It all feels a bit like pulling teeth for Hastings Battleaxe….

Pulling teeth? Last weekend there was a wonderful episode when Trump’s team ended up holding a presser in the car park at Four Seasons Total Landscaping instead of the hotel of the same name.  I said I’d write a poem about it, but instead of witty words cascading onto the page like a cloud of Christmas glitter, it felt like shovelling damp November leaves… but still, here it is. I just said to Philosopher that LD2 seems much harder than LD1.  The weather is grim and the news is grimmer. Although Biden has won, Trump is still refusing to concede. We are still careering merrily towards a no-deal Brexit, with absolutely no idea what is going on in Downing Street. Has Dom really left? Is Johnson now in the grip of of Allegra and Princess Nut Nut? Apparently he’s self-isolating again, aka a chance to slump in front of day-time telly with a bottle of cider and an outsize bag of Monster Munch. We keep on being told about up-coming vaccines, but I won’t believe it until someone is actually standing over me with a syringe…

Well, it’s not all bad – as can be seen from this photo of the sea taken on a walk by Glynde Gap. We’d gone on an expedition to M & S at Ravenside. When we first moved from Birmingham it was a real thrill that you could go to the retail park and combine it with a walk by the sea.  I couldn’t care less about the nonsense in Downing Street. It’s high time Battleaxe stood over them, hands on hips, and snapped ‘Be quiet and get on with your work.’ Mind you, last time I did that, at my last ever job at Castle Vale Housing Association, they were all outraged… but quiet.

So, here is the Four Seasons poem. What I like about the incident was that we still don’t know who was responsible, or what happened. Was it a mistake, or was it intentional? If it was a mistake, who made it?  If it was intentional, who done it?  People have offered lots of money for the full story, but nothing has been forthcoming. I don’t like the way the poem is printed in double spacing, but I can’t get it to do it any other way…

Trump Campaign Ends With Saddest Press Conference at Four Seasons Total Landscaping



Puffing down the West Wing hall, MAGA tie askew,

It’s Ed my boss, with a heavy box, looking kinda blue…

‘Where’s the Chief,’ I ask, ‘he must be feelin’ bad…’

‘Golfing. Where d’ya think? Man’s gone fuckin’ mad.

There’s an urgent job needs doin”, one for you, I guess,

it’s for Mister Giuliani, a meeting with the press.’

‘No can do,’ I say, ‘public-facing stuff ain’t in my role.’

Ed looks shifty. ‘Don’t argue, pet, we’re really in a hole.

Chief wants the Four Seasons booked, Philly’s top hotel,

sort it out, and he’ll thank you… personally… as well!’


‘I’m speakin’ from the White House, the President expects…’

‘Which one Miss? I assume you mean the President-Elect!’

‘What are you on? We jus’ got one! Mr Trump requires…’

‘So Sorry, Miss, I just been told, no politics allowed,

a high-class place like this can’t take raucous crowds.’

I’m cryin’ now. ‘But I gotta book your particular hotel,

Chief wants the Four Seasons, if I fail he’ll give me hell!’

So Snooty goes ‘there’s another Four Seasons in this town,

real handy for the freeway, just a few blocks down.

They do our… outside… contracts, tell ‘em Gary said to call,

say they’ve gotta help you if they want more work at all…’


I dunno about this next hotel, they don’t pick up the phone,

then when this dumb guy answers, I could swear he’s stoned.

‘Yeah…Four Seasons.’ I tell him what I want, he’s laughin’ fit to cry.

‘World’s media? Sweet Lord Jeezus Christ I think I’m gonna die!’

I’ve had enough. ‘Kindly stop profanin’, put out that wicked joint.

Gary said to tell ya, do the gig or…’ So, now he’s got the point.

‘They’ll have to be outside’ he says, ‘Our Covid rules are tough.’

‘Have you a rose garden they can use? A lawn would be enough.’

‘Rose garden?’ Silly pot-head’s off again, laughin’ more and more.

‘Don’t worry love, we’ll clear a space and sort it out for sure.

No sweat, I’ll call old Giuliani, say he can have his lame event,

you jus’ chill your pretty head and tell the President!’


Well if you ask me anything, this whole business stinks.

But you know I’ve done my best, whatever people think.

I left a message at the golf course, used the intern’s phone,

quickly cleared my desk, and now I’m headin’ home…


Another nice pic to finish up with

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