818 - Thinking of drinking again

It seems like I can still taste last night’s beer
(Despite brushing my teeth, a lasagne
And one or two coffees) and this last year
Has also left a funny taste: a new
Experience or two’s always fun, yeah?
Well I dunno, there’s always ups and downs
Economy’s been mainly down and the
Flat remains unsold. Interest rate and pound’s
Come down to earth like me. Was lost, now found
Like some high-flying TV character
In a plane crash, being a survivor
But now I’m sussed, yeah, sorted, mate, well sound
Like some shamelessly clichéd northerner
Being so hard but crying in my beer

817 - Quick cathartic sonnet before Never Mind the Buzzcocks

I know we all feel sorry for ourselves
But life’s too short, so sod it, let’s just smile
Besides, some people are as small as elves
And others’ arses are covered with piles
And other people still, they live in Wales
Their houses flooded, and there be dragons
My main problem is I mess with my nails
I’ll never ever be cool as The Fonz
Never mind, who gives a toss, play some songs
Drink a beer or two and enjoy yourselves
I’m not sure about wine, I think it’s vile
It makes your face go red, and then the huns
Will never fancy you! Even Elvis
Stayed at heartbreak hotel. I’ve stayed a while

Sketches of Salford at sunset 5 - Emptying car park

work drives us together
freedom drives us apart
free to reunite
with those who broke our heart

Sketches of Salford at sunset 4 - Bosom

traffic lights hold back the tide
a king’s fantasy land
but only for seconds

the white-eyed stream
angrily
throbbing
for the bosom
of family

or of anybody

Sketches of Salford at sunset 3 - Block of flats

monolithic tombstone
slender church

signs of life
and death
in
both

Sketches of Salford at sunset 2 - Friday afternoon

golden glow
setting sun

another week
of life’s work
done

Sketches of Salford at sunset 1 - Office at dusk

blue and orange
romantic hue
Salford aglow
train slithers past
can't wait to go

thinking of you

816 - Can I go home now?

Incredible tiredness pervades my bones
I sit at my desk, unable to work
Two nights of staying up late caused these moans
And so as Friday wears on, I just shirk
My emailing friend has gone out; no smirks
At our funny exchanges to enjoy
Just clockwatching and drinking tea; no perk
Such as a bite of chocolate to employ
My chocolate's all at home - you stupid boy!
Tonight, though, I'll be hearing screams and groans
No, not the neighbours this time (those damn Turks)
But at the cinema. Please don't annoy
Me, long-legged louts kicking my chair, or phones
Switched on all through the show (drives me beserk!)

815 - Blue yodel

The old cow hasn’t given me the job
Well I’m not surprised, so I’m not upset
If she was homeless she’d not get two bob
Off me, the heartless bitch, with her own set
Of fawning two-faced bleating sheep, their wet
Brown noses stinking as they whinge quietly
Behind her pied backside, where her tail swats
The buzzing flies that irritate, like me
The truth-tellers, not managed easily
Management is a dirty word, they’re slobs
Who take the pay and moo orders, then get
Plenty of cud to chew, real noisily
Plenty of methane gas from out her gob
The hard workers are the ones she forgets

814 - Nuts and Bolton

Day off today to do lots today, hey
But all I did was write all about food
Wanted to go for a run today, hey
But I just wrote - not in a running mood
But a haircut was something I’d include
There must be time for that - no way José
I watched Jeremy Kyle, wrote about food
And that was it, off to the BBC
To see what they would say. It’s not easy
Getting scripts accepted by their guys, hey
I got all the tips down, then crossed the road
Got in my car, drove to Bolton city
For a friends’ poetry night tonight, hey
And all I did was read all about food

Meat and two veg

I was born and raised on meat and two veg, with tinned peaches for tea
This wasn’t fun or great, you allege, and in this speech I agree

My mum and dad weren’t hot on food, but they did use an oven
I’d been a bun in there once when they were rude and did some lovin’

I used to love eating sweets and chocolate, back when I was a kid
I spent my pocket money, quite a lot, but getting fat, well I never did

We had no car so I had to walk far, but the sweet shop was very near
A Mars Bar went far, but Caramac was the top treat, that was quite clear

I got fit eating Marathons, drinking squash, specially lemon and lime
After-Eight mints and iced buns all mashed away, what’s the crime?

