I was at the London Palladium on Sunday night to see the talented Salford poet John Cooper Clarke.

Also on the bill was the Fast Show’s Simon Day who delivered a fine comic poem about England, this great country of ours.

He inspired me to write my own, so here goes... (with apologies to Simon Day).

England, England, by TS Curmudgeon:

Chicken bones scattered in a windy shopping precinct; a surly barmaid’s sneering look after messing up your order; miserable grey skies in June; and the sounds of all-year-round coughers.

England, England.

Signs in car windows saying ‘Little princess on board’; red sauce or brown sauce; tinny, repetitive beats bleeding from headphones; and you ain’t givin’ me no respect, innit.

England, England.

Save the badgers, stop the deer cull; give rioters a graffiti wall, that’ll stop ‘em; bad ringtones in a world already full of buzzes and beeps; and Run for Your Wife with Danny Dyer.

England, England.

Pubs that close at 11.20pm when you’re starting to enjoy yourself; upspeak, like everything’s a question; brown, squashy bananas in a tupperware box; and Noel Edmonds.

England, England.

Drunken herberts screeching in the streets on a Friday and Saturday night; a pensioner throws crumbs to a chaffinch outside Next; market stalls stocked floor to roof with novelty socks; and Russell Brand on Question Time.

England, England.