Thursday, 29 November 2007


It was in sixteenth century Germany, or so the legend has it, in a town called Wittenberg in Saxony-Anhalt.
That the founder of the protestant church, Martin Luther, was the first to decorate a Christmas tree with lighted candles.
Apparently when he was walking home through the forest one dark and frosty winter’s night, his attention was drawn to the myriad of bright stars that he could see sparkling and twinkling through the branches of the fir trees.
The beauty of the nights display had a great effect on him and he proceeded home very excited.
When he arrived home he relayed to his family what he had seen and what had excited him so and almost immediately he set about decorating his Christmas tree with candles and then to his families surprise he lit them.
Goodness only knows what his family thought, that he was possessed possibly.
And what of the other people in the town what did they think of him and his antics.
It probably caused more consternation than the reformation.


The Ronettes where playing on the radio, It was Christmas morning.
The children were rushing about like they’d had a caffeine injection; excitedly showing off there new toys while my wife was wrestling a turkey into the oven.
As I sat in my arm chair sipping my coffee my mind drifted back to the previous week.

The wipers swished rhythmically as they cleared the lightly beating sleet that was spattering the windscreen and the heater struggled to demist the inside.
All this was of no consequence as the car wasn’t actually moving.
It was the last Friday before Christmas and I was sat in a jam in the evening rush hour.
Half an hour I‘d been stuck in it and I was still only half a mile from where I worked.
I had time to take in the colourful and sometimes overly extravagant festive decoration on the houses which contrasted sharply with the meagre and tired looking display put on by the local council.
After another half an hour I reached the main road.
Nothing to see here through the wet steamy windows except the red tail lights of other frustrated drivers.
Twenty minutes after that accompanied by some over cheerful DJ on the radio I could see the roundabout.
The sleety rain was falling harder now and it was difficult to see through the murkiness.
After crawling to the roundabout I could just make out a flashing blue light which I suspected had nothing to do with Christmas.
As I got closer I could see it was attached to a police car which was blocking my exit.
Without any explanation the police had closed the road.
So I was faced with a choice, go back the way I came or take the exit off the roundabout which would take me in the opposite direction from where I lived.
I did the latter.
By the time I eventually arrived home I was in a black mood.
I shouted at the kids, moaned at my wife and tried to kick the cat.
My mood was not improved when my half cremated dinner was removed from the oven and what had once been gravy was now only a stain on the plate.
The weekend was spent doing all the pre Christmas stuff with the family and all too soon it was over.
When I returned to work on Monday I related my tale of woe to my workmate’s and we all had a big laugh about it.
Except for Harry, who lived locally, he just looked down at the ground grave faced.
Later, when we were alone, he told me the road was closed because a young woman had been knocked down and killed.
I was dumbstruck, I had no words just a feeling of shame at my selfishness.
A week before Christmas, she had died.
While I was cursing at being inconvenienced, ranting at being stuck in a jam.
A poor young woman lay dead in the rain soaked street.
Somebody’s wife and lover, also a daughter and mother and she was mourned by two children, a sister and a brother.

The sound of church Bells ringing out brought me back to Christmas morning and my family.
But I still couldn’t help thinking of other families for whom Christmas morning would be less joyous.
With the bells still ringing out I gave thanks for being alive.
Also I vowed to be more patient, more tolerant and more understanding in the future.
But I probably won’t keep it.


Its Christmas time again, as if anyone could fail to notice.
Even without leaving my house I can see more than half a dozen house decorated to the hilt.
Every coloured light imaginable, Santa’s on the roof or climbing a ladder, sleighs, elves, snowmen, bells, stars baubles and last but by no means least standing almost four feet high that perennial favourite Winnie the Pooh.
Wait a minute though you might well be saying what does Pooh have to do with Christmas? Well every other house seems to have one so there must be something in it.
I don’t recall mention of him in the bible and in the many nativity plays I have seen over the years he was conspicuous by his absence and although there is a donkey its not Eeyore.
The stable did not house Piglet and the wise men did not travel from the east with Tigger baring gifts of Huney.
Nor in any of the Christmas traditions around the world is there a single reference to Pooh as one of Santa’s helpers.
There’s Black Peter, The Jolly Elf even the devil figure Krampus but no Pooh but people still give him pride of place on their lawns at Christmas.
Go figure.



Part one – Genesis of the Gift Giver

During this narrative I will be answering the eternal question which is all pervading during the festive season namely does Santa Claus really exist?
Obviously the answer we want is a resounding yes and so it will be.
Secondly I will be exploding the popular myth that it was the Coca Cola Company who were responsible for the red suited image of Santa.

St Nicholas is known by many different names around the world and he undoubtedly a legend.
The legend began in the 4th century A.D. in what is now Demre in modern Turkey.
Nicholas was a Christian priest and was born in 280 A.D. in the Lycian city of Patara near the ancient city of Myra where he later became Bishop.