Maybe because of these tendencies to go for the sweet things in life
Or gravy-sozzled shepherd’s pies, eating fish fingers with my knife

‘Don’t eat with your knife, Anthony, you’ll cut your tongue,’ scolded Ma
‘Oh get a life,’ thought Anthony back, his hunger unfolding too far

Maybe because of the easy way out, quick fix, instant gratification
I laid into sausages, peas and gravy on chips, Instant Whip on occasion

I liked Walnut Whip too but wasn’t too nuts about the walnut you got on top
Wall’s ice cream and Mr Whippy was nice, but not always did the ice cream van stop

At school they tormented me, sometimes twice weekly, with salad I never could eat
So cruel were the dinner ladies, I sat meekly at table, unable to meet

Panda-like demands to eat beetroots and leaves before leaving my chair for playtime
I wondered how kids didn’t heave with such seemingly poisonous fare sometimes

Tomatoes froze my heart with terror, though too many times, the error was made
To part those inedible things in half: see the slime and the seeds: be afraid!

Meanwhile there was broccoli that looked awfully like baby trees from Amazon
In similar style, there was cauli-flower; ‘I’m too full Mum, even with cheese on!’

Cheese on toast was the most, or beans with grated cheese on top, oh stop, it’s so yum
So great on the plate watching fateful scenes from World at War, sitting next to my Mum

In those days we sat round the table but eating in front of the TV was fab
After playing out in the snow, getting into no trouble, this treat on our lap

In front of the fire, knees roasting, our toast going down, strands of cheese stretching out
Like wire or elastic bands, knowing most wouldn’t be easy to fit in my mouth

Like spaghetti! Forking hell, that must be some sort of wind-up, a practical joke
Who’ll ever forget the unfortunate tale of that first time, when you either choke

From putting it all in unwound, or winding it round and then watching it slip
The muttering as you find bits on the ground, and your crotch is all covered in drips

Eggs are excellent, the not-so mellow yellow yolk continues to amuse me
Example? I’d sample the delicate white bit, coaxed in my buccal cavity

But I’d be even more vocal about the golden centre, sunny orange blob
It’s no yolk, my hold on reality went up the Swannee, with that in my gob

Putting flesh on the bone, though veggies may groan, my favourite part was the fat
On Sunday lunch chops, straight from butcher’s shops, that was such a hit with this lad

Sunny summer mornings, no longer yawning, when I saw bacon sizzling; the rind
Was best eaten raw, if the cat’s claw had not caught it before I came down in time

My mother would dangle rinds from kitchen worktop and pussy would not stop until
Another long piece had been mangled... ‘The bitch,’ I thought, ‘I wanted my fill…’

The bitch being pussy, not Mummy, of course, as our female feline would eat mine
Because I’m so fussy, my tummy’s main course without fail would always decline

Most veg and most fruit, no matter how cute it all looks, or smells, even tastes
I’d wedge it all into a beautiful Matterhorn on the far side of the plate

I’d see other people devouring their greens and salads with remarkable relish
While I’d be in bother, my mother glowering as her silly lad played with his radish

A dish fit for peasants I’d strangely find pleasant, while angelic food I disdained
I wished that it wasn’t, but I had incessant insistence on energy gain

That was instant and insofar as it enabled me to escape table, and
Be sat again in front of our colour TV, it never left me, though I can

Blame my parents’ ways, raising me religiously on meat and two veg, I guess
The same pair made us say grace, a phase that retreated, phrases with which food was blessed

Til children grew up to a godless world without the tooth fairy or Santa Claus
And old ’uns who blew up our heads, who were thrilled with us, filled us with lies, rode their hearse

The old house, which was a new house then, its dining room too tiny to find room in
Though cold outside, all cosy inside, supping our tea, as Muppet Shows begin

In the other room! This was our family time, even though there was so little to say
Besides mother examining how many cakes I’m eating, and how few bits that they

Say I should be eating, and that I’m defeating myself, and that I should wise up
Must I keep repeating, and not just with eating, that health is surprisingly tough?

