SOAPS

SOAPS

The British love their soap operas,

We’ve had them around for years.

Supposed stories of everyday life,

Where reality seldom occurs.

There’ll be a fire in a pub in one

Then a blaze happens in another,

Then someone gets herself pregnant,

Was it her husband or his brother?

The same old sorry story lines

Are banded around verbatim,

There’s always a corner shop

That hardly sells an item.

The show must have a gossip,

It must also have a thug,

The characters pretend to drink a cup of tea

When there’s obviously none in the mug.

The villages in which they’re set in,

Should have children all looking the same,

 Characters sleep around so often

 The pub they’re always in, should carry some of the blame.

Now American soaps are different

They’re full of beautiful people and flash.

Nobody seems to do any work

But, they all have loads of cash.

In CSI Miami there’s something very odd

They solve all the crimes in the dark,

Find microscopic fibres with a little torch

And discover the killer s jumper hidden in the park.

They all sit around in coffee shops,

With their feet comfortably up on the chair

Try to do that for real in England

And you’d get dragged out by the hair.

Does everyone really leave their car unlocked?

And are all American ladies beautiful and slim?

Do all the cops eat a mountain of donuts?

Why’s the hero always called John, and never Stan or Tim?

The steady stream of soap actors,

Who leave because they say they’re bored,

Suddenly think that they can sing

And regretfully release a record.

But, there’s an avid following

So, the soaps are here to stay,

I wish it was reality, as I’d live there

No work, fun with the ladies and in the pub all day.

Phil Hall  May 2013