How Much I Dislike The Daily Mail
I would rather
eat Quavers that are six weeks stale,
tie up the man bun of Gareth Bale,
listen to the songs of Jimmy Nail,
than read one page of the Daily Mail.
If I were bored
in a waiting room in Perivale,
on a twelve-hour trip on Network Rail,
halfway through a circumnavigational sail,
I would not read the Daily Mail.
I would happily read
the complete works of Peter Mayle,
the autobiography of Dan Quayle,
selected scripts from Emmerdale,
if it meant I didn't have to read the Daily Mail.
Far better to
stand outside in a storm of hail,
be blown out to sea in a powerful gale,
then be swallowed by a humpback whale,
than have to read the Daily Mail.
If I were blind
and it was the only thing in Braille,
I still would not read the Daily Mail.