You can get by with little, at Aldi or Lidl, and Asda, it ’as ter be said
What matters is not what’s the platter, or what’s in your middle, but what’s in your head.

813 - Scottish angels

I finished reading Shadow of the Wind
On the train home from Glasgow in the dark
The sun shone all day. First, we tried to find
Queen Street station, on George Square. Hearing talk
From my colleague about the angels: ‘Look!’
I saw four buxom goddesses of love
All carved and blowing trumpets. Time to walk
Away from love, from those girls up above
In the cold morning air, senses removed
Showing the boobs that no hearts beat behind
Got places to go, people to see, work
(In this case, tax talk.) Northward the train drove
Through green fields, orange hills, blue skies, a kind
Vision of Scotland, beautiful and stark

812 - Sketches from the east coast mainline

The train took us north through pretty Yorkshire
Hills green and rolling, yellow towns nestling
Historic Durham Cathedral, higher
And therefore nearer to God, its choir sings
Plenty of eye candy, pretty young things
Sharing the ride, some jumping off before
Saying goodbye with eyes, pulling, dragging
Their cases elsewhere, gone forevermore
Alternate rain, hail, sun, cloud and much more
In windy Newcastle, but they don’t tire
Schoolkids leap and shout, homeward journeying
Back up to Edinburgh, then change for
Glasgow Central, eighth floor, Thistle. Try a
Japanese sushi. Now TV watching
Monday 24 November

811 - Cold calculation

A wet and potentially stressful day
As all days are, although thankfully I
Am too slow to perceive just how much they
Should stress me, so I just conceive the lie
That it will be fine later, and I fly
In the face of the late November wind
Which slows me further. I know I must try
And do what the grass does in the storm, bend
And sway and even sing, and in the end
The wasteland will be green and kids will play
They won’t be scared of monster’s evil eye
Or calculating adders to offend
No matter what, we all go our own way
(Today was fine, despite that old grey sky)

810 - Blues in A flat (take two)

I’m here all alone in this flat, the cold
Keeps rushing in when I put rubbish out
Into the balcony bin, and I sold
My soul to the tobacco king about
This time last night, smoked some shivering out-
Side the small theatre. Now there’s three smokes left
But not much else. Feel too cold to check out
The show at the Lowry tonight. What’s left
To do, since there is no-one here? A swift
Departure once more leaves no-one to hold
But my true love. I’ll get some records out
And play my pink guitar, and still have left
Enough energy to suffer the cold
Tomorrow, when I’ll be out and about

809 - Haunted alleyways

The ghostly apparition that is love
That mirage in the desert's swimming heat
That famous free lunch, when push comes to shove
That fantasy, product of self-deceit
Is still there in the distance, down the street
But hides in alleyways and then jumps out
Scaring you half to death with yellow teeth
Sees what's in your pocket and pulls it out
Sees what's in your trousers and pulls it out
Then runs off just as quickly to her love
Some simple man that you'd find hard to beat
But he wouldn't think twice, so when the shout
Comes from the shadows, better quickly move
Along, or at least ask for a receipt

View of Edinburgh from Calton Hill

808 - Chickening out

To bed last night at a reasonable hour
But still a good few pints and a curry
Nestling in my bloated stomach. Devour
At this rate and, my friend, obesity
Will catch you, or, at least, the pregnancy
Look when you stand sideways by a mirror
And pull your shirt up, as I did in the
Hotel bathroom last night (this was BEFORE
The huge curry at Kushi’s…) We waged war
On Scottish chickens this week with such power
That now it’s over, they will cluck ‘Hooray!’
And try to procreate, even the score
Oh esteemed poultry of auld Edinburgh
We humbly wave the white flag. We’re sorry!

