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Ian R Thorpe

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The Dinner Plates of Old England (humour)
by Ian R Thorpe → (All Poetry by Ian R Thorpe)
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You have all had enough of Nanny State nagging about health, diet, eating sensibly and five a day. English stomachs are under attack, we have been invaded by all manner of foreign food and now the government is on our case too. But our traditional belly fillers are fighting back.

 

The dinner plates of old England
are forever under threat
by foreign foes of every hue
from Capsicum to Courgette.

 

Since the Romans brought zucchini
to plant roots in English soil
invaders from around the world
have come, soaked in olive oil.

 

Tomaters from Armenia,
Perfidious papist mange-tout peas?
'taters from Virginia
They gave us schizophrenia.

  

The zestful, sneering citrus fruits
with their gaudy, ghastly skins
give native apples a complex but
the fightback now begins.

 

Mangol Wurzel warriors, warlords
of the noble turnip clan
marshal radishes, parsnips, beets;
plumed carrots march in our van.

 

We will ally our armies with
hoards of stately English greens,
make kitchen gardens safe again
for honest native beans.

 

Hark to the hungry Englishman,
and heed his famished shouts
We'll send the phlegms back to Brussels,
they can keep their sprouts

 

We shall drive out the offcomer,
no compote or julienne,
but steaming hunks of boiled grey gunk,
food fit for Xenophon.

 

Copyright? I'm not fool enough to put my name to this in public:- Ian Thorpe, 11 May 2004.

A Mangol Worzel (closely related to scarecrow Worzel Gummidge) is a large, coarse fleshed turnip or rutabaga, staple food of the peasantry before being usurped by the potato, pasta, rice and all those other Johnny Foreigner types. Hereward was an Anglo Saxon hero who led resistance to the occupying Normans in the years following the conquest of 1066.  You may note, none of your fancy latinate forms or French fripperies here, good solid Anglo Saxon ballad meter only.
 



In case my American readers are not familiar with Brussels sprouts, these dreaded vegetables, harbingers of euphonic farting if not cooked properly, are like tiny cabbages and are a tradition for our Christmas dinners. They should be sliced thinly with sweet chestnuts, tossed in soy sauce and a little cumin and coriander and stir fried for mouth watering results but most English women insist in putting them whole in a pan of boiling water on Halloween and simmering 'til December 25th.


Britishness For Dummies
 Bog Butter
Fear and Panic and HP Sauce

 

 

 

 

 

The Dinner Plates of Old England by Hereward the Worzel
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


Low fat diet could kill you major study shows

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 Reviews of "The Dinner Plates of Old England (humour)"
Reviewed by Helga Ross
Reviewed on August 29, 2004
Very entertaining, Ian.
I never met a vegetable I didn't like!

Reviewed by Janet Caldwell
Reviewed on July 7, 2004
Very funny and BTW, I love brussel sprouts. ;) Come on babe, place your copyright here, or here. ;)~

Love, Jan xoxoxo

Reviewed by Jane Rodway (Reader)
Reviewed on July 6, 2004
This is very, very funny- thank god for originality, glad I read this amusing poem.

Reviewed by Mitzi Jackson
Reviewed on July 5, 2004
LOL
you are outstanding no matter
what the topic is
this is great love the tidbits of information
enjoyed!!!!

Reviewed by E Detetcheverrie
Reviewed on July 4, 2004
Y'know why I haunt Renaissance Festivals here in America? The food, dangit! I love the bloody foods!
Lovely piece, Ian, but can you really turn down the occasional bit of Indian food or Thai?
Chili chutney fried egg sandwiches?
Oh, right, I believe that one's completely English.
Good work, chum!

Reviewed by Carmen Ruggero
Reviewed on July 4, 2004
I love brussel sprouts -- don't care where they came from. This is very entertaining.

Carmen :-)

Reviewed by jude forese
Reviewed on July 2, 2004
unique and creative ...

Reviewed by Tinka Boukes
Reviewed on July 2, 2004
Pure delight Ian!!

Love Tinka

Reviewed by Mr. Ed
Reviewed on July 2, 2004
Love this write, and I hate Brussels Sprouts. Just reading about them here gives me flashbacks to my childhood when my mother wouldn't let me get up from the table without cleaning off my plate. Never a problem since I had a dog under the table, but them sprouts were the only thing he wouldn't help me with! Can't blame him either.

Reviewed by Anna Marie Fritz (Reader)
Reviewed on July 2, 2004
Fantastic!
Glad I clicked on this one, Ian.


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