Ploughboy, public house, for the consumption of beer, in public, also available for private parties such as christenings, weddings and eventually funerals, care for cribbage, do you do dominos, fill up, filip, darts, dunno, purity of heart, service at the core, beer at sensible prices, who could ask for more? friendship, amity, camaraderie, mates,double scotch, if you please, at happy hour rates.
photo by Andy Benn
Snack!
A clear breach,
Of the trades descriptions act,
When full blown portions,
Are the hallmark,
Of standard fare,
No nonsense,
Quality food,
For the morning after,
The night before.
Freshly made batter,
Food for a God,
Deep fried fritters,
Haddock, plaice and cod.
Sausages and scrumps,
Salt and (malt) vinegar,
Pickled eggs and gravy,
Fish cakes are a winner,
Baked beans, scampi,
Ketchup, tartare sauce,
Donner kebab if you like,
And lastly chips of course.
photo by Andy Benn
2 4 10
5 till 12
01522
511
777
Call to order,
Pick up or home delivery.
photo by Andy Benn
Bread,
Staff of life,
Crusty white,
Granary, wholemeal,
Sliced or slice it yourself,
Spread thickly with
Creamy English butter,
And jam to taste,
Or liberal helpings
Of smoked salmon,
Ham or cheese with chutney.
You won’t go hungry here.
photo by Andy Benn
It’s one of those idyllic “why would anyone want to be anywhere else” days in May. The back garden is starting to bloom and the sound of birdsong is all around. The lawn has been mown and the hammock is up for the first time this season.
Upstairs the two older offspring are revising for forthcoming examinations, voluntarily and without parental pressure! The other two are in Sunday School with their mother making for a peaceful morning.
Cricket has unfortunately been cancelled as Bracebridge Heath Under 9s have failed to raise a side. It would have been a perfect day for it sat on the boundary sipping a coffee and reading the Sunday papers.
A small plane buzzes across the sky leaving no trail, the sound remaining for a short while after it has disappeared from sight. Leaves flutter in the gentle wind.
The jobs list has been quickly finished and the car retrieved from Burton Road where it was left after a quick post golf drink turned into several. I am now sat in the conservatory with the doors open with a cup of green tea sourced from the shop on Steep Hill. Outside in the garden it is too bright to type. All is well.
Swine flu has put me on a high,
Another pandemic in progress,
The end of the world is nigh,
Whilst you can, live life to excess.
One more drink before the end of play,
A calming effect don’t panic,
Oblivion wends its certain way,
Endemic or not, it’s academic.
As we await our final moments,
A time for thought and deep reflection,
A battle fought with inner torments,
If life is cheap, what price infection?
He died, young,
Though many have gone before,
The shock remains,
As if for the first time.
The community, silenced,
In unexpected grief,
Left thinking,
Pondering their own mortality.
In Italy this week
A loving God
Who is all powerful,
Killed off a couple
Of hundred people
In an earthquake.
They must have been
Evil, presumably?!
The bell tolled,
The faithful went to prayer
And their Leader sent a message
“Assuring us of his spiritual nearness,
Sharing the anguish”.
The bereaved I’m sure,
Would be comforted,
That the souls of the departed
Were fine,
Presuming they were
Good Catholics and
Regularly went
To confession,
The dead that is.
Some mercy was shown –
Survivors were found
Pleased that their names
Were not this time
On the celestial roll call.
The dead, Sofia, Carlo,
Anna, Francesco
Fictitious and fleeting,
Will be remembered for some years
By a plaque, itself destined
For destruction by some future
Wanton act of the same God.
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