One of the good things about Facebook is that people remember anniverseries. Today is the 10th and 30th anniverseries of the deaths of Douglas Adams and Bob Marley respectively. Two very different people who meant so much to their fans and both sadly missed. It led to this poem which took me places I didn't expect to go so it's below.
I've enjoyed a good week so far. On Saturday night, I was part of the Whose Turn Comedy Impro Team that did a slot at Cabaret Clandestino in Oxford. It was great to see a new poem to me, Chris Redmond for the first time who was excellent.
I took a slot at Scribal Gathering last night which continues to go from strength to strength. Tomorrow I plan to go and see the wonderful Tim Clare in Northampton. My next gig is next Wednesday at Kings Heath when I headline "Rhymes" in Birmingham alongside Donna Scott, Fay Roberts and Danni Antagonist, hosted by Lorna Meehan. It's at 8pm at the Station Pub in Kings Heath on Wednesday 18 March.
Have a good week
Keep writin' and recitin'
Nostalgia is a lot smaller than I remember it
I want things to be the way they were;
the way I like them.
I want Bob Marley,
Douglas Adams and Kirsty McColl back.
In exchange death is welcome to
Simon Cowell, Ann Widdicombe and
everyone who has ever been on “The Apprentice”.
I’d also throw in every professional footballer
who doesn’t understand
what a lucky bastard they are
or how long it would take to earn
their weekly wage
working in a call centre.
I want the roasting barbecue summer of 1976,
ice creams on Scarborough beach
when penny slots actually cost a penny.
I want to watch the sun shuffle West for the night
and be shushed asleep by
soft breaking waves on the shore.
I want breakfasts that now would bear a
Government health warning:
Bacon, sausages, fried bread and eggs,
toast cut fresh from a cottage loaf and
tea you could use to stain window frames.
When gyms were for boxers
and not for the public.
when Britain made things
instead of outsourcing them to Asia.
When building societies were mutual,
not privatised and owned by Spaniards
and watching television was
as simple as one, two, three.
You knew when to sleep
because the TV turned Cinderella
at midnight, morphing into
a simple analogue dot
and the verb spin had just one meaning
and headaches never lasted beyond the day.