The descent of man, and other cheerful thoughts

It’s the day after Christmas, the one they call Boxing, The odds are you’re sitting around and detoxing (And if that’s the standard of rhyme in this verse By the time it has finished you’ll be feeling worse) But to summarise 2018, if I can,

It was, and it wasn’t, the year of the man.

It all began well when his Plumpness the Pope

In a bid to engender a culture of hope Instructed the faithful to fall to their knees

On Feb 23rd and all pray for world peace.

The result – who’d have thought it? – on Feb 24

Everything carried on much as before.

There were babies to coo over, like little Neve (Does Neve rhyme with levy or Stevie or leave?) There were marriages also to sprinkle the sparkle Like red-headed Harry to pretty Miss Markle And then there were deaths to get everyone talking Like the final demise of Professor S Hawking.

Slumped in his wheelchair he seemed to define The defeat of the body, and rise of the mind He made use of his last working muscle, his cheek, To speak by computer – the ultimate geek. Though crippled he somehow stood mentally tall And made most of the rest of us look rather small.

Australian cricketers cheated, of course, There’s no news in that. But for once they were caught.

And when, in the media hullaballoo

They were put before cameras, what did they do? These hard Aussie men who’d been saying for years

That nice guys were losers, they burst into tears.

Over in Tinseltown dozens accused A mogul called Weinstein of sexual abuse. I don’t know if he did it. It’s only alleged. (Though to judge by the look of him, I would say yes.)

But the point is that whether or not it is true It gave rise to the movement we know as #MeToo Revealing that men can be slaves to their urges Whether presidents, film stars or Catholic clergy.

#MeToo is a good thing, but still one suspects That there’ll always be problems with power and sex

Till testiclectomies come into fashion

And men learn to master libidinous passion.

2018 as a whole once again

Was a fine year for despots – and all of them men. From Putin to Orban via Dirty Duterte Maduro and Kim and that turkey from Turkey. But by far the most manly regime of the lot

Is the one that poor Saudi Arabia’s got,

The one that the journalist Khashoggi said Was in need of some changes; lo, he was

dead.

The Crown Prince of Saudi had put out the call

That he wanted him silenced once and for all.

The murderers cut him to pieces, then they

Dissolved him in acid and flushed him away.

If you or if I had commissioned this crime

We’d be rotting in prison, but the prince will be fine

For even conspiring to murder’s allowed

If you’re male and born into the royal house of Saud.

(Though it helps you escape as a vile executioner If you’re friends with a son-in-law called Jared Kushner.)

There were babies to coo over, like little Neve (Does Neve rhyme with levy or Stevie or leave?)

But the feeling-good story of 2018

Was the rescue in Thailand. A kids’ football team Had gone and got stuck half a mile underground And were sure to asphyxiate, starve or be drowned. But some men wouldn’t have it. They risked their own death

And plunged underground while the world held its breath.

They were fearless, heroic, improbably brave And they pulled every boy from that tomb of a cave.

So let’s not forget, though we rightly condemn The Weinsteins and Trumps as unspeakable men And fervently wish that they all rot in hell, That the heroes of Thailand were male as well.