends, let’s get there to supervise

And save our team from losing tonight!

Calculating... calculating...calculating

D-VISION calculates each player eats 27 pies (and can’t run any more so misses a goal!)

(*NB Answers can be written at the back of the worksheet )

Now the bill for all those pies

Came to 153 pounds – that’s high!

Three of the club’s directors had to pay the pieman,

How much is that per person? Let’s give this one a try, man.

Calculating... calculating...calculating

D-VISION calculates each director pays 51 pounds (and doesn’t even get a pie!)

(*NB Answers can be written at the back of the worksheet )

Now my buddy Chris bought 125 pens

To write and to colour and to show his friends

There were seven of each colour in every pack

How many of each were there? Let’s give this one a crack:

(Remember we can use chunking if we like!)

Calculating...Calculating...Calculating (etc)

Sarah’s really cool and has got five cool mates

Who all went out together and ate, ate, ate!

The bill was a whopping 182 pounds

The six friends wanted to divide it fairly, all around.

Calculating...Calculating...Calculating (etc)

Now we’ve done all of our mathematics, let’s rejoice!

Let’s give a little dance, robots, girls and boys!

Division is fun, and we’ve worked really hard today

So when teacher says that it’s OK

Let’s stand up and everybody say

In a robot voice

Hip Hip…

HOORAY

It's a buzz,cock

It is half past midday on the smudgy border. Here is a tale.

___

I don't get annoyed by many things, except...

no. Let's start again. LOTS of things irritate me. Mostly politics and people who clap on a Thursday then go online and say BORIZZ IS DOOING HIZ BEZTTT and then go to have a fucking street party and do congas and VOTE TORY.

I've gone way off the point already. Start again Joe.

___

When I am writing, sometimes, or working on something, and concentrating.

Too many commas. Hang on. RESET.

___

I try and concentrate but I seem to have either a short attention span or a very sensitive um.

What is the word?

I don't like being interrupted if I'm working, on my own, although in an office I can do it of course. That's weird isn't it. I spose it's totally situational.

Course it is. Fucks sake.

___

OK so flies sometimes come in when I'm working and they fucking annoy me. I cannot stand the fucking buzzing shitfucks.

That's better.

So they stop me working and therefore I chase the cunts around with a stupid little plazzy tennis racket thing that I electrocute myself with more than I catch one.

The cats have given up; they don't even bother trying to get em anymore.

They don't go after things that buzz. I assume cause wasps and bees have both stung them in previous chases. Which is quite sensible really.

So it means I am chief shithead fly-getter. I don't really like doing it but these flying turd-eating, egg-laying-on-food bastards are horrible little fuckers and I don't want them in my house. It makes me feel sick.

Today just now just a minute ago I heard buzzy buzz buzz and I thought FUCKING BASTARDS FUCK YOU and went to get the fucking flies...
_____

FLASHBACK AT THIS POINT PLEASE CHEERS


Earlier today, say 10am or thereabouts, I came down from my Saturday lie-in to get the paper wot had been delivered and make cups of tea and stuff.

On the windowsill, on the inside, was a dying, exhausted bee.

I gave him some sugary water.

I even gave him honey. Was that taking the piss? They don't eat honey do they? Fuck.

Cows don't drink milk. You don't put toast in the toaster. And all that.

He flopped about on his back and couldn't turn over. I tried to gently use a cotton bud to help. He kept falling back over.

I could however see his tiny proboscis thing sucking and slurping at the sugary water.

This carried on for about ten minutes.

When I googled it, I saw that it was likely that this was an old bee, just coming to the end of his bee days, and just going the way nature demands we all do, one day.

So I thought, well. Poor little bee, but at least you had a lovely final meal.

And I very, very gently took the little plastic lid I was using for his food, with a dying bee slurping up sugar as he faded from this world, and I ever-so-softly placed him in the scented rest of a flower. He flopped about, hardly able to get a grip on the nectary stamen.

I even made up a little song: "Poor little bee, lovely little bee, go to sleep, go to sleep". I mean, I'm soft as shit really. Poor little bee. Hopefully little bee had a sense of comfort or even luxury as he bee-d his last, and became a has-been bee. A has-bee.

I sighed, made tea and coffee and gluten-free toast, and took it all upstairs so we could read the paper in bed. It's a lovely thing to do on a weekend if you can. Comforting. Luxurious, really. These things are important to us too.

END OF FLASHBACK TA

____

I drifted back to sleep for a bit. Then I got up, and played some piano, and got told off cos it was too loud, and sulked.

I opened up my computer, to check soccermanager and other such nonsense.

The fucking buzzing flies came back. Little fucking bastards. I hate them so much. They are somehow dirty. I dunno. So I got my fly-swat tennis bat thing ready. Little shits. I sometimes can get them, but if I can get them to just fuck off outside that's good enough.

Buzz fucking buzz.

This time, though, it wasn't flies or bluebottles.

It was a pair of honey bees.

I said: "Oh hello bees - nothing for you here, but this way is the garden", and gently showed them the open windows.

Off they went with a final buzzy flourish. I like bees. I would stroke them if I could. They seem so benign and pure.

