I see a random symmetry
As the drops hit the puddle
And concentric circles grow
Until they collide and are consumed.
Cares vanish as the rings fade,
Geometric self-hypnosis,
Walking in the gentle rain.
17 May 2009
Random Symmetry
Shell garage
Food on the go,
For people on the move.
Snap your fingers
To the rhythm of a
Pork pie and a pint of milk.
Hit on a coffee
For those wide awake moments.
Mars bars and Lucozade
For that morning after
Energy lift.
Body fuel by Shell.
16 May 2009
Old Bakery Restaurant
If awards are your scene,
This is a must
For Mediterranean cuisine
If atmosphere is your thing
Come on in.
Coop
A visit to the coop,
Always pays dividends.
Double points,
On Fair Trade products.
Greenhouse
Lucky
If you feel Lucky,
Head down the strip
For some mainstream chow,
Mein on the menu,
Though not by chance
Is this a numbers game,
But you don’t have to gamble
Whilst old favourites are there,
And hunger is the spur,
You’d be prawn crackers not to,
Thirty two, twenty seven,
Beef curry, fried rice please.
Museum Of Lincolnshire Life
McColls
Tobacco
Confectionery
Chilled drinks, snacks
All at McColls
Groceries,
Fresh food
Bread and cakes,
All at McColls
Top-ups
Lottery
Newspapers, mags
All at McColls
No 10
Number 10,
Few crumbs
Of bodily comforts
Though the starving soul
May seek solace
Inside
These whitewashed walls.
Food for the brain,
Food for thought
& food accepted gratefully.
Ploughboy
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.
Burton Road Chippy
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.
The Waggon And Horses
Of bygone times
Rattle around inside
The defunct public house,
The last night in quiet contrast,
To the raucous piano bashing
Of its heyday,
Still fresh in my mind,
The stink of cigarette smoke
And beer stained carpet.
Starbucks Bakery
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.