Nicholas was the son of a wealthy man and when he inherited his father’s wealth he traveled the land helping the poor and sick and he was greatly admired for his piety and kindness.
He became the subject of many legends for example he was said to have brought a dead child back to life and he once saved the life of a prisoner by putting himself between the condemned man and his executioner also he is said to have stopped a storm in order to save three sailors from drowning.
But the most enduring and perhaps the best known of the Nicholas legends was when he secretly left golden dowries at the house of a poor man who was on the verge of selling his three daughters into slavery or prostitution.
The dowries meant the three poor sisters could be married.
This remarkable event has led to a tradition we still celebrate to this day as the sisters had left there stockings by the fire to dry and it was in the stocking where Nicholas placed the gold.
Despite his many secret late night visits to the homes of the poor and needy of the city he is forever known as the gift giver of Myra.

In the year 303 A.D., Diocletian the Roman emperor commanded all citizens of the Roman Empire to worship him as a god.
Nicholas and his fellow Christians believed in but one god and in all conscience could not obey the Emperor.
In his Anger Diocletian threatened the Christians with imprisonment if they did not comply.
Many Christians including Nicholas defied The Emperor and were imprisoned.
Nicholas was confined to a small cell for almost ten years and suffered greatly but never wavered in his beliefs.
It was In 313, when Constantine replaced Diocletian to become the first Christian Emperor and Constantine’s first act was the release of the Christians and upon his release Nicholas returned to his post as Bishop of Myra where he continued his good works until his death on December 6, 343.
On his death he was sainted to become St Nicholas the patron saint of Children and sailors.


Part two – Growth and Prohibition

In the eyes of the Catholic church, a saint is a person who’s lived such a holy life that even after death and their ascent to heaven they are still able to help the earth bound souls.
It was believed that the white bearded St Nicholas clad in his red bishop’s robes continued to help the less fortunate through his gift giving.
So In the years following his death the St Nicholas legend grew.

As Christianity flourished within the Holy Roman Empire so did St Nicholas and by the year 450 many churches in the Eastern provinces of the empire in Asia Minor and Greece were being named to honor him and by the year 800 he was the most popular saint in the Eastern Catholic Church.

Such was his growing popularity as a Saint and his high regard amongst Christians that his mortal remains, which had been held in his church in Myra since his death, were stolen by a band of Italian sailors in 1087 A.D. and taken to Italy where they remain to this day, housed in the Basilica de St. Nicola in Bari.

The St Nicholas legend spread ever wider around the world and in 13th century France December sixth became the feast of St Nicholas or Bishop Nicholas Day
And as the his fame spread north his red bishops robe was replaced by more practical suit of clothes, still red, but trimmed with white fur and his bishops mitre was replaced by red fur trimmed hat.
Then By the end of the 15th century, St Nicholas was with the exception of Jesus and Mary the most popular religious figure in the Christian world.

Even after the protestant reformation when the worship of saints and relics was discouraged the people kept faith with Nicholas.

When in the 17th century the puritan Oliver Cromwell became Lord Protector of England he banned anything about Christmas the might be construed as enjoyable.
He banned any kind of feasting, drinking or dancing he even banned the hanging of holly.
In America the puritans went further by banning even the mention of St. Nicholas as well as gift-giving, candle-lighting and carol-singing.
But this only served to make people believe in St Nicholas even more


Part three – The literal St Nicholas

After the demise of the puritans in Europe and America the St Nicholas legend went from strength to strength.
He has over recent centuries become known by different names for example in Holland he is known as Sinter Klaas and when the Dutch arrived in New York or New Amsterdam as it was then the red suited Sinter Klaas arrived with them but the name has since become Americanized into Santa Claus.

The first time the Name Santa Claus appeared in print was in 1773 but the first description of the most traditional image of Santa Claus was by popular author Washington Irving In his History of New York, published in 1809.

But he was finally immortalized along with his eight reindeer in 1823 in the poem “A Visit from Saint Nicholas” more commonly known to all of us as “The Night Before Christmas” written by Clement Clarke Moore an Episcopal minister.
Moore, who wrote the poem for his three daughters, depicted Santa Claus as a "right jolly old elf" with a supernatural ability to ascend up a chimney with a simple nod of his head.

The familiar round jolly white bearded image of Santa Claus was definitively illustrated by the political cartoonist Thomas Nast for Christmas issues of Harper's Weekly magazine in 1881.
It was Nast who revealed the details of Santa's workshop at the North Pole and alerted the world to the existence of what have become known as the naughty and nice lists.

Haddon Sundblom further reinforced Santa’s image when, in 1931, he drew a representation of the jolly red faced Saint for the Coca-Cola Company as part of their advertising campaign which was so successful that he has been used every year since.

