XXII - The Incomplete Tim Key

'I never shot her.'
Ned lied.
Mr Ward cradled his dog in his arms.
His knees bent under the weight.

Whether or not you find the above four lines amusing in the context that it's meant to be a poem will determine very quickly whether you will enjoy The Incomplete Tim Key. When I was in college I hung around with a character called Chris Giles, who used to draw utterly ridiculous cartoons and write very childish but very funny poems where characters had bloody silly names and they were doing bloody silly things. Tim Key reminds me a great deal of my friend Chris, the same daft, nonsensical, and above all deliberately crap verse. The serious tone Key gives his poems in their delivery is part of the charm of it all, certainly. His guest spots on Charlie Brooker's criminally underrated Newswipe show exactly the manner in which the poems need to be taken, as you can see from this:




The Incomplete Tim Key collects about 300 of his poems following a successful meeting with 'a man in his thirties', along with some extended explanations of the poetical inspirations Key draws from. Below is my favourite poem from the collection, entitled 'on the expenses scandal.' Like I said at the start, you'll either love or hate this, if it's not your bag then have a go at Sylvia Plath or something, Mr Serious.

There was a big do arranged for all the MPs to discuss how wretched they were, and to eat humble pie about the expenses fiasco.
The press were invited and everyone had to drink and mingle and apologise as much as possible.
Hoon sidestepped a hack and waddled over to Ed Balls.
'Is this wine free?' - he asked.
'Dunno.'
'Mm.'
Straw poked his beak in.
'Might not be. 'Cos we've been naughty.'
'I don't think it is free,' Widdicombe squawked, sipping from her hip flash.
'Bollocks.' Hoon winced. He replaced his wine on a tray and they 'moved through.'
The waiters served up braised venison and potatoes and fishes in sherry.
But, increasingly, the MPs declined, for fear of having to pay.
Some gritted their teeth of gnawed at their lips from hunger.
Widdcombe unwrapped her sarnies.
The Milibands winked at her and ate their little yoghurts they'd stowed in their little briefcases.
After a couple of speeches admitting they were all wankers, the MPs spilled out into the road.
Some confused, abortive hailing of black cabs ensued.
There was no guarantee these'd be freebies.
Hoon turned to Balls.
'Do you know anything about night buses?'
Balls tapped his bicycle helmet and pointed to his trouser clips.
Hoon nodded.
And he huffed.
And he set off on foot to his nearest home.

This poem was written as a reaction to all the politicians snatching money from the public to buy things to make their lives more fun. Soon it will be out of date and you will need to Google 'Geoff Hoon expenses scandal' or bend the ear of a village elder to make any sense of this one. It is political.