Tag: Single

Cry Me A River, Nigel Farage!

Poor Nigel. All those years selling rebellion by the pint.
Turns out the customers can drink elsewhere.

Cry Me a River, Nigel Farage is my tribute to a man discovering that voters aren’t his personal property. Reform’s filling up with yesterday’s Tories while Nigel calls Restore a Conservative containment party. You couldn’t make it up. Well, you could, but nobody would believe you. Now the voters he dismissed are walking away, and suddenly he wants them back. Never mind, Nigel. Have another pint. You’ve certainly earned a cry.

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EVIDENCE

Two Votes Short In Dudley
And The Tears Begin To Fall
Vote Restore, Get Labour
That’s The Latest Battle Call

They Begged The Men They Shunned
To Come Crawling Back In Line
After Calling Them Extremists
When The Numbers Looked Just Fine

You Moved Soft, They Moved Hard
You Talked Tough, They Meant The Word
Now The Votes You Took For Granted
Are Walking To Restore

Cry Me A River, Nigel Farage
The Party Of The Pint And The Stage
You Kicked Your Own Supporters Away
Then Cried When They Wouldn’t Stay

Containment Party? That’s Quite Rich
Your Ex-Tories Made The Switch
Same Old Faces, New Campaign
You Changed The Badge, They Kept The Game

Zia In The Wings, Smiling Polite
Waiting For His Turn At The Mic

Suella Clutched Her Pearls
At The Boats She Once Waved Through
Jenrick Found His Conscience
When The Numbers Grew And Grew

Same Old Faces, Different Blue
Same Old Speeches, Nothing New
You Helped Create The Problem
Now You’re Selling Us The Cure

Restore Said, Deport Them All
You Said, Realistic Goals
They Said, Abolish The System
You Said, Manage The Boats

Cry Me A River, Nigel Farage
The Party Of The Pint And The Stage
You Kicked Your Own Supporters Away
Then Cried When They Wouldn’t Stay

Containment Party? That’s Quite Rich
Your Ex-Tories Made The Switch
Same Old Faces, New Campaign
You Changed The Badge, They Kept The Game

Zia In The Wings, Patient And Bright
First Muslim PM If The Stars Align Right

You Called Them Toxic
You Called Them Extreme
You Called Them A Spoiler
While You Watered The Dream

You Wanted Their Votes
But Not What They Believed
Now You’re Acting Surprised
That They Got Up To Leave

You Sold Them Rebellion
Then Hired The Old Guard
Now You’re Begging For Loyalty
From The People You Discard

Cry Me A River, Nigel Farage
The Weak-Sauce Party Of Managed Rage
You Sold Backbone By The Pint
Then Watched The Hard Men Walk The Line

Vote Restore, Get Honesty
Vote Reform, Get Another Speech
You Thought They’d Crawl Back On Their Knees
They’ve Found A Party You Can’t Squeeze

Zia In The Wings, Patient And Bright
First Muslim PM If The Stars Align Right

Come Back To Us
Come Back To Us

They Already Did

Just Not To You

October 31, 2026

We’ve Simplified Things

Good news.
You work here now.

We’ve Simplified Things celebrates the modern miracle of making a service easier by getting the customer to provide it. Fewer staff, longer forms and considerably more efficiency, although nobody likes to dwell on exactly who it became more efficient for. Still, once you’ve finished doing the job, there’s usually a survey waiting to ask how well they did.

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OBSERVED BEHAVIOUR

For your convenience.
Naturally.

Used to be a service, now it’s making me earn it.
Funny how convenience is just work in a nicer shirt.
No one says it’s work, though, that would spoil the little trick.
You just do a little more now while the service gets more slick.

Less to ask, less to see,
more efficient apparently.

We’ve simplified things, nice and clean.
Took out all the awkward bits, mostly human beings.
We’ve simplified things, works a treat.
You do half the service now, we call that efficiency.
We’ve simplified things, nothing left to prove.
How did you do?

Everywhere you go now, you seem to know the role.
No badge, no little welcome pack, still somehow on the payroll.
Nobody showed you anything, still you learned it quick.
Funny what becomes a skill when someone else won’t do it.

Quick and clean, nice and neat,
one more little service off its feet.

The desks get slightly emptier, the forms get slightly longer.
The signs say things are easier. Lovely bit of branding.
Nobody seems surprised now, that’s probably the clever part.
Take away the person, leave the process, call it smart.

