Friday, 20 July 2012

Naked Time!

Terrifyingly, it's been two years since I started sixth form - and I've finally finished school forever (I bloody hope!) Whilst searching through my laptop - yes, my life is truly that enthralling - I found the first piece of homework I was set in 6th form - for which I was given an A* (miracles can happen!)

I thought I'd share it with y'all. Essentially, our task was an investigation into the way in which stories are told. As we were studying Tennyson's poem 'Godiva', we had to re-tell the story in our own words.

The general jist of the story is that Lady Godiva lives in the...[racks brain for inoffensive adjective], in the city of Coventry. She's married to a man. He's not very nice. He over taxed the people of Cov. She pitied them. She asked him to lower the taxes. He said nay. She asked again. And again. And again. He got fed up of his bitch's nagging and relented. On the condition that she get stark bollock naked and ride on a horse through Coventry (bit of a sadistic prick - think Christian Grey but in the middle ages). Off she trots through Coventry under the understanding that everyone hides in their houses. Peeping Tom peeps and his eyes fall out. Mr NastyAssSadistTaxHusband has to lower the taxes. The end.

So I wrote a rap, placing the story in a modern context. In retrospect, I think I managed to keep my language fairly clean. I'm pretty sure in homework you're limited to little more than one bitch/ho/twat/arse/bugger/fuck...although I did re-read my AS Shakespeare coursework and discover I'd practically dropped the C-bomb. Anyway, stand aside Eminem - I got sum shit hot rappin 2 do blud, innit. (I'll never talk like that again, promise.)

Now this is the story ‘bout Lady G,
Who streaked at a home match in Coventry,
And all the crowd were like, OMG,
‘Cause no one was allowed to see....

An angry mob came to the house of Godiva,
Her husband wasn’t in, the nasty skiver,
So Lady G, a decent woman
Said she’d go to her husband and report the problem

Basics his shop prices were out of order,
People couldn’t afford food, clothes or water,
His extortionate costs got him a house and a Mazda,
The people said that they’d leave him for ASDA (!)

She said she’d move out if he didn’t sort the quandary,
So he said “But woman, who’d deal with my laundry?!”
She struck up a deal, which he thought was a hoot,
That she’d run through Cov’ in her birthday suit....

In return for this, he’d lower his costs,
And replenish the people with the money they’d lost,
With this deal he thought she wouldn’t comply,
So he said “go ahead,” with a glint in his eye.

Lady G arrived at the Ricoh Arena,
And, Thank the Lord, no one yet had seen her,
The crowd had promised they’d turn away,
Her mates holding weapons kept them that way!

One little perv’ who was trying his luck,
Turned round to peek, but found himself stuck,
The police who’d arrived struck him down with a tazer
Then arrested Lady G for indecent exposure....

She had a good lawyer, so they soon let her off,
And her bloke reluctantly decreased his costs,
He was still the same tosser underneath of course,
So she decided to file for a divorce.......
And lived happily ever after, The End.

© Charlotte Davey. Don't steal me work of literary genius, bitches.

I think I'll just accept that I'm never going to be a deep, meaningful poet. Or a children's author. Or particularly eloquent. Or loved by the people of Coventry. Or a rap artist.

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