RAGE RAGE AGAINST THE DYING OF THE LIGHT

Following a series of top-level secret meetings in the bunker, the collective have unanimously agreed to invite submissions from our vast readership, which we understand amounts to literally billions of people.

The meetings were intense and emotions were fraught. Without the aid of Red Bull, ephedrine, and a shopping trolley full of stolen Wotsits and Wagon Wheels, I don't think we'd have made it through. Tough times.

Anyway, we implore - nay, beg - our fellow aficionados to submit articles for publication. You can submit prose detailing your favourite Racecourse memories; humorous anecdotes of days gone by; poems; haiku; manifestos for change. Anything really. We're not fussy.

Besides, we could do with a little culture on this rather tawdry and down-market blog.

So, comrades, if any of you feel like penning a few words in homage to the Racecourse, please email us your creative babies at ProtectTheRacecourse@googlemail.com.

To get you in the mood, reproduced below is a short piece from some pompous old windbag on Red Passion. Strikes me as a blatant rip-off of the rhythms and style of Sir Tommy but I'm sure the tosser who wrote it will claim he was merely 'inspired' by the great man. I did say we're not fussy.

It was a winter night

On my way to the 'course

Weaving past people

And a copper on a horse

The horse had shat

On the road

A man in a comedy jesters hat

Approached the copper and moaned

The copper just looked down at him

And said "move along sunshine"

Whilst fondling his bat

-on

I stopped for a fag

And sent a quick text

"You coming the game?

Then we'll go out and get wrecked"

In through the turnstile

£18? You're having a laugh

For a cheap plastic seat

That'll give me a pile

Or three

I couldv'e stayed at home

And had a bath

I meet a mate

And get a beer

£2.70 for warm Carling, which I hate

They saw me coming

The game begins

We lose

We're shit

I feel like I've been mugged

But on the plus side

Wrex The Dragon

Did look quite fit

Off to the pub

For a pint

Or six

As a parrot

Bit shit isn't it? See, if we'll publish this we'll publish anything. Get writing!

Nos da brethren

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