you came into this world
born to a life of sin
your elders gather round
smiling deep from within
the new dawn is here
sun beating down
no wind around, too much heat
your strength will never be beat
you came into this world
born to a life of sin
your elders gather round
smiling deep from within
the new dawn is here
sun beating down
no wind around, too much heat
your strength will never be beat
At 1 o’clock the ground was already bustling with people as the mascot reported for duty. The parking attendant orchestrated. A room at the back of the club shop provided the kit for the day.
Yellow stewards bibs abounded. Black clad doormen, wired for sound, occasionally touched an ear and accepted his presence as he entered the inner sanctum, a place known only to players, managers and mascots, the elite.
Life’s a struggle, when you are a paperboy and it has been snowing all night. As I drove out to get some coal in the Jeep this morning I passed a paperboy trying to make headway on his bike. It somehow made me think of the Pony Express and how the mail must get through.
In this case it wasn’t just the mail. It was the Sunday Times, Telegraph, Express, News of the Screws and others. This doesn’t quite bring the same sense of urgency especially as I long since stopped taking a Sunday paper in favour of reading it all on the internet.
Returning with a boot full of fuel and birdseed I saw another paperboy laden down with a heavy shopping trolley. His face was a picture of grit and determination, the attraction of payday on a Saturday outweighing the obstacles to getting the job done.
Hook Norton Old Hook 4.6% £3.15
Batemans GHA 4.2% £2.95
Batemans Hooker 4.5% £ 2.95
Hook Norton Double Stout 4.8% £3.25
Spectrum Spring Promise 4.5% £3.15
snow covered palm trees, somewhat out of place
snow bathing, it’s no use if a tan is the target
snow joke for the lifeguard, coldly surveying the scene
there’s no business, like the UK February half term holiday
the snow – it came, it went, it was soon forgotten. a mythological entity, historical curiosity, or both.
I have a somewhat homely face,
my nose is wrong, I’m told,
and my body never would have graced a Playgirl centrefold.
But though I’m no Lothario,
I own a natural charm,
I’ve always had a woman on my arm.
But the supply’s run dry.
I think I know why.
My bloom of youth has faded,
my mirror tells the truth,
my joie-de-vivre is jaded,
I’m too long in the tooth.
Affairs unfold so rarely now,
sporadic, inconsistent,
the last one was so long ago,
my love-life’s nonexistent.
Since then there hasn’t been a nibble,
not a soupcon, not a trace;
no maiden, ms or errant miss
has even granted me a kiss.
The upshot’s this:
I’ve become resistible.
The morning came and I awoke
to change so swift and unforeseen,
a leap from love to enmity with nothing in between.
What caused this shift from friend to foe?
What aroused her temper so?
What made her fury grow and grow?
‘Just go,’ she said,
‘if you don’t know,
then I’m not going to tell you.’
I’ve two moons in my pocket,
I’d swap them for a rocket,
To blast into the stars,
So when as far as Mars,
Then transmit out the door,
The thing that I want more,
And if that wish comes true,
I`ll always be with you.
Before you set to digging in other people’s gardens,
first bear in mind what they consider weeds,
then be careful where you tread
and ask before you deadhead,
for all you know they’ll want them for the seeds.
I met a golden fish,
With a evil wish,
To use his magic eye,
And put me in the sky,
Now up there I won’t know,
What’s going on below,
He’ll steal my mobile phone,
To dial his way back home!
I met a metal man,
His head was just a can,
Then I spied his wife,
Her finger was a knife,
I also saw their son,
His screws were all undone,
And when I pet the dog,
My hand scratched on a cog.
Batemans Miss Canada 4.1% £2.95
Steaming Billy Bitter 4.3% £2.95
Titanic Anchor 4.1% £2.95
Batemans Victory Ale 5.9% £3.20
my dad (Alun)
who has lived long and intends longer
plays golf
of course
on his birthday which comes around faster
each time
battery charged
ready for another eighteen
with Eileen (my mam)
who takes the money
and puts it behind the clock on the proverbial
mantelpiece, which keeps going.
You’re time-expired, you’ve been retired, cold-shouldered from the job-scene,
you’re surplus to requirements, a sad, discarded has-been,
your use-by date has come and gone, you’re on the shelf from this point on,
you see yourself rejected, diminished and demeaned.
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