Is there anything mare tragic than a hedgehog lyin' deed

When I sit down to eat the Sunday roast

My translations of various short poems found in various places.

Some people have got an itch

Writing my postcards in a bucking cab

Good friends, had we tramp’d upon this hallowed ground ...

Ere this day dawned I was most grievous vexed

Politty politty politty politics

The funnel sings the blast of parting. Burma’s on the jaw.

The sloshy poos of a big big cow

"Papa slept well last night", said Father John.

Germany's Goethe would have us believe

In 1987 / a hurricane from heaven

Full many a pair of trousers have I worn

The Scotsman in the duffle coat took aim and shot his wife