Wednesday, 28 November 2018

The Empress of Ice Cream

Lovelace, count not upon your pride,
And Hawking too must step aside;
Nor should we lift from Turing's fate
The rigours of Clause 28
While tribute's drooling to be paid
To Her by whom our land was made:
That scientist who brought to life
Our present day so free of strife,
Our country green and kind and fair
Where all deserving have a share;
Where each true Brit makes plucky fist
Of being his own capitalist,
And earns each day, in heaps and mounds,
Those Bankers' notes for fifty pounds
Which surely we must decorate
With Her visage whose noble fate
And right-confected destiny
Brought forth Her reign to set us free.
So sweet and smooth and rigorous,
That chemistry of Her and us:
Her formula to win, and win,
And make us white, and cold, and thin.

© Philip Challinor

Margaret Thatcher eligible to be scientist on new £50 note

Philip Challinor posts fiction, satire and assorted grumbles on his blog: The Curmudgeon. His longer fiction is available here.