The Yeh Yeh Yehs
Old pal Jane Yeh's long-brewing, just released poetry collection Marabou is the bee's knees—and I'm not the only one who thinks so: She's just been nominated for the Whitbread! (The bee in question, however, is unhappy, and wants its patellae back.)(Wha?)
Anyway—she had better win! Or I'm never buying a book of poetry again! Ye Whitbread judges! Do the right thing! And while you're at it, let's give Nick Hornby a Whitbread, too!
Here is one of Jane's top hits, just in time for ye olde Goblet of Fire! (I like this one because it shows her sense of humor, or as they say over there, "humour.")(Wha?)
THE ONLY CONFIRMED CAST MEMBER IS OOK THE OWL, WHO HAS BEEN TAPPED TO PLAY THE SNOWY WHITE OWL WHO DELIVERS MAIL FOR HARRY
—article on preproduction for the first Harry Potter film, New York Post, August 2000
Claw up. Claw down. Cut.
My fine eyes. My fine eyes are— Cut.
I was fluffed and plucked, like a beauty-pageant winner,
Between takes. Like a news presenter.
Could I be a news presenter?
Rider: 5 rashers bacon. 8-oz. tin mixed nuts.
2 lbs. rabbit fillets. Assorted drupes.
Between takes, I did leg-lifts in my trailer.
If asked what is your most treasured possession, I would say
The woolly toy Tracey, my personal trainer, gave me when young.
I learnt to spy it from afar, then swoop down and seize,
But only on cue. Mr Sheep goes everywhere with me now.
If I could wake up having gained one ability,
It would be the capacity for more facial expression.
It is so tedious to have one's beak set in a permanent frown.
My greatest talent is impersonation—
To simulate a person's idea of an owl.
Sadly, I owe my success to typecasting.
My greatest fear is to be found wanting.
At the premiere party, the women were not very clothed.
It is of advantage to be clad always in feathers.
I allowed fake friends to pet me.
My picture was taken several times with the boy.
I enjoy parties because otherwise I see only Tracey.
Afterwards, you wonder what the glitter was for.