He strolls across

He strolls across

The cobbled market square

Grey shorts, grey T-shirt, grey hair

She takes his arm, grey dress

But blonde hair, au naturelle

There is no disguise for love

Two construction workers

With boots, beards

And safety vests

While Mrs Robinson plays

On the cafés sound system which acts

As wallpaper for the lunchtime diners

Steak and eggs (two)

With a side of bubble & squeak

Which, probably thanks to ample butter

Is way more than simply delicious

Indeed it must be remembered

And, right here and now, it has been

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In the honeymoon phase

In the honeymoon phase

Of a relationship break-up

Before the house is sold

Or new homes identified

Another café, on another day

In a town

Without any recommendation

Other than the café

In the drilling-down essence

Of two people falling apart

Before new shoots of life

Find their way through the earth

A pair of colour-coded Italian bicycles

With matching mustard-wall tyres

Each have drop handlebars

Although neither is a female frame

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I might have caught the sun

I might have caught the sun

While looking for the shade

I might have caught your eye

While looking for distraction

Either way, going forwards

We ought to take it on, didn’t we

If for no other reason than to align

The northern star with the galaxies of love

The neat VW camper-van

Might offer the right kind of escape

As also could

The Audi three-litre metallic coupe

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Pages, sewn together with cotton

Pages, sewn together with cotton

Not stapled or glued

Could I be so so careful

He doesn’t park the car too well

And his lady-friend she tells him

He shrugs, it’s obviously not his fault

Anyway, by now, he can taste the hops

As he thinks to slake his thirst

With a great big pint of blonde beer

A regular, or so it seems, takes the last space

Close up against the horse box -

Some folks just do not stand on ceremony

I myself am still trying to be creative

But, with only a car park for inspiration

What are my options, realistically

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He carries a vase of flowers

He carries a vase of flowers

Across the public house car park

Jarvis sings

I wanna live like common people

Yet only yesterday, on radio 3’s Private Passions

He was revealing his favourite classical music

Kicking off with Yorkshireman Frederick Delius

The bride of the wedding, down the road

Is a keen and capable gardener

Who has truly inspired the village

One hour has passed, almost

Since you said to walk to the pub

So, being good with instruction, I did just that

Here to listen to dancing in the moonlight

Which may well be played again, later

Whiteley Neil’s banner claims theirs to be

The UK’s most loved gin, how do they know that

Or are they just trying to be controversial

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