807 - Scots wha-hay!

Tonight I’m writing BEFORE going out
I think that’s the more sensible way round
Last night Princes Street, tonight Grassmarket
Left out the hotel door, near castle mound
I will need to withdraw some Scottish pounds
Or I’ll be unable to buy my meal
I told the group where we would be around
Let’s hope they join us: it could be a squeal
However, last night took its toll on Neil
Too many ciders dispatched down the spout
But John, the hardened drinker, seems quite sound
Took some pics this morning from Calton Hill
A spot I first posed on, well, round about
’86. A cannon points at the town
Wed 19 November

806 - Semi-thoughts of a drunk sassenach

Hello everybody in Edinburgh
I’d just like to say that your town’s okay
Although I was disappointed by the
Lack of lighting of Scott Monument: say,
The walk down Princes Street ended in a
Fruitful stay in a bar where the barmaid
Displayed her tits quite nicely, hip hooray
At the Queen’s Arms, all very well displayed
And then another pub, where much was said
About football, including Manchester
United’s prospects. Well, do you think they
Will finish above Liverpool? They’ve stayed
Above them for years, and so I’ll bet ya
That the Red Devils will beat the Reds, yay!
Tuesday 18 November (very late)

805 - Edinburgh Choo-Choo

It’s been a busy month for travelling
I went to Paris earlier, you know
I’ve just got back from York, recovering
From that while also preparing to go
To Edinburgh: up there tomorrow
And then, the following week, Newcastle
And on from there to sink pints in Glasgow
Then back home at long last, perchance to chill
I love to travel but my wallet’s ill
Paris was leisure but the rest’s working
Nonetheless, pleasure can still smoothly flow
From pumps in pubs on work trips, so let’s fill
The glasses and drink to more journeying
(And promotion prospects, though they’re quite low...)

804 - The end is nigh, I hope

I think the time to tell her has now come
In fact it came and went some time ago
But when we don’t talk at all, how d’you drum
Up courage to say what we should both know
We’ve already said goodbye but with no
Words. They are the hardest because they fall
Like seeds on barren soil; they never flow
Except like dirty toilet water. Call
Her, tell her tonight, there’s no need to crawl
There’d be no room beneath her when her tum
Slides over undergrowth; sidewinder, show
True colours, twist and turn, I’ve seen it all
The forked poisonous tongue, rattle and hum
What’s left to argue about? Here I go…

803 - Chillin' in ma crib

Not feeling too good, Saturday morning
Headache, but not after a long session
Just some sort of bug, sickening, dizzying
Tense nervous headache? Here’s your medicine
And meanwhile I have got the ironing done
While watching videos on TMF
They’ve played the charts, now the oldies are on
Oh no, not Boyzone again - what a laugh!
Take That, Girls Aloud, my old friends Westlife
And now the Sugababes are back singing
Last night we stayed up till round half past one
Children in Need was on, and photographs
From York were uploaded for your viewing
Forgot to put them on Facebook. Hang on…

802 - In bed at twilight

Just two hours’ sleep for meeting day two
After an all night drink and chat session
In pub, restaurant and hotel bar, with new
Gossip and old work worries all touched on
I couldn’t sleep on the train so upon
Returning home I flopped onto the bed
Barely the energy to undress from
Work clothes. Lay there, feeling pulse in my head
Throbbing as though I was running ahead
Of the pack up some hillside I used to
Race up some years ago (I never won)
Two hours I lay as darkness slowly spread
But not to my eyes as I thought of you
Counting minutes till solitude is gone

801 - Old York Old York

This is a swell hotel room here in York
Honey, although you ain’t in here with me
Aw shucks, I’ll tell you ’bout it when we talk
Which we’ll be doin’ Friday, Saturday
But back to what’s bin happenin’ today
As you’ll recall, there’s bin a big meetin’
’Bout work n’ stuff, an’ so far, gotta say
It’s gone okay, if a tad worryin’
For lil ol’ me. Did the organisin’
An’ chairin,’ an’ by rights, hon, I could chalk
It up as a success, well hopefully
Proof of leadership skills… but will it bring
Recognition from managers? My work
May be fine, hon, but have they eyes to see?

