That's cricket!

My husband loves cricket. I have watched the occasional game but have never quite mastered the lingo or understood the rules. I'm sure it doesn't need to be this complicated....?!

That's cricket!

Those who are to blame

For giving complex names

To this great British game

Ought to be ashamed.

They gave it a dimension

Defying comprehension,

Leaving me confused

And a little bemused.

Let’s start with an easy bit -

The keeper keeps the wicket,

The batsman bats before it,

But if his leg’s before it,

Then he’s out.

(Or so the bowler shouts!)

If you’re already muddled,

You’re going to be in trouble.

Your leg may well be fine,

But it must be a bind

To know you are the leg

Of the long or short kind,

Or find your leg slip

Or bigger nightmare –

How can you run

When your leg is square?

And next, there is this -

There are one to seven slips

(As well as the leg,

Like I’ve already said).

To complicate it all,

The slips don’t tend to fall

But, to my surprise,

They do have a fly.

The mid may be off

Or he may be on.

The gully isn’t in one,

Nor cover under covers.

Point doesn’t have to point,

Nor the sweeper sweep,

Confused yet? I know,

It’s enough to make you weep!

Just when you think

It can’t get any worse,

I’ll start on the silly ones –

Don’t start to curse!

There’s a silly mid-on,

And a silly mid-off,

A silly point (it isn’t really),

And a silly square leg!

Equally absurd

Are the words

That are heard

In the bowler’s world.

Spin may be spun

From different body bits,

From the leg, or the finger

Or even the wrist.

Beamer and bouncer,

Googlie and Yorker -

Ridiculous names

For this gentleman’s game.

They sound like names of dwarves,

Forgive me being cheeky,

But next you’ll be bowling

A “Grumpy” or “Sneezy.”

Bowling a Chinaman

Can be quite fine -

To get a good spin,

Just give him a shine.

On that bizarre note,

I’ll end this rhyme...

Maybe I’ll understand
It more next time.

Rachel McCoubrie 2005
Painting by (Uncle) John Charlesworth

Palliative polypharmacy

Palliative polypharmacy: When approached by a patient with symptoms, doctors often prescribe drugs to try and help. Painkillers for pain, anti-sickness for nausea, laxatives for constipation etc. If that doesn't work, we might add in another drug. Some drugs cause side effects, which in turn can be treated with other drugs. And soon, before you know it, the patient has a list of medication as long as their arm. This poem is a light-hearted attempt to capture this scenario we see all too often:


Try this drug, this patch, this pill,

To stop you feeling quite so ill.

If not effective, try another -

This one’s stronger than the other.

You might feel sick or constipated,

Drowsy and disorientated;

We’ll give you pills for those things too -

Yes, that does mean quite a few.

We’ll give you laxatives aplenty,

Help your sluggish bowel to empty.

If feeling sick, we’ve many choices

(Some drugs stop you hearing voices).

If vivid dreams or agitation,

We can give you night sedation.

When all else fails, one thing’s for sure

In the absence of a cancer cure,

Whatever symptom comes your way
We have a pill to keep it at bay.

Rachel McCoubrie 2011

Cell division

A poem written about cancer - from it's tiny beginnings to the end. 

During cell division

Something has arisen

That isn’t right.

The two hit hypothesis

Then loss of apoptosis

What a plight.

Mutation or deletion

Resulting in completion

Of cancer cells.

Tumour always growing

Never ever slowing

Creating hell.

Unrelenting, pervasive,

Feral and evasive,

Without a heart.

Makes a solemn vow

To stay forever now

“Til death do us part”

Rachel McCoubrie 2003

O inky pudding

My husband is a BIG fan of black pudding. He eats it several times a week...it felt right to dedicate a few words to his favoured breakfast...

O inky pudding, breakfast feast
From sacrificial porcine beast;
Juicy hunks of fat within
Your congealed blood, all wrapped in skin.

O gastronomical delight
I savour each and every bite.
Sliced and fried, or boiled whole
In life you serve a unique role.

In Offal land you reign supreme
While boudin noir can only dream.
Quelle surprise! What French pig’s arse
Could yield such flavour and such class?


Rachel McCoubrie 2006

The 'D' words...

At work, we are frequently coming across colleagues using euphemisms which can be easily misinterpreted. Hence a little piece to encourage us to use the 'D' words:

Let’s just say Jim didn’t fix it.

She’s toast, brown bread;

Bought it, croaked it,

Pegged it, snuffed it.

Any of these, but don’t say dead...

With the angels now

Passed on, passed over,

Gone to sleep,

At peace, we’ve lost her,

Pushing up daisies,

Living in a box.

She’s kicked the bucket,

Got wings and flying,

Thrown a seven,

Gone to heaven,

But nobody ever said dying....

Deteriorating, crook, unwell,

Going down hill,

Paid her final bill,

On a one way track,

No way back.

Poorly,

Really poorly,

Really, really poorly,

Going to get better surely?

Quite unlikely to recover,

It’s getting serious now my lover.

She’s struggling to catch her breath

But let’s not talk about death...

Euphemisms and clichés

What trite we all say.

Death, Dying, Dead

They’re easily said.

We know what they mean

When we’re setting the scene;

So just use the 'D' words instead.

Rachel McCoubrie Nov 2017