I eat my peas with honey,
I’ve done it since I was one,
You may think it’s funny
But it’s actually really yummy,
I could eat it by the ton.
December 27, 2008
December 24, 2008
The Fork’n Knife Club
Members must have
Ageless beauty
And inner strength,
Be hard working
And fun loving
With a positive outlook to life.
A net source of love
They will have kids who
Are often a joy
Though a constant worry.
Membership is by natural selection
For Mam.
December 21, 2008
A few days to Christmas
Six sorry looking taxis standing in a rank
Five days to go but
Only four small turkeys left at the butchers.
Three ducks scooting across the water, surely cold.
Two bag laden Christmas shoppers, heads bowed into the drizzle
A grey December day, never in sight of the sun
And there’s the traffic, why do they do it?
There is really only one place to be
And that is at home in front of the fire
The cards are dispatched, logs piled up by the back door
Plenty of time yet to get the big shop done,
Turkey ordered and a couple of parties to come.
The chink of glasses and the cheery sounds
Open that bottle of malt and pass it round
Mince pies smell of brandy
December 16, 2008
Inside the hornpipe
It starts off slow
We smile because we know
For now we’re safe. The show though
Will soon start to go with a little more flow.
Back to the beginning
The tune starts going
More quickly. People start looking
Some even start clapping
In time and stamping.
We’re still smiling,
But back again to the beginning
It’s now about trying
To keep going
As people keep clapping, and stamping
And singing and pushing and speeding
And shouting.
And with one big flourish it’s over
We’ve done it again, it’s always a winner.
December 12, 2008
Journeymen
I sit in the window enjoying breakfast at my leisure,
Taking in the traffic on the pavement outside.
It is cold out there and
The anonymous scurriers are
Wrapped up against the biting December wind.
They have been up early to get there
Though I am now just sitting down to start the day.
Full English, tea and toast and then
I leave the warmth of the hotel and venture forth
Looking for my destination,
Unsure of my options.
Heading for Victoria Station I swim against the flow of office fodder,
Miserable looking people subjected daily to discomforts of the commute,
Crushed into compartments,
Standing within sweat smell of strangers
Trapped on the treadmill of the city.
Trapped.
I take the taxi option.
It is the only one available
As the voluntary queue for compression
On the Underground looks longer than the taxi rank.
A good meeting and later I do take the tube
For a lunchtime get together.
Plenty of time to people-watch.
A mother speaks Spanish to two young girls
Who reply in both Spanish and English
As they see fit, lucky girls.
Otherwise few speak.
A busker enters the compartment
Complete with bedroll and survival gear.
Tattooed, with shorts and worn leather gaiters
He entertains poorly with a penny whistle.
The carriage ignores him with a practised survival instinct.
But I give him a pound as I leave at the next stop
Poor pickings, and all he got.
Homeward bound
On the train a phone sings out “swing low sweet chariot”
And a voice answers “hello?”
Others doze or are sucked into their laptops,
There is little talk as the chosen ones
Head home after a long day at their machines.
December 10, 2008
Christmas presents
What do they want for Christmas ?
Every year the same
Thinking about gifts for others
A book, some socks, a game ?
It’s better to think of others
Than always to think of me
But getting it right at Christmas
Is never a certainty.
Have they already got one ?
Perhaps they’ve got two or three
Will they want chocolate golf balls ?
I wouldn’t if it were me.
Whatever you give at Christmas
And when the excitement mounts
Remember to think of others
It’s really the thought that counts.
December 2, 2008
Bath Christmas Market
Crisp, crunch, cold. Twinkly lights.
Sugar-dusted waffles, warm spices.
Hats, gloves, scarves, thick woolly tights
This year’s Christmas delights
Goldfish bowl horses yellow red green
Up down round up down round
Cameras flashing, laughing, keen,
Go again if you pay your pound.
One-legged fire-wheels, cap on ground,
Tall, double-green, Christmas tree.
Elbows, toes, lost, found,
Bath Christmas market memory
Tea Ern ?
Terry’s on the urn; it’s his turn.
Tea for two ?
More like two hundred and twenty two.
It’s Tref’s turn too; he’s volunteered to do
The washing up
Of two hundred and twenty two teacups.
Sue’s out in the hall, collecting back all
Of Terry’s teacups
For Tref, in turn, to wash up.
November 16, 2008
The Apple Tree
The apple tree buds, the start of spring,
The first sign of hope,
The flowers arrive and with them
Birdsong, absent for some months now.
