I am that merry wanderer of the night.
Tis I who wakes you with the terrible screeches
Of cats and dogs. I make the tap drip,
That’s so annoying and unstoppable.
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Last Christmas I got a bit of a shock,
I opened a present to find a sock,
I dived on the presents to explore,
And to my disappointment I found three more,
That made two pairs of socks!
Where was my computer game?
Where was my watch?
Could it be happening once again?
Where socks and oranges are the domain…

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What does my grandfather mean to me,
What is a grandfather meant to be?
He is wonderful, and great,
He does things we appreciate.
Playing with us outside,
And our breakfast he once fried.
He’s never short of things to say,
And let’s us visit on holiday.
To Tadcu,
I do write.
With joy, happiness and delight.
You are a fab grandfather to me,
Have a happy anniversary.

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Another year
Another ballot
And so I stand again
I stand to be their leader,
Their envoy and their friend
I sign my name with an eager arm
So I may not back out
But who would
Which wimp would go against their word?
Everyone’s here
Except for one
Probably hiding
Away in another world
His hands trembling with fear
He hangs his head in shame
Tears streaming down his face
He could not stand in front of them
We all fill with dread
As the favourite strides in
He’s confident
He has no speech
He chucked it in the bin
The hall starts to get busy
SILENCE!
The speeches are heard.
They all mean nothing to the crowd
Apart from the odd promise of sweats or no homework
Then the crowd cheers
The favourite is on the stage
I wonder what speech he will do.
But no it’s a Mexican wave
The wave dances around the room
The great hall shakes with the children’s ecstasy
I think how I would ever do that
For I am not their friend
It’s all a big popularity contest
And the favourite won it in the end

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Down on the ground,
The signal is sounded,
Piercing whistles,
And the horrendous drone of the siren.

Panic arises,
People scramble to find shelter,
It could only mean one thing,
Air raid!

Then I heard death itself,
The killer chug of Hitler’s bombers,
Desperate to find safety,
I crouch under the nearest place to hide,
A park bench.

Looking round the planes come into view,
There is no sign of the R.A.F fighters,
Or the anti aircraft guns.

Searching for a safer hiding place,
I take a risk and dash into a shop doorway,
Suddenly guns fire, but they are not German,
At last a group of spitfires fly into view.

The guns sound,
But they are too late,
There is the screech of a bomb,
Then nothing,
Hitler had done it again.

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High in the clouds,
In the cramped hell hole they expect us to fight in.
There is the terrible thump of the mechanical heart,
Every pound of the machine seems louder.

Out of the grubby windows I see nothing,
Nothing but the dark expanse in all directions,
Swirling clouds of fog make the job much harder,
Harder than it already is.

I have my hands on the controls,
Using all the strength I can muster.
To keep the plane in the sky,
There is a loud clang as the lever sticks in position.

The controls are stiff,
The aeroplane is slow,
And it doesn’t handle well.
flying low ,like a sitting duck.

Bang,
The sudden explosions of shells all around.
A bright search light singles me out in the black abyss,
There are screams of bullets narrowly missing the cockpit.

Reaching for the lever,
I start to have second thoughts.
But I must over come them.
I pull the lever.
The deed is done.

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bloody starter motors

why won’t they start
they can’t even manage a weak old fart

not a sound to be heard
no fumes to be seen
it must be bust
or maybe just unclean

that brought me to the decision
the car, something I must clean
it shouldn’t have a coat of grime
its should sparkle and gleam

those bloody starter motors
just look at what they’ve had me done
a lot of time cleaning my car
a job that’s no fun

if I could reinvent the car
it would have no starter motors
instead we would be resourceful
and start it with a bucket of old floaters

but that may never happen
so we’re stuck with
bloody starter motors

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The man from the city huzzar,
Played a tune on his one string guitar,
He played rather funny,
And earned lots of money,
The man from the city huzzar.

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My day started rather unusually today, being woken at 4:30 am isn’t the normal thing to do in the favela. Why I woke up is still a mystery, but the early start gave me an advantage, the saying the early bird catches the worm was certainly true in this case. Within minutes I had found enough food for the whole day. This is the biggest stroke of luck I have ever experienced.

With a bulging stomach I gradually dozed off, the early start evidently taking its toll. A few hours later the gang leader smudge woke me and told me to “stop lazing around and do some work” so I grabbed a shoe shine kit and got to work

My luck was beginning to run out; 1 dollar in two hours. Since my shoe shining business was failing I started to beg. The policeman had terrible terms. 75% of earnings went to him. He dug the barrel of his gun into my forehead and told me to comply or die! I decided to start to beg where I was and luckily I was given ten whole dollars. Tourists these days don’t know how much that’s worth. Then I had a massive decision, do I give 75% to the policeman. I decided to risk it and made myself scarce.

I went to the local bakery and bought a heavenly cake, but suddenly a pair of other street kids grabbed it from me and I chased them but I couldn’t catch them.

Towards the end of the day I headed for home, only to find it in ruins. Whilst wandering the streets looking for somewhere to sleep I saw a fast food restaurant, they advertised a burger for 2 dollars, I couldn’t resist the thought of hot food and bought a burger.

At about 7pm I found an adequate place and settled down for the night, what an extraordinary day I’d had.

