No 3614 Set by Margaret Rogers
So gardening is the new rock 'n' roll, according to one TV critic. We asked for well-known rock songs suitably altered.
Report by Ms de Meaner
All quite excellent, except that I wasn't sure all your entries qualified as rock, even though I widened the category as far as possible to include folk rock, jazz rock, punk rock, you name it. For example, can "Imagine" or "Yesterday" ever be described as "rock"? I liked the first two lines of Daran Harris's Pink Floyd entry: "We don't need no vegetation/We don't need no weed control". But then it went orf. I also liked Andrew Gibbons's "Rock the Casbah" from the Clash. However, the lines that went "But young Charlie isn't happy,/No, she isn't thrilled to bits,/The thought of all that spadework/Is gettin' on her . . . nerves" rather turned me against it. I don't think Two Ronnies humour is exactly a feature of the Clash. "Rock Around the Clock" came in in numbers, but nothing grabbed me as much as the Dylans. Sorry, there were two in the winners' box: £15 to the winners; the bottle goes to Wilcox & Angelochriou.
("A Hard Rain's Gonna Fall")
What did you see, my black-nailed son?
What did you see, my muddy young one?
I saw a dead rosebush with cow parsley round it.
I saw a deep hole where that damn dog keeps digging
And an old garden hose on the tap that keeps dripping
And packets of poisons that carry a warning
In the yellowing shrubs by the blighted herb garden.
I saw broad-leaved weeds where I thought I'd sown fescue
And the carcinogen that I'd brought to the rescue,
And ten thousand nettles and half a tomato.
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard
It's a hard frost kills 'em all.
So what'll you do now, my black-nailed son?
What'll you do now, my muddy young one?
I'm going to throw all the tools in the depth of the ocean,
Put the RHS books on the very last bonfire,
Then I'll stand by the phone with my credit card by me,
Look up the number of the Ready-Mix Comp'ny,
Then spray the whole patch with potassium chlorate
And then cover it up with twelve tons of concrete.
And it's a hard, (etc)
Andrew Wilcox/Paralia Angelochriou
("Subterranean Homesick Blues")
Johnny's in the rosebeds, doin' all the deadheads,
Compost by the potting shed, rotting just like Titchmarsh said,
Tryin'a dig my own shovel, windin' up with back trouble,
Wheel a barrow fulla marrow to the back door at the double.
Look out kid, that soil you dibbed,
The books'll tell you when the loam'll need dibbing again.
Lawn's fulla mole holes, beans won't climb the beanpoles,
Caterpillars makin' tracks to decimate my cabbage patch.
Wait and wait 'til way past late, but nothin's gonna germinate,
When nothin' dies from pesticides you better never step outside.
Workin' through the backlog of every gardening catalogue,
Make's me laugh, nothin's half as good as in the photographs,
Dud seeds, designer weeds, haughty cultured cross breeds,
Prone to every known disease and no cash back, that's guaranteed.
Look out bud, those holes you dug,
They'll soon fill up with mud so there's no need to be smug,
You'll only dig your own grave faster usin' that spade,
It's time to learn how to behave; get the garden slab paved.
Adrian Fry
("Heartbreak Hotel")
Now since my baby left me
I've found a new place to dwell;
It's down at the end of Laburnum Grove,
It's called the Garden Centre from Hell.
It's so boring, it's so boring,
It's so boring that I could cry.
Although your garden's crowded,
You still can find some room
For some more hardy annuals
'Cos it's a consumer boom;
It's so boring, (etc).
Some people buying mowers,
So they can mow their lawn;
Some people killing greenfly
That should never have been born:
It's so boring, (etc).
Some people lie in hammocks,
A very nice way to relax;
Some people keep on weeding,
They'll damage, they'll damage their backs:
It's so boring,( etc).
Ian Birchall
No 3617 Set by John O'Byrne
The comp will be 70 years old this March. So, more than ever, our thoughts turn to the old days. In 1955 we ran a comp on the architectural salvage sale at Bowood, the "Big House", most of which was demolished into doorways, panelling and architraves, and even "Lot No 288: The Entire South Elevation". We'd like you to do the same, in 200 words max, for the Dome and sell it off in bits. You are allowed some latitude to describe the inner mechanical workings, as I bet you won't have gone! In by 24 February.
E-mail: comp@newstatesman.co.uk
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