Nearly done. One thing more.
Tell us how you found the service you performed.

October 27, 2026

The Working Day

A village doesn’t build itself.
Although everyone seems to have an opinion on how it should.

The Working Day follows the steady rhythm of a growing settlement, where timber is carried, stone is laid and yesterday’s plans become today’s work. Lively folk melodies, plucked strings, wooden flutes and gentle percussion bring a sense of movement to the everyday business of building a village. Inspired by the world of Foundation, it’s a celebration of ordinary work, small achievements and the quiet satisfaction of watching something take shape, one working day at a time.

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TEXT

INSTRUMENTAL

October 24, 2026

The First Hearth

Every settlement starts somewhere.
Usually with a fire and a few hopeful plans.

The First Hearth captures the quiet beginnings of a medieval settlement, before the roads, markets and grand buildings arrive. Gentle folk melodies, warm acoustic instruments and an unhurried pace evoke the first homes taking shape, the surrounding countryside and the promise of a village yet to grow. Inspired by the world of Foundation, it’s music for building something from nothing, or simply enjoying the peace before the work begins.

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TEXT

INSTRUMENTAL

October 23, 2026

I Don’t Know Yet

Something happened.
Good news. Everyone already knows what.

I Don’t Know Yet is for that awkward period between something happening and anyone knowing what happened. Usually about five minutes. After that there’s a witness, a cousin, someone who knows the family and a bloke in the pub with surprisingly detailed information. By lunchtime the facts are settled. By tomorrow they may even be correct. Waiting seemed an option, but apparently that looks suspicious.

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OBSERVED BEHAVIOUR

Something happened.
Don’t know what yet.
Give it five minutes.

Someone heard it from a neighbour who had heard it down the road.
There’s a bloke who knows a bloke who says he knows how this one goes.
By eleven there’s a reason.
By twelve someone knows who knew.
By one it’s common knowledge.
I’m a little behind the news.
Saw two people by the doorway.
One of them was on the phone.
Couldn’t hear a word they said.
Still, apparently it’s known.

Could be this.
Could be that.
Bit late now.
We’ve got the facts.

I don’t know yet.
Sorry about that.
Everybody else seems fairly sure of the facts.
I don’t know yet.
Give it a while.
There’s a bloke who knows a bloke who’s cleared it all up now.
I don’t know yet.
Nothing to add.
I realise that looks quite bad.

Someone saw a car there earlier.
Someone says it wasn’t his.
Someone’s cousin knows the family.
That’s apparently useful.
Chap behind the bar remembers something someone said last week.
Didn’t mean much at the time.
Means quite a lot since Tuesday.
Every telling gets a detail.
Every detail settles in.
Nobody remembers who said what.
Everyone remembers him.

Could be wrong.
Might be right.
Anyway…
that’s what I heard last night.

More came out this morning.
Didn’t quite fit what we’d heard.
Nothing major.
Just the people, place, the reason and a word.
Funny thing, by lunchtime that’s what everyone had said.
Apparently we’d known that bit.
Must’ve got mixed up in my head.
Bloke who knew the bloke says that’s the story all along.
Nobody was actually wrong.
Some bits just came out wrong.

There we are.
Mystery done.
Nearly what we said at one.

I’ll wait till we know.
Apparently we do.

Something happened.
Anyway.

October 20, 2026

Nothing Else Tonight

I could go out.
I just don’t particularly want to.

Nothing Else Tonight is about an evening in which absolutely nothing happens, which turns out to be quite underrated. There’s washing I haven’t done, something forgettable on television and a plate I’ll deal with tomorrow. I nearly made plans simply because having no plans felt like something I ought to correct. Then I realised I was warm, comfortable and perfectly happy where I was. Sometimes being on your own isn’t a situation that needs fixing. Sometimes you just don’t fancy moving.