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Another Saturday was here. I woke up at about half past 7. I tried to get back to sleep, but failed. Then I heard the Knock. My Little brother peeped into my room. I pretended I was still asleep and thankfully he disappeared. However thirty seconds he came in again and caught me off guard. In a whiney annoying tone of voice he asked “Joe, can I go on your computer?” Whether it was a punishment from above or not I do not know but my brother was obsessed with his new computer game. For some reason it wouldn’t work on the family computer. So he had to use my own. After some nagging I accepted defeat and slumped downstairs to watch the T V.

After a good session of television watching I filled my bowl to the brim with coco pops. From half past ten till one o’clock I did some boring homework and apart from that nothing much happened.

At One pm I ate lunch consisting of a cheese sandwich, a packet of salt and vinegar crisps, a slice of chocolate cake and a banana. This was all usual apart from the chocolate cake my sister had made as a special treat.

One thirty and at last something exciting happened. By this time my other brother had returned from presenting his radio show and my mother was complaining about being cold. So my brother and I decided to light a fire. Cleverly I thought I knew what do and set and lit the fire. After five minutes it went out. Tom (my brother) had a row at me and said he would do it himself and went to the bottom of the garden to chop more wood, armed with a saw. Meanwhile I settled down to watch a strange film about a detective named Jane Doe whose base is in a super market. 

Worryingly my dad piled in and forced me to change channel. He never wants to watch the television unless. Oh no, the rugby! I sat through half an hour of England, which is not my favourite team, being thrashed by South Africa which was rather entertaining.

Finally my friend Rhys rang up asking if I wanted to play football. I gladly took up his invitation and spent two hours of running up and down a large area of grass he asked me to stay the night.

Half a pizza later I arrived at Rhys’s house and we played on his computer and finally we watched match of the day to end my football filled day. At eleven thirty I finally got to sleep.

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Dance night at the barley mow.

Thursday the 8th at 7 o’clock. 

Tickets £5.00 per person.

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The town of Little Cliffy was devastated as the annual all day all night car boot sale was cancelled about two weeks ago. It was scheduled to start yesterday at 8 am till 9am today. The parish committee had to cancel it because farmer Giles’s lettuce crop would not be harvested from the field. Sadly there was no other field like Derrick Flats around it had won a lot of awards for it’s flatness. Fred Corn a regular car booter said” I’m so sad, I was going for the record of the most car boot sales visited in 10 years, now I’m one short of a Scottish chap.” Whether Little Cliffy will ever recover from this  shock we will find out.

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29 days ago, Beowulf, glorious leader of the Geats perished in a terrifying fight to the death with a ferocious dragon in its own den. 

On the eve of the great battle the mighty dragon Dave swept through the Geat dwellings of the plum tree valley after a Geat citizen stole from the dragon’s precious horde.

Dave killed every person he came across and left no building standing, and to the king’s dismay (who was on holiday in Rome) that included his 40 ft hall.

This angered Beowulf and he returned in such a hurry that he forgot to remove his bathing clothes.  When Beowulf returned his kingdom was in ruins. He went for revenge.

Beowulf marched to the entrance to Dave’s Lair dressed in his finest gold plated armour with a body length iron shield and his favourite sword Boris, named after a successful mayor of one of his provinces.

Dave appeared accepting the challenge. The fight began. For about 15 minutes the two kept each other busy dashing and darting everywhere locked in mortal combat.

Suddenly Beowulf lunged at Dave but  Boris bounced off the thick scales. He struck again, Boris snapped! The dragon broke through and dealt Beowulf a deadly blow. Beowulf, reached for his hunting  knife and plunged it into Dave’s stomach. They both bled to death. The Geats were saved but they had lost their precious war hero.

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To me the word valuable has two meanings; the first is where you have something in your possession that cost you a considerable amount of money. But the second one I believe is more important; something that doesn’t necessarily cost a tonne of gold sovereigns but something you treasure. So to me all the computer games in the world means nothing to me compared to a certificate of achievement, for instance. Therefore it is the second type of value, the sentimental things in my life, which I may wish to revisit when I’m old and crooked.

My first item would be a lever arch file, you may ask; why a boring old folder that can be found in any stationary shop? But it’s not the folder, its’s inside this particular folder that the sentimental items are kept. Ever since I was young my parents have gathered any certificates that I came to win and stored them in this folder. This folder and its content have the capability to bring back many fond memories.

The second is a family photo, but, not just any old photo solely of the people who live in your house but also of cousins, aunts and uncles and grandparents and so on. I am sure you will agree that it is nice to have a memory of that special aunty or grandparent, who just made your life that much better, after they’ve gone like you or I will one day do too……sadly.

Next I would place my trumpet, if it would fit. So far in life trumpeting has been an enjoyable hobby of mine. If my career was to be a musician I could back and say” I remember those days.”

Still on the subject of hobbies I would put a picture of me in my kayak. Although I have not done this hobby as long as being a musician it is still just as enjoyable as playing the trumpet.

Finally I would place in my lifelong companion ted-ert. The name came to me when I was fairly young, I decided that if the name rob was short for Robert then ted must be short for ted- ert. Every night I would lie in my bed and ted-ert would help me sleep. He even came on the long plane journey to America when I was young.

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The golden moment,

At the finish line.

One try to determine the game,

If not, your name to shame.

The man who could have won it,

For the first time.

But ran himself into touch,

At the finish line.

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