On my way back from checking-out the smokers' hang-out  I passed behind the oyster bar near the grunting port, dodged a traffic warden sporting an illuminated hard-on and carrying an ******* of Napier's bones

Clearly an urban fox thought I until he did the wheelie-bin by the church with a one-two, shuffle, feint, one-two and a worthy one-two too,  Who-what?  You what? Done what? By whom and with what? Beside, by, from or to.

Prejudices rearranged? he asked producing a large wasp and a small tuba from his inside hat pocket and blowing ancient Aramaic **** against a bus shelter until 'it'  threatened to rain. Fifty quid, fixed penalty, a producer? *******. OK and he did.

Is it recycling day? Is this the day? Double yellow mate, work it out for yourself. Clamp or tow, clamp or tow. These are the choices of the voices in the head of a fox in the know. Turn out the illuminations, turn up the incantations, no more ruminations - root out the creeping infestation with a Round-Up-Ready (TM) altercation.

Two minutes to Tango, two for a fiver, this tall to ride, slip inside and pitch a Force Ten and wait for the chicken coop and the soft fox lips to meet again in a kaleidoscope shower of cheerleader's tail feathers and scarlet sherbert dips.

Phone home on Napier's dog and bone, watch out for the crock oyster and if you feel like one slipped down despite precautions, get back to the bar and order double portions.

And from here on in it is all downhill
Slow yet resolutely unmajestic
There is time to spare, there is time to ****

Grey becoming opaque impedes the will
Watch the body turn into a mimic
And from here on in it is all downhill

No synapse snaps to fire the frontal mill
Memory melts, scented with carbolic
There is time to spare, there is time to ****

This ******* does ****-all, this pill
Just gives us a slightly calmer relic
And from here on in it is all downhill

Orifices a hat-trick!; Senses nil!
Relief insists on being comic
A time to despair of the times we killed

Healthy and dead, you are not living still
Though you will forever be iconic
And from here on in it is all downhill
There is time to spare, there is time to ****

Everything about you and everyone you know
What you had for breakfast and where you plan to go
Who you call and what you say and precisely where you are
Every visit to the doctor, the mileage on your car

The books you like, the food you buy, the bloggers that you read
How much you gave to charity, your attitude to ****
Every contact, every text, every on-line search
The way you dress, the way you walk, the last time you went to church

No none of this is private now; you're an information source
Of interest to the agencies of order, law, and force
It's for the common good - no really! Can't you see?
And this discussion now, it's over; it's about security

And while we're on the subject, someone really oughta
Keep an eye on her next door; at least until we've caught her
And be mindful what you wish for, now thought-crime's here to stay
But hey! It's Britain not North Korea!  Just mind how you go, OK?

Oh you have to hand it to the creeps - they've diligently been sifting
Not through your bins or bank account when ALL your data lifting
They've no need for tricks or subterfuge since you handed them the keys
You let them in unwittingly, and at the time, were pleased

So now you're pinned and wriggling on their glass one-way wall
You've no more secrets hidden 'cos you've given them them all
Privacy is dead and buried, too late now for bereavement
You slaughtered it yourself:  End User Licence Agreement

It's too late too for tin-foil hats, too late to complain
And anyway, how would you? You've forfeited this game
Join the Twitterati? Start a Facebook page?
Tell your mates on WhatsApp?  All adds more padlocks to your cage

P'raps best not to think too much about it; Yes that's the easy call
Lie back and LOL at kittens, watch Gogglebox, but actually think sod all
Yes buy your Funeral Insurance – it's acquired a curious appeal
And accept, why not, the Kardashians might actually be real

With opinions now as changeable as your boxer shorts
Grey and saggy throwaways, masquerading as your thoughts
You got the lot in Primark's sale, with your knickers and your socks
And you feel freer now than ever, inside your tiny airless box

And that's the way we like it; your illusion of control
Costs us little and lets us rule you in body, heart and soul
So make no waves, do not stand out, enjoy your bread and games
Don't try to dodge the system or we'll cast you to the flames

“Nothing to hide, then nothing to fear” is something you've no doubt heard
But those who shout it loudest know best that it's absurd
So peer behind the curtain, examine every single word
   Because you know they've cracked it... yes finally cracked it...
     The polishing to perfection -  to immaculate, flawless, gleaming perfection - of
Every
Single
****

Beat-Up Old Car
Vastly under-appreciated possession
In dull blue, a MK1, no less, with original rust
Inside lingering scents of Exchange and Mart
top-notes of WD-40 and miscellaneous mix tapes

A car like this gets into your life
in lumpy knuckle-barking unsubtle ways,
stays there in subtle ones

That long drive back to Yorkshire
in the quintessential exemplar
Clutch cable snaps.
****** and Crap.

Hardly helpful but can be accommodated
with enough thought
rough though it is
on starter motor
and nerves whenever
anticipatory powers inadequate
and we are forced
to a complete red-light stop

Brakes dodgier, exhaust noisier
than ideal or legal
Gender-ambiguous
elderly tyres flirt outrageously with slick tarmac
Showing their canvas underwear
and male-pattern baldness

Keeping this unstable, unsafe, unreliable
ultimately essential lump of metal
moving and on the road
is a fine art

Engaging, fluid and intense art;
The Clash and The Specials
Costello and The Cure in support

A distraction then
getting hauled over by plod
somewhere near Bury St. Edmunds
Thatcher's boys.

Tax? MoT? Insurance? ID?
No real interest shown

Any passengers in the back?
Clearly no.  Pickets?  
Pickets? What?
Please open the boot sir... Oh.
On your way lad. Drive carefully

I was, officer, I was
More than you will ever know