The day, surprisingly, has got better.
The hole-punch reconsidered its petulant pacifism and started punching gaily, and, in the course of a morning’s work, I had cause to write a limerick for no reason. It is on the subject of Sex and the City’s Kim Cattrall (Samantha. Obviously). Because she is now appearing in a real play in London, in what seems to be being greeted by the media as an acting-fully-clothed phenomenon.
I’ve never written a limerick before.
I probably should have started with someone with more rhymes than ‘Cattrall’.
There was an actress called Kim Cattrall
Whose thinking was entirely lateral
So when satc did end
to the West End did wend
with teabags as back-up collateral.
She was in some adverts. you see. Some bad ones. For teabags. I wanted to include something about, you know, propensity for displaying her funbags, the vast messy pile of hollywood detrius that ends up in British theatres very few of whom (unlike Cattrall) can actually act, or the fact that Sarah Jessica Parker has a face like a horse (not specifically related but worth recording in verse, I feel), but limerick is too restrictive a form, and I couldn’t fit it in. It might have been a better poem if I had.
Also, I realise that the fact you have to pronounce ‘SATC’ as ‘satsee’ is a bit of a shortcoming.
And the shoehorned rhyme-scheme, and, oh, alright, it’s not very good.
Still, at least the sun’s shining, eh? Unless, of course, it’s not, where you are.
I’m going to go and do something else now.
If you have any limericks on the subect of Sarah Jessica Parker, Kim Cattrall’s happy-sacks, or Hollywood ‘actor’ interlopers on the British stage, please deposit them below. I’m sure you won’t, of course, but it’s only polite to ask.