800 - Relaxation by guitar

The cares of the day were partly smoothed down
By listening to him play on his guitar
The Australian master was in town
A man who can play music from afar
From centuries back and new out this year
Might get his CD cheap from Amazon
Already I’m playing Cavatina
Not myself, of course, sure you understand
But merely on a hits compilation
While I write this and attempt to wind down
After a hectic day, a can of beer
By my side, by way of consolation
For no longer having my love around
And a conference tomorrow to chair

799 - 11/11, 11am

At eleven this morning, ninety years
Have passed since the end of that awful war
Only three survivors now, shedding tears
For fallen comrades, old memories still raw
The new National Memorial, not too far
From my home town of Lichfield, is the scene
Of sombre ceremony; with such poor
Weather, that beam of light will not be seen
To shine through the crack in the wall that means
To make the wreaths glow at this time of year
To shine gold rays of glory on the poor
Long-gone heroes of '14 to '18
Eleven has passed now; the sun appears
Briefly. Heavy cloud returns as before

798 - The many moods of the digital Romeo

Sibelius plays in the CD drive while
I chat with my love, instant messaging
The brass crescendoes in typical style
The big bass drum is booming and rolling
As quips and loving thoughts keep on crossing
Immediately from my place up to hers
Like a drug to which we keep returning
The last movement of Karelia infers
Not wrongly that things aren’t so bad, the firs
And snow of Finland for mile after mile
Replaced now by the ghetto that’s singing
With Donny Hathaway’s voice ’bout the curse
Of economic shortage. But they’d smile
If they had a taste of our sweet loving

797 - Worlds in collision

You flick my switch with electric fingers
The current flows, I tense, stiffen and burn
I turn and float on white water rivers
Torrents no dam can hold back as they churn
All speech lost, ice-cold frost cracked, eyes roll, yearn
The whites of my bare soul both uncovered
The clear light of some other world that spurns
This temporary me, like a drunkard
Racing towards eternity so hard
I leave my microscopic universe
You are the wormhole and I am the worm
You are the gatekeeper, and the password
Is three-dimensional as this world blurs
These immense seconds, then senses return

796 - Sleepless night

The night turns oh so quickly into day
And still we cannot rest, well not for long
A quick chat, then we turn another way
And once again the feelings return, strong
Turning, returning, feeling we belong
Belonging, feeling strong for so long; dawn
Coming and going like a summer song
The early daylight comfortably worn
By your pale skin, my darker skin, both torn
From hot imprisoning bedclothes that weigh
Restricting free movement of hands along
Your sides. And now we both know as your yawn
Disturbs the precious silence, we must say
Good night, good day, some sleep now won’t be wrong

The Eiffel Tower light show (from further away)

The Eiffel Tower light show (close-up)

Place Stravinsky, Beaubourg, Paris

Place du Tertre, Montmartre, Paris,autumn

Place des Vosges, Paris, autumn morning

Paris by the Canal in autumn

795 - Advice on dying

Advice on dying, yes, that’s what I want
No, I’m not jetting off to Switzerland
Assisted suicide is not my point
But how to go gentle to Neverland
Where night is white, when my time is at hand
I want to see that white light (not tonight!)
Mirages, smoke, fireflies, flickering flame, and
Pure colours white, orange, black, then clear light
Forever, as I dissolve from your sight
‘I’ returns to concepts the living hunt
While eighty winds, fire, water and the land
Move as one in life’s separatenesses, quite
Unable to unsee their fragile bond
Dreaming of life preserved in grains of sand

794 - We are sorry for any inconvenience this may cause you

Public transport, like public school, can be
A slight misnomer, and for a roamer
Highly dramatic, traumatic maybe
Let the train cause the strain, make you phone the
Person waiting: “Sorry, I’m late home, a
Railwaymen’s strike. Looks like a taxi which
Will tax me.” Strikes me that you’re a goner
If public transport fails the poor man. Rich
And you’ll get there, no scare… but you’ll still twitch
In your first-class plane seat. The meeting’s three
And take-off’s delayed till two. Bemoan your
Fate to be late: this thick fog’s got you stitched
Uptight as night draws in, gate twenty-three
This airport scare’s taught me to stay home more

793 - The Parisiad (part two)

Deuxième jour à Paris. Visited
The Place des Vosges dans le Marais encore
The Jewish Quarter, rue des Rosiers, hid
Just off the rue de Rivoli, and more

Delights: the rue de Sévigné… alors
Montmartre, then lunch, then Beaubourg, then the long
Walk up Rivoli, Louvre, Tuileries, pour
Promener le Champs Elysées; a strong

Espresso (and rest) chez Café George Cinq
Then on to the Arc, unusually crowded
With police and army. Bir Hakeim Métro
And it’s a short, bothersome walk that brings

One to la Tour Eiffel, decorated
In blue, with sparkling light show every hour
Wednesday 5 November

792 - The Parisiad (part one)

Due to last night's public transport trauma
And not getting to her flat until two
A.M. thanks to plane / train / taxi drama
We lay in, and my daughter skipped class too

A cloudless sky of pure Parisian blue
When finally we rose penetrated
The courtyard. Briefly observing the view
From her front door of Notre Dame, we did:

Bastille, République, Canal, Stalingrad
La Villette (Cité de la Musique); a
Serge Gainsbourg expo. Down rue Menin to
Parc Butte-Chaumont (Montmartre clearly sighted)

Belleville, Ménilmontant, Richard Lenoir
Back 'home,' then out to see Barack break through

791 - Paris on the cheap

I’m off to Paris with just one small bag
To see my daughter in her little flat
Sur la rue de Rivoli - oh, c’est mag-
nifique! John Lennon Airport, Easyjet
To Charles de Gaulle Airport, from where I’ll get
The RER Line B to Châtelet
My daughter will hopefully be all set
To meet me at the Métro entranceway
And then we’ll walk the lit-up streets as they
Lead us through French fantasy-land, agog
An evening café au lait, café nat-
ure (c’est café noir), ma fille? Ah, au lait?
D’accord. As-tu dix euros? The not large
Fund I brought is spent! Sorry about that!
I am indeed off to Paris. Will be back Thursday. Bonjour tout le monde!

790 - A touching thought

Touching is such a rare, beautiful thing
Feeling and comforting another soul
That’s flesh and blood, three-dimensional being
The nearest thing to climbing out the hole
The nearest to tunnelling like some mole
Under the fence of life’s tough prison camp
Emerging from a half life to a whole
Discovering fire, then inventing the lamp
Exploring other galaxies can’t trump
This here and now, this boundary crossing
Like a goldfish leaping high from its bowl
Shaking its tail to rid itself of damp
And wriggling happily past kitchen sink
With smiling face and new, more distant goal

789 - Saturday mail

I love Saturday mornings just like this
I’m catching up on emails, blogs and net-
Based tasks that years ago did not exist
Remember reading papers, writing let-
Ters with a PEN? Back then, with fingers wet
With ink, we’d think: Oh no, I’ve no stamps left
And the Post Office is so hard to get
To before it closes at lunchtime. Sift
Through old photos, not in a box, but aft-
Er you have accessed the website, a list
Of virtual albums on display. Forget
To save them when there’s a house fire? Bereft
No more, they’re safe somewhere out there. A kiss
To my online sweetheart. We’ve still not met