72

There is a lot of tosh
Though I liked it back then
There is a lot of rhyme
O golly, o gosh

I will doff my cap, no slack
As and when
The love of lust stands in line
The lust of love hands it back

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71

Calf leather boots
Across the Humber Bridge
Smoking sweet cheroots
Up on Bluestone Ridge

A coffee, and a chocolate bar
O Monday how you tempt my bid
Riding in this sedan car
As a writer, lifting off the lid

In middle, or late age England
A long way from Inter-Milan
In designer outlet gear they stand
Looking neat; I have it in the can

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70

Uncertain
As to where time alone might take me
I did not stay alone so very long

From behind the curtain
As if the love of my life forgave me
I show myself to stand square, and to be fairly strong

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69

There is sun on the snow, back at my B&B
There is sun through the weeping willow, back at my B&B
There is peace in the trees, trees without leaves, back at my B&B

I vowed to steer away
And steer away
Is exactly what I've done

I did not go in search of longing
I did not go in search of loss
I did not go in search of yearning
I did not go in search of cost

Instead I found friendly faces
Who turned around
And asked may I help you

As they complemented me on my bracelet

There are good memories of this day, back at my B&B
There are ladders, and drains to mend, back at my B&B
There are owners, also known as friends, back at my B&B

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68

Retail therapy doesn't do it for me today
I find a flaw in the construction of the oak bureau
And so it is moved, from the must have, to the might have
But only if it's a bargain
And at close on seven hundred it isn't

Unlike last seasons Christmas lights, which it seems
Must have been substantially overstocked
They are discounted, significantly, extremely
Although in February, even though it is my birthday
I have little need for shimmering imitation chandeliers

I did see tables for the stables, but, yes I know another but
But I am quite unable to act unilaterally in this regard
And so I move on to the coffee shop, which nowadays
Unlike the days of my youth, is filled with young mothers
And all manner of pushchairs, and contemporary carrying contraptions
It is, I have to say, almost the equivalent of those food pubs
Who have two for one pensioner days, just to prove
Or so I think, that pensions are keeping pace with inflation

Starbucks was no place for a struggling writer
Not that I am a writer, but if I was it would be a struggle
Not a penny, actually just one penny change from five pounds
For a small Americano and an even smaller bar of granola, yes
I know that granola is a diet sin, and that I have to pay for my sins
But to pay through the nose, that smells more than a bit shifty

I drove back through Eastwood
Not specifically to see the schoolgirls smoking
Or to be surprised, by the young boys in anoraks
Entering the valentines card shop

It was the satellite navigation that redirected me
Apparently there was an accident on the direct route
I saw a white van, stopped by the police for speeding
Or maybe for something more sinister; I carried on by

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