Fresh new smells in the garden and the cleaned up patio
Point to lunch outside for the first time.
The flowers turn to green berries,
Unnoticed at first but getting a little bigger each day,
As the summer progresses.
We still sit outside for food, when the weather allows.
Though more often we complain about it,
But the apple tree likes the rain.
Holidays come and we abandon the tree to
Work its magic, and the apples grow fat.
Expectantly we await the first windfalls
That suggest harvest time has arrived.
Back to school and a bumper crop.
Up the ladder to pick the finest,
Bags filled full and heavy.
In the kitchen, flour, sugar and blackberries
Make a heavenly combination.
Outside the apple tree is now forgotten,
Its job done, leaves gone,
Just the odd fruit left, out of reach,
Bending slender bough and bobbing wildly
As the winter winds wreak havoc on the garden.
The apples, stored in the shed
Won’t last the winter…
For Ann Cookson
November 5, 2008
Twice
totootwo2tutu
totootwo2tutu
chouxchewshooshoechoochoo
chouxchewshooshoechoochoo
moo, moo
From an idea by Benjammin
November 2, 2008
The Graveyard Of The Chelsea Tractor
Rusting metal mingles with rubber, glass and orange plastic.
Decay, a by-product of self-destructing self-worship.
The smell of oil and dirt, torn leather and plastic,
Badges of affectation, discarded on urban wastelands
And picked over by the poor.
Born of pretension,
A contempt-venting urban behemoth and
Wreaker of environmental carnage.
Gas guzzling yank tank,
Now an out of favour status symbol,
Dying in ignominious obscurity
Driven out of existence…
The Chelsea Tractor,RIP, 2008.
October 29, 2008
Impromptu Lunch
Impromptu lunch, finest kind,
A few beers,
No such thing as a free one,
So I paid.
October 28, 2008
The kettle boils, hopefully
The kettle boils, hopefully. I meant to say that I hope the kettle will boil rather than an observation as to the mental state of the kettle as it is boiling.
The tea brews; you know what I’m saying
The wife awaits, expectantly, looking forward to her first cuppa of the day.
Dutifully, I carry the tray upstairs.
October 23, 2008
Food For Thought – 15th January, 2006
Monday
Breakfast
Bran flakes with semi skimmed milk & banana
Lunch
Tuna & sweetcorn sandwich on brown bread with Satsuma and pear
Dinner
Fillet steak with salad – lettuce, tomatoes, cucumber with olive oil and balsamic vinegar dressing, mustard
Fruit
Tuesday
Breakfast
Bran flakes with semi skimmed milk & banana
Lunch
Waitrose sweet chilli Chicken fillets, bean salad and greek salad
Dinner
Gammon steak with carrots, cauliflower & leeks in cheese and bacon sauce
Fruit
Wednesday
breakfast
Bacon roll, glass of milk
Lunch
Ploughmans baguette with ham and cheese & crisps
Dinner
Thai pork green curry with basmati rice
Fruit
Thursday
Bacon sandwich
Duck wrap with hoisin sauce and cheese and onion crisps
5 pints of stella, packet of peanuts and burger and fries
Friday
breakfast
Mars bar, Lucozade, pint of milk
lunch
Hot cheese and onion baguette with mineral water
Latte
Latte and caramel shortcake
dinner
Big mac meal, 5 pints of timothy tailor landlord, packet of peanuts
Saturday
Breakfast
Bacon sandwich with milk
lunch
Home made ham, beef and veg soup, french bread and cheese
dinner
5 pints of IPA, packet of peanuts
Turkey biryani, bottle of red wine
Mango chutney
Fruit with half fat fromage frais
Sunday
Breakfast
Bacon sandwich, glass of milk
lunch
Chicken wrap, salad – lettuce, cucumber, tomato and spring onion, parma ham, gammon ham
Banana & grapes
Dinner
Roast pork
Roast potatoes in goose fat
Carrots, parsnips, peas
Fruit with half fat fromage frais
October 17, 2008
Bottle Of Wine
It’s red, the bottle of wine. At this time, on a friday night, there isn’t much left. The book is open, face down, on the stool in front of me. A good book, but it has already served its purpose, for the evening.
John sits on the sofa, smacking his lips, after a bread roll, watching the snooker, on the telly. Six reds, six blacks, a disappointing miss. It’s green, the snooker table. The black is black. The book is read, like the wine.