January started mild, but halfway through got chilly,
The Fiscal Cliff was body-swerved and HMV went bust,
Supermarkets stocked new flavours: Stallion and Filly,
Rail fares beat inflation as hard-pressed commuters cussed,
The PM prayed an EU in-out vote would have appeal,
And Michael Winner scoffed, alas, his final rhyming meal.
February brought a sliding UK credit rating,
A fatal shot saw Oscar spot-lit in the media glare,
The Pope defied the history books and quit Pontificating,
A court decided working free for Poundland wasn’t fair,
A hump-backed king was disinterred, they waived his parking fees,
And Richard Briers’ Good Life slipped away into the breeze.
March maintained an icy grip, and Spring could not get started,
Nervous Cypriot savers eyed the bailout plans with gloom,
Huhne and Pryce, each other’s eyes scratched out, to jail departed,
HS2, now green-lit, threatened many a Bucks front room,
The new Pope went home on the bus, as passengers just stared,
And Hugo Chavez met his end, not that the US cared.
April was the cruellest month, with grimness that surpasses,
A Dhaka sweat-shop fell, with hundreds killed – did we feel shame?
The Boston bomber manhunt was a thrill-fest for the masses,
Unlike Kim Jong Un’s shrill, pathetic sabre-rattling game,
The Bedroom Tax unleashed its blight on those of slender means,
As images of Lady Thatcher filled our TV screens.
May saw murderers in Woolwich, cowardly and callous,
Some useless bomb detectors put a fraudster in the clink,
Fergie left a vacancy that’s now a poisoned chalice,
UKIP snatched some council seats, so Nigel had a drink,
Sally Bercow’s Twitter blooper cost her £15K,
And Mick McManus, wrestling’s panto villain, passed away.
June gave us a gentle hint Big Brother’s on our cases,
As Edward Snowden skipped to Russia with a memory stick,
US drones kept killing people of less favoured races,
Nigella’s husband – who’d have guessed? – turned out to be a prick,
The G8 was a waste of time, to no-one’s great surprise,
And Iain Banks was torn from us, with no time for goodbyes.
July, by George! A Royal hoo-hah! The third-in-line delivered!
Gooey Windsor-watchers hardly noticed Morsi’s fall,
Same-sex marriage passed at Westminster, as bigots shivered,
But Murray’s win at Wimbledon was what inspired us all.
Salmond waved a cheeky Saltire, photo-bombing Dave,
And Alan Whicker went to travel worlds beyond the grave.
In August sarin gas in Syria set the war drums booming,
Dave said “We’re with you, Barack”, but MPs said “Like hell!”
A half-arsed badger cull soon brought humiliation looming,
Chelsea (once called Bradley) got acquainted with her cell,
Two silly weans were caught red-handed smuggling in Peru,
And David Frost, who’d subtly skewered Nixon, slipped from view.
September bore the hallmarks of the party conference season,
Ed declared “We’ll freeze your bills” and copped a lot of flak,
A Tory blogger scuffled with an old man for no reason,
Godfrey Bloom called UKIP women “sluts”, then got the sack,
While, in the real world, terrorists attacked a shopping mall,
And David Jacobs, Juke Box Jury’s voice, got Heaven’s call.
October featured Grangemouth under threat, a prospect chilling,
“Big Business 1, The Unions 0” was how they framed the deal.
Postman Pat was parcelled out and traders made a killing,
The US seized up for a while, but finally got real,
The Nobel Prize Committee garlanded Professor Higgs,
And Paradise became the brand new stage for Lou Reed’s gigs.
November saw the Philippines face Haiyan’s devastation,
Portsmouth got the chop, with Govan (just for now?) preferred,
The SNP’s White Paper launched, the blueprint for a nation,
The “No” camp slagged it off before they’d even read a word,
A helicopter crash in Glasgow left us horrified,
And John Cole, former scourge of slimy truth-avoiders, died.
December cooked up tempests, floods and Christmas without lighting
The “Nephew of the Year” award eluded Kim Jong Un,
A falling ceiling made a theatre trip just too exciting
Nigella’s court appearance wasn’t altogether fun,
And some who once yelled “Hang him high!” now queued up in a rush
To eulogise Mandela, and they didn’t even blush.
Now 2014’s in the wings, about to show its face,
It promises a raft of thrills and spills – just watch this space!
I'm a writer who returned to Scotland in 2013 after 30+ years in the Home Counties. If you enjoy reading my ramblings, please return often and recommend me to your friends on Twitter, Facebook and Planet Earth. That way someone may one day give me money to do this sort of thing, which would be nice.