No-one recalled the prophecy
Warnings that were there to see
Uneasy witches, twitchy farmers
Quoting lines from Nostradamus

“No damned son
Of Albion
Has put a successful event on
In Summer sun
We’ve never won”
And so we boldly carried on.

Our fragrant Queenie’s Jubilee
Whilst wet jobseekers worked for free
Piled high all over Battersea
Stood towers of soggy patisserie
Celebrate six decades reign
By standing cakes out in the rain

Wisely Eavis cancelled Glastonbury
But elsewhere all other festivities
Squelched on as torrents of she-pees
Float down wet scree into Teepees
Where they traumatise some hippies
Who were trying to soak their chick peas

The flood ran on through Wimbledon and
In puddles punnets lay abandoned
Andy Murray always frowning
Not fist pumping, merely drowning.
Sir Cliff tries to save the day
Falls victim to a damp PA

And at our gleaming Olympic folly
At least the locals sold some brollies
Bolt adapted to the squall
Broke the record for front crawl
MPs stuck on sticky wickets
Mopped their brows with unsold tickets

At long last our vaunted summer
Is autumn and our land can slumber
Our streets bedecked with branded cans
Washed out bunting;  Welsh caravans
At least it seems the party’s over,
So let’s get on with the hangover

(Yeah OK I was bored and am meant to be writing something else)….