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THOUGHTS, MOSTLY

I left the washing where it was
Turned the big light off
There’s something on I’ve half been watching
I’ve already lost the plot

Someone’s laughing two doors down
A car pulls up outside
I thought about going somewhere
Then changed my mind

Nothing happened
Nothing changed
For once, that’s been alright

There’s nothing else tonight
Nothing I need to do
Nowhere I said I’d be
No plans I’m running to

Everything I’ve left undone
Can stay that way till morning
There’s nothing else tonight
And I’m quite happy here

I found something in the freezer
Ate it sitting on the couch
Left the plate there for a while
Still haven’t moved it now

The heating clicked off hours ago
Blanket round my knees
Looked up and it was nearly midnight
Could’ve sworn it was ten

Nothing happened
Nothing changed
For once, that’s been alright

I nearly texted someone
To see what they were doing
Picked my phone up
Put it down

Didn’t really fancy moving

October 16, 2026

Maybe That’s Enough

Not everything needs a name.
That includes whatever this is.

Maybe That’s Enough is about liking someone without immediately needing to know where it’s going. He comes over, we have a good evening, he goes home and nobody has to turn it into a conversation about what happens next. After eleven years of knowing exactly where everything belonged, I’m quite enjoying leaving a few things undecided. Maybe it becomes something. Maybe it doesn’t. I’m trying not to ruin a perfectly nice present by demanding a future from it.

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THOUGHTS, MOSTLY

You said you’d call when you got home
I didn’t ask what time
I watched you leave, then made some tea
And didn’t change my mind

You left your jacket on the chair
You’ll probably want it back
I thought about what that might mean
Then stopped myself at that

Maybe that’s enough
You come round, I let you
We stay up too late
I like being with you

Maybe that’s enough
Don’t need to make it more
You know where I live
You know which one’s my door

You asked me what I’m doing Friday
I said I wasn’t sure
A year ago I’d need a reason
Now I don’t anymore

There’s still a toothbrush in the drawer
I haven’t made you space
You haven’t tried to leave one here
I rather like it that way

Maybe that’s enough
You come round, I let you
We stay up too late
I like being with you

Maybe that’s enough
Don’t need to make it more
You know where I live
You know which one’s my door

My friend asked what we’re calling this
I said I didn’t know
She waited for the rest of it

There wasn’t any more

Maybe that’s enough
You come round, I let you
We stay up too late
I like being with you

Maybe that’s enough
Don’t need to make it more
You know where I live
You know which one’s my door

Maybe that’s enough
For now, I think it is

October 16, 2026

Not My Usual

Apparently, “not my usual”
isn’t the same as “not me.”

Not My Usual is about the small pleasure of realising nobody else gets a vote anymore. I went looking for clothes, tried on things I’d normally walk straight past and spent slightly more than I intended. Nothing profound happened. I just stopped asking whether something looked like the person I’d been for the last eleven years. The jacket was unnecessary, the bags were getting heavy and I probably didn’t need half of it. I had a very nice afternoon.

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THOUGHTS, MOSTLY

I only came in for a look
That’s what I told myself
Now there’s six things on my arm
And three more on the shelf

The green one’s probably too much
The red one’s slightly tight
The woman says it suits me
So naturally, she’s right

I would’ve put it back before
Said it’s not really me
Funny how much easier that gets
When no one’s there to disagree

It’s not my usual
That’s why I like it
Little too bright
Might still buy it

I don’t need somewhere
Special to wear it
If it looks good
That’s reason enough

It’s not my usual
Maybe that’s the point
I’ve had the usual
Long enough

I tried the sensible one first
It made me look like work
The blue one nearly had a chance
Until I saw the skirt

I found a jacket half price
That I absolutely don’t need
Walked around the shop without it
Then went back for it at three

I used to hear an opinion
Before I’d even left the room
Now the only voice I’m listening to
Says get the better shoes

Two bags and a coffee
More than I meant to spend
I’ll probably take one thing back

Probably

Not today

It’s not my usual
That’s why I like it
Little too bright
Already bought it

I don’t need somewhere
Special to wear it
If it looks good
That’s reason enough

It’s not my usual
Maybe that’s the point
I’ve had the usual
Long enough

October 16, 2026

Black Dress

Eleven years is a long time.
Apparently, it still fits by the door.

Black Dress is about what remains once a long relationship has been reduced to boxes, possessions and two rather different versions of what happened. There are things worth arguing over and things you eventually realise aren’t worth another conversation. The dress stays. So does my name, my side of the story and, rather inconveniently for him, a perfectly functional life afterwards. He can keep the good towels.

