If it’s not rainin or too cold I gets me coat on and goes t’park. I like to teach the youngsters the wisdom of the tribe (It must be coz I can’t lecture me old workmates anymore). If little Wayne is havin trouble in t’toilets I show him how to hold his todger. I wave it about a bit. “Now then Wayne” I say “Try it wi mine. There’s a bit more to get hold of. That’s right wag it up and down. See how high you can get up t’stone. Now tug on it as though you was pulling a garden hose off its reel. That’s right Wayne.” They soon get the hang of it. Then I go over t’ swings to see if any little girls want a push. Or if they’re trying to toss up against the wall I help em to push their skirts into their knickers. Uncle Ralph they call me. 

Ralph returns to The Crazy Oik after this extract from his piece in Issue 1. A lady reader was so incensed she thought Ralph should be reported to the police. So three cheers for irony. But were there readers in 17c London demanding Swift be locked up for his Modest Proposal suggesting the starving Irish should eat their babies? Are we heading the same way? I’ve referred to my ironical use of the n****r work in the editorial of Oik 62 and wonder if the worthy town councillors doing their best for local transport would detect the irony in Ralph’s suggestions for improvement – probably not. More like they’ll deplore the extravagant idea of musical accompaniment and rant against sedan chairs for the disabled. For a less ironical take on the buses see Tanner p58. 

Ken Champion’s piece p53 rebuts such destructive Wokeism and Brexit comes in for another caning in Mark Ward’s reminder from the French mag Charlie Hebdo (I actually have this issue and thought it a hoot) followed by Keith Howden’s Dungiad on the same topic.

 

Ken Clay July 2025

TANNER

PUBIC TRANSPORT 

When you get on a bus you know
that you are being punished
for not owning a car
for not buying petrol

 the bus fare
it is a pleb tax
for paying your taxes in the first place
and expecting them
to be used on things
like public transport,
cheeky taxpaying pleb that you are

 look at your fellow bus plebs:
the young poised at 90 degrees
disaffection squirting out their sores
onto their impersonal technology 

the shapeless middle-aged hunchbacks
in faded 1990’s bubble jackets
propping up faded 1990’s bubble faces 

and the biggest plebs of all
the old
how dare they get this far
how dare they win our wars
how dare they pay a lifetime of tax
and assume they’ll get some compensation
in the autumn of their lives
in the autumn of our country 

it’s a jobcentre on wheels
and where is it you’re going?
‘Return ter the jobby please, driver.’
‘Feree twenee, lad.’ 

‘Kinell, it gone up again?’
‘Not enough,’ says Driver
waddling off to roll a rollie
‘hence me goin on strike,’ striking a match
on the sandpaper rust of the bus stop 

and you’d make like a Tebbit
and get on your bike

 if you had one.