Sometimes I entertain myself by writing what is intended to be comic verse. Most of the stuff I write relates to specific events or conversations, and as such is more likely to be of interest to the people involved than to the world at large. I've include explanatory paragraphs to make them less baffling to everyone else.
Prince Charles and Science
This limerick won the Glasgow heat of the Ignobel Prizes Science Limerick Competition in 2004. The topic was specified by the competition organisers. The result was decided by "clapometer".
I know that I'm not very keen
On those that play God with the gene
But I wish I could be
Half man and half tree
Instead of half Philip, half Queen
Lexicographical limericks
I have had two limericks accepted for the Omnificent English Dictionary in Limerick Form. This website aims to collect limericks defining every word in the English language. To be accepted, contributions must undergo review and then be recommended for acceptance by four workshopping authors. My limericks are:
When you've swallowed your dinner (yum yum!),
It lingers awhile in your tum.
At a suitable time,
Once it's turned into chyme,
It continues its trip to your bum.
(KIME): a semiliquid mass of partially digested food that passes from the stomach into the duodenum
Don't your axles spin freely enough?
Can you hear that the bearings are rough?
They'll stay in fine fettle
If you use Babbitt metal.
It's a tin/lead-based alloy—great stuff!
Babbitt metal is a term for a number of soft alloys used to make or line plain bearings in machinery. The major constituent of a Babbitt alloy is either lead or tin. Minor constituents may include copper, antimony, and/or (in lead-based alloys) tin.
Glaswegians
I wrote this about my Scrapheap Challenge team-mates Drew Irvine and Robin Pollok, and my performance of it was broadcast as part of the show.
What would I do without Robin and Drew?
I learn from their wisdom each day
But my poor little brain would be under less strain
If I could just understand what they say
These sons of the Clyde speak their language with pride
Each syllable's ethnically pure
They replace every vowel with a guttural growl
That makes meaning completely obscure
So here's my advice: say "How lovely! That's nice"
And smile sweetly whatever they say
Though your face'll go red if it turns out they said
That their auntie has just passed away
Clydeman
During the development of Glasgow Science Centre it was my privilege to share a portakabin with a remarkable collection of nutters and eccentrics. Possibly pre-eminent in this respect was George Farrow, marine scientist and chronicler of all that is unsavoury about the Clyde, which flowed (and occasionally bubbled) a few yards from our windows.
He's guardian of the river, defender of the Clyde
See him march along its banks, notebook by his side
"That's nice, George" we say tactfully, as he tries hard to excite us
With the latest red-hot gossip, about the latest Clyde detritus
"Come to the window, boys", he'll cry, "the river's looking bonny"
"That's three dead dogs this morning, and there's the fourteenth johnny"
Hear his glee as out to sea there drifts a pre-owned nappy
If it floats, then he'll take notes - he's just that sort of chappie
No twig, no log, no rotting dog, nor any kind of flotsam
Sneaks unnoticed past our door - 'cause Clydeman always spots 'em
Should some choice debris catch his eye, then (lest the thought expire) he
Will there and then get out his pen, and write it in his diary
When bubbles of gas disturb the Clyde, he's straight out of the door
To ponder "Is that CO2, or is it CH4?"
The farting microbes in the mud, despite their lowly status
Are Clydeman's secret soul-mates - they share a flair for flatus
One day (far off we hope) he'll take his final rest
The rivers in heaven will teem with junk, their beds will effervesce
If your hobby's tracking jobbies, you just can't beat the place
And Clydeman will spend eternity with a smile upon his face
Double-oh 157 - License to kill
I was once on a conservation work week with Trees for Life in a remote corner of Glen Affric in the Scottish Highlands. We were resting by a burn, from which I took a drink. No sooner had I done so than someone said "I hope no-one's drunk from this stream", and pointed to the decomposing carcass of a red deer stretched out in the water a few yards upstream from where I had taken my drink. This was shortly after the E. Coli O157 outbreak in Lanarkshire. I remained healthy, but for the next day or so I worried about what might have been...
Microbiologists note: I know that the science here is dodgy, in more than one place, but I'm no biologist myself and there aren't many libraries in Glen Affric. I just wanted it to rhyme.
When saying the first line, run "whole I" together, so that it rhymes with "coli"
I think on the whole I would rather E. Coli
Was not in the water I swallow
For if these bacteria invade your interior
Dysentery's likely to follow
Some of this title turn out to be vital
They keep you digestively fit
But O157 will have you in heaven
Before you can say "Holy shit!"
When I drank from the burn, my eyes did not turn
To the deer that laying rotting nearby
'Til the doom-laden essence of its rampant putrescence
Had tainted my water supply
Just ten of these critters can give you the squitters
So think what a deerful might do
I'd be puking for starters, my guts would be martyrs
And I'd go and explode in the loo
As I ponder the odds of my meeting the Gods
I hope you will learn from my fate
When you go to fetch water, remember you oughta
Look upstream before it's too late