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THOUGHTS, MOSTLY

You took the good towels when you left
And somehow left the bills
Three boxes marked “not worth much”
Were mostly mine, but still

You’d cleared your side by half past two
I’d changed the lock by four
Funny how eleven years
Fits neatly by the door

I found the restaurant receipt
From somewhere you once lied
Two drinks, a meal, a Tuesday night
You said you’d worked till five

I nearly rang to ask you why
Then put the phone away
I’d known enough for long enough
There wasn’t more to say

I kept the black dress
I kept the receipt
I kept my name
You kept your story

You took the towels
You took your things
You took eleven years
And called it leaving

I kept the black dress
(black dress)
It still looks good on me
And I won’t be sweet
No, I won’t be sweet

Your mother called on Sunday night
To tell me you’re “not well”
I said I’m sorry, naturally
She had a lot to tell

Apparently you mention me
Whenever things go wrong
It’s nice to know I’m useful still
Now that I’ve moved on

You always liked the version where
I couldn’t cope alone
Still falling into pieces
Still waiting by the phone

Sorry if it spoils the story
Nothing fell apart
I bought myself a bigger bed
And sleep right in the middle

You can tell them I was difficult
I’ll give you that for free
Tell them whatever works
As long as it was mostly me

Just leave out Wednesday morning
When you came back for your things
And stood there in the doorway
Waiting to be let back in

October 16, 2026

One Law For Everyone

One law for everyone.
Some assembly required.

One Law for Everyone was inspired by a 76-year-old pensioner who managed to turn a burqa into something considerably more troublesome than a fashion statement. He’s studying Islam, considering conversion and identifies as a woman. Britain has spent years explaining how important it is to respect religious belief, gender identity and the law. Splendid principles, all of them. Then along comes an elderly gentleman who decides to take the instructions rather literally, and suddenly everyone needs to consult the manual. The police have their interpretation, the courts have theirs, and somewhere in Whitehall there’s probably a civil servant frantically searching for the section entitled “What If Somebody Actually Tries This?” The remarkable thing is that he hasn’t needed a megaphone, a protest march or even a particularly sturdy pair of shoes. Just a veil and an apparent willingness to test how all these carefully worded principles fit together. Whether his legal argument succeeds is for the court to decide. In the meantime, the questions are rather entertaining. One law for everyone. Apparently. Just don’t ask everyone at once.

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EVIDENCE

Seventy-six, a public menace,
Armed with nothing but a veil.
Britain’s finest wrote the rulebook,
Then watched their logic fail.

They banned the masks, then made exceptions,
Left the small print nice and wide.
An old man took them at their wording,
And watched their courage hide.

He’s studying Islam, might convert,
Identifies as a woman too.
Now the experts need a meeting
To decide which rules are true.

They can define a hundred genders,
They can lecture us on faith.
But a pensioner in Portsmouth
Has them checking every page.

One law for everyone,
What a lovely little lie.
Seventy-six, beneath a burqa,
With a courtroom asking why.

One law for everyone,
One pensioner, one veil.
A rulebook full of exceptions,
And a law put on trial.

Another veil, another protest,
High-vis jacket, denim jeans.
That one’s treated as religion,
This one’s treated as a crime scene.

They’ve got principles for the cameras,
They’ve got standards for the press.
They’ve got very different answers
When the wrong man wears the dress.

No one’s checking holy scripture,
No one’s measuring belief.
Just a sudden burst of certainty
When it’s someone they can brief.

One law for everyone,
What a lovely little lie.
Seventy-six, beneath a burqa,
With a courtroom asking why.

One law for everyone,
One pensioner, one veil.
A rulebook full of exceptions,
And a law put on trial.

Then he turned up at the court,
The same black veil upon his face.
They asked him to remove it,
And made another special case.

Would they ask another woman?
Would they risk the same offence?
Suddenly the fearless system
Found a little common sense.

The law’s not blind, it’s short of glasses,
And the guidance needs a guide.
They’ve got courage by committee,
And a different rule for each side.

They preach respect and equal treatment,
Then get tangled in the cloth.
An old man doesn’t need to shout
To pull the bloody curtain off.

One law for everyone,
What a lovely little lie.
Seventy-six, beneath a burqa,
With a courtroom asking why.

One law for everyone,
One pensioner, one veil.
They wrote the rules to govern him,
Now the rulebook’s on trial.

No riot shield, no master plan,
No great revolutionary.
Just a pensioner in a burka,
And a state that’s scared of irony.

October 16, 2026