An Introduction to The Arts
Who wouldn’t want to work the arts?
The daily quest for people’s hearts!
To deal in beauty and sensation!
To do list: give birth to nation.
To know your work will stand for years
to measure out your sweat in tears,
epiphanies and racing pulses,
give tyranny a batch of ulcers.
To be a cog in our machine,
assembling the stuff of dreams!
From Claude Monet to Gary Numan
it’s bloody art what makes us human.
So, join us, we’re defining ‘love’
what’s more we’re doing it down the pub
where, as we all know, art just happens.
What’s that? The unwashed hordes are clapping?
Don’t worry, you’ll get used to that.
Applause, the cross we bear, alack!
But Christ, it’s worth it don’t you think
to live creatively and drink
your weight in thoughts … and booze
to strive and fail, but never loose,
build statues to humanity
come work with us! And work for free.
Yes free … Like freedom. Think … Mandela,
Tibet, or that McCarthy fella.
Free from shabby monetising
the Excel cell that’s always prising
us away from hopes and dreams.
Come on now, let’s meet “the team.”
So over there … I think it’s Tilly
another of our PR fillies.
One part pushy, two parts flirty
and not a penny till she’s thirty!
When, I’m sure she’ll settle down
keep house in some provincial town.
We’ll miss her sure, but hey that’s life
I’m sure she’ll make a super wife.
Y’know I think that’s kind of cool
part arts quango, part finishing school
for girls from upper middle homes.
Now, see that tall chap on the phone
that’s Randolph Churchill-Rhind-Tut-Smee
a very able internee.
Ex-Oxbridge, Eton… well, I think he went …
his mother is the Duke of Kent
or something like that. Aperitif?
He lives with them near Hampstead Heath.
Six days a week, the lad works hard
he bloody earns that Oyster Card.
We’re not a shower of total shits
we pay his travel, well some of it.
Oh here we go. “But food and rent,”
just use your damn inheritance.
You’re not a banker, come on, stop it
money’s such a vulgar topic.
My kids were raised on critical respect
(and a monthly trust fund cheque)
what worth a plate of tasteless gruel
when faced with praise from Brian Sewell.
Besides we’re not all Cornhill-Smiths
our playwright, what a cove he is
poor as pig shit, looks a slob
I hear he has a second job
but bloody hell the writing’s gritty,
full of urban inner city
de-gen, re-gen, me-gen … god knows
ticks the boxes, helps with cash flow.
So that’s us then. You fancy it?
Huh? Do we do apprenticeships?
What, you mean, like, like a plumber?
No, internship. Think post-school summer.
A gap year, but it lasts forever.
Still no. Christ, thought you were clever.
Well, never mind, your loss my love
Come on team – we’re down the pub!