___

Then I caught the fleeting wing of a thought. And a half-remembered tune.

I went to check the flower.

The bee, my has-bee, the lovely little sleepy bee, was no longer there.
____


I mean, what do we really know about the creatures we share the world with? What do we really know?

We know what they do but we don't really know why. We have theories of evolution and gene replication and instinct and et cetera et cetera. True, too, that every year we get surprised by what animals can do: monkeys entering the stone age. Corvids and octopuses doing amazing things with counting and... yeah.

And - so, well, bear with me here:

We do know that some bees do a waggledance don't they.

To tell others in their hive where the good stuff is.


___


I have never had bees come into the kitchen before.

___

Never.

___

Man From Wedlock

I already had it planned out in my head when I woke up.

It was sort of a Python-esque song/poem/rhyme about the chances of meeting anyone, in the context of the age of the Universe. I wrote down some key words to help me remember:

·         Infinitesimal

·         Incredible

·         Supernova-born

·         You and me

·         9 dimensions

·         Extraordinary

·         Gravitational waves

It was going to list all the coincidences and unbelievable sets of chance that:

a)       The physics of the universe exist in the way they do, so

b)      Elements were fused and exploded and planets and stars and gravity and all that sort of did whatever, and

c)       Earth was born

d)      Eventually life appeared

e)      Loads later humans came along

f)        All our ancestors passed on their DNA in a very specific and aleatory way, so

g)       Eventually I was born and you were born, separately, and knowing nothing of each other, until

h)      We led our lives making choices that we didn’t know were choices that would lead us to meet, because any single different thing may have meant we wouldn’t get on the same train, or the same carriage, or the same set of seats, but we did and we talked and then parted, but

i)        I went back to get your number, because I felt brave and I never felt brave, and

j)        We went out, and

k)       Eventually got married and all that.

It was going to be a sort of faux-epic, which started with the size of the universe and – a bit like one of those graphics on Google Earth – zoomed right in, right in from the Oort cloud through the outer planets toward Mars past Mars toward Earth through the lovely swirling cloud cover through the skies right down right down to Merseyside to a moving train that we both got on randomly and the camera, the poem, would centre on us just laughing, me with my big book of Ideas and you with paint under your fingernails and brown fingers from doing make-up in a school play, and it was going to be a cinematic type of poem but one that knew it was a bit silly and one that was celebrating the chance, I spose, of love and all that, in an infinite and ineffable universe, a universe that even the cleverest bastards have no idea what constitutes 95% of it.

I was going to end this poem by re-listing all the coincidences and stellar explosions and decisions to take the slightly later train than I planned and all of that. It was going to point to how incredibly unlikely all this was that brought us together in the same lifetime, let alone the same city, the same train, the same language and the same joke, and it was going to end with the last line:

 All this considered, me not taking the bins out yet really isn’t worth having a row about.

Which would have been sort of a mini-ha-ha sort of quite cute and a bit silly but maybe adorable and cheeky comment on life and all that.

Instead of all this, which I’d had planned so well in my brain’s hypnagogic state, I had to do prosaic, boring, mundane, annoying paperworky stuff. So I forgot the rhythms and the rhymes and the structure and even the tune I’d been singing it to when I was half-asleep. Trying to log in to websites, with credentials you know are absolutely spot on, but consistently being told the details are wrong, is a great way to kill poems or little stories or whatever snippets of creativity can be wrestled screaming from unwilling muses.

But maybe, maybe this was how it was meant to be too, and maybe this is a better way, or the real way, that these ideas and memories needed to be written down.

Because it all, actually, really, truly, did happen. 

Because stardust is magic.

Here is me reading two poems

couldn't work out how to embed it but here it is: HERE IS A VIDEOOOOO

Own up

Which lout has chucked dust in the calendar’s eyes

So the weeks wobble past, and the weekends are blind,

And the days drip and dribble?

Which new Luther has pinned up these strange proclamations

On shuttered shop windows? Morose intimations

Of virulent rabble?

Who has stolen the sound of the engines, replaced them

With finches and magpies and birdsong and plainsong

And indolent angels?

Who shrouded the playgrounds in velvet-fog silence

That choked up the classrooms and shushed up the cadence

Of break-time choirs’ giggles?

Is there anything sadder than boarded-up pubs?

All that ale turning sour in barrels and pumps,

When cocktails are curdled?

Who piled-up these market-stall skeleton shapes?

These metal bones rusting, their cloth bodies draped

Over nothing and no-one?

Was it you who threw salt in my eyes? Burned my face?

Can you see underwater? Make out the shapes

Of sharks sniffing blood?

If we ever emerge, blinking, out of this mire

Can we re-set the months and the days and the hours

Of March and of April?

Whilst the calendar’s blinded, we must get it done;

We must take back control of this non-time that’s come,

And sort out this muddle.

A New New Year’s Eve and we’ll work on the rest:

A couple of leap-months, make it a contest

To name them, and people

Will soon forget the louts, the Luthers,

the sound-thieves, the shushers.

The boards will come down

And the skeletons stir and yawn.

And the sharks.

Well.

They die if they stop
So,

I hope one day they will.