Back in the Cottage

With a week to go till Phuckwhitt Phestival, I nipped back to London for the weekend, to see Fulham's return to Craven Cottage. I'm never happier than when watching the Cottagers, and the revamped stadium looks splendid, all thanks to that great and good man, Mohammed al Fayed. I sent him a poem after the death of his son and dear Princess Diana, and he was kind enough to send me a five pounds Harrods voucher in return.
As is well known, when Johhny B was gathered unto the arms of the Lord, it was between me, Larkin and Ted for the laureateship; and when Larkin turned it down, I thought I was in with a shout... though no one was more pleased than I when it went to Ted. But when old Ted went across, and they gave it to that prize shit Andrew Motion, I took it rather hard. Admittedly, my lifelong membership of the Communist Party of Great Britain may have counted against me. The thing that really hurt was Motion demanding remuneration for the post; a butt of malmsey was good enough for Dryden, Tennyson et al, but Motion demanded ten thousand pounds a year of tax payers money, and President-For-Life Blair handed it over without demur. Have you any idea just how much booze there is in a butt? A fair old drop; more than enough to keep me and Sir Sidney going for a good few months. Motion, I'm afraid, is a man without style or taste. Larkin despised him, of course.