Poetry

Crystal Palace

Crystal Palace In Hyde Park’s green, a glittering dome, A palace born of iron and glass, Where sunbeams dance on panes of foam, And Victorian hopes amass. The Great Exhibition’s shining hall, A crystal

Ards

On the quiet fringe of County Down, Where sea‑kissed cliffs and heather crown, Lies the Ards, a gentle sigh of land, Where gulls carve silver threads through sand. The lighthouse watches, steadfast,

Accrington Stanley

In the heart of Lancashire’s green, Where cotton towns and memories lean, Accrington Stanley wear the red, A badge of pride on threads well‑bred. From humble grounds of old Crown Ground, Their echoes ripple, proud

Notch

The notch upon my well-worn belt, A tiny mark, cut keen and neat, Not for the feast that I once felt, But for the miles I walked each week. It's not a trophy, gleaming

Untitled

Untitled In the hush of early dawn, the mist clings to the cobblestones like silk, softly draping the lanterns that sigh in amber halos over sleepy streets. A sparrow flits from

• The Friday Fun British Test
• Dilbert Archives