Through literary references and descriptions of Christmas the legend of St Nicholas spread and became ingrained in all of us and Along the way the legend of the gift giver became intertwined with other country’s myths and folk lore figures and St Nicholas became known by a wide variety of names.
As well as Santa Claus or Sinter Klaas he is named Father Christmas, Kris Kringle, Père Noël, der Weinachtsmann and Papa Noel to name but a few.

So I can say to you all with hand on heart to young and old wherever you might live there is most definitely a Santa Claus.


It was in the early hours of Christmas morning when I was awoken by a loud crash from the direction of the chimney breast.
I look arround and my wife who is a very light sleeper hadn’t stirred.
Now given the time of the year and the time of night someone younger or more impressionable might have thought it was Father Christmas about his work in the chimney.
However being a grizzled old cynic I thought it more likely to be either a burglar or perhaps the wind blowing over my chimney or even subsidence.
I lay awake for about ten minutes trying to work out what the noise was and hearing no further noises I decided it must have been a dream and went back to sleep.

A few hours later awoken suddenly again this time by three excitement crazed children dragging their sacks of presents behind them on thing was for sure there would be no return to sleep after this disturbance.
When the children had opened all their stocking presents they rushed off downstairs for breakfast leaving a scene of devastation behind them.

After breakfast I went back upstairs and showered and then went into the bedroom to dress for the day.
On opening the wardrobe door I discovered the source of the crash that had woken me up several hours earlier.
The rail in the wardrobe had collapsed and all the clothes were in a heap at the bottom on top of the shoes.
“So it wasn’t a dream then” I said to myself.
Five minutes later and wearing a slightly creased shirt I made my way back downstairs to what sounded like bedlam.

The rest of the morning went according to plan; the children opened their main presents from under the tree and disappeared off to play with their favourites.

By twelve o’clock the dining table was laid complete with my late mother’s best table cloth, Christmas napkins, party favours, best china, glassware and the brand new table centre while emanating from the kitchen was the sound of steam rattling the saucepan lids together with the mouth watering aroma of roasting Turkey.
In the lounge my wife was holding court with myself and her parents looking on as she was opening the few presents that still remained.
I left the group to go and boil the kettle for a drink as I entered the kitchen I looked at the electric cooker and there was one ring lit with nothing on it so I checked the other rings to make sure that the saucepan with the potatoes had heat under it which it did.
So I went to switch off the vacant ring only to discover it was already switched off.
Now there had been a little water spilled on the hob from where one of the pans had begun to boil over so I mopped up the spillage and using reverse psychology I turned the rogue ring on believing this would in fact turn it off, it didn’t it just tripped the breaker in the meter cupboard instead.
I went to the cupboard and reset the breaker and it tripped immediately.
So then we decided to wait for ten minutes before we repeated the exercise which ended with the same result.
It was decided that we could not use the cooker as it was just too dangerous.
With my wife almost in tears I said “it’s not the end of the world darling, and nobody died”.
So with true Dunkirk spirit we made the best of a bad situation.
As luck would have it the Turkey was cooked as was the stuffing, sausages and the Potatoes where boiled.
The remaining vegetables we were able to cook in the microwave and all we had to forgo were the roast potatoes and parsnips.
Now it wasn’t the most successful Christmas lunch we ever had but it could have been a lot worse.
“Bad things always come in three’s” I think we all thought it but equally all refrained from saying it out loud.

The next day, Sunday, passed off without incident for us anyway, my wife had to hit the stores in the Boxing Day sales to choose a new cooker.

Its late in the evening when, sitting down in front of the TV we see the news for the first time that day and we here the dreadful news about the Tsunami for the first time and even then it didn’t even hint at just how big a tragedy it really was.
Two hundred and fifty thousand dead in a heartbeat from Indonesia to sir Lanka and beyond and still counting.

We had our new cooker delivered on Thursday 30th December we were inconvenienced for five whole days.
Five days before normality was restored to our household.
Many of The survivors of the Tsunami will never have their lives restored to what they knew before Boxing Day.

Count your blessing, and make the best of what you have because it’s a lot more than many.


In the early seventies I was living in an area of Stevenage called Marymead where my mother was the warden at a block of sheltered accommodation flats for the elderly.
I attended Shephallbury School nearby which I left in the May and I started my first job later that same month.
My job was working as a trainee groundsman with the Hertfordshire County Council grounds maintenance team and the depot was in the north of Stevenage old town paying the grand sum of £10.99 per week before stoppages.
Although the depot was some distance from where I lived it was never an issue as there was a very good bus service.
In the November of that same year my family moved house from Marymead on one side of town to the Hyde on the other, this point will become more significant later in the tale.
The house move didn’t effect my getting to and from work as Stevenage corporation as it was then known operated flat fare buses operating on circular routes so I still got the same bus but from a different stop and the price was the same this also will prove significant later on.
As I said this was my first year at work and I had my first Christmas party to look forward to.
It was on the last day before we broke for the Christmas holiday and we had a little party in the yard where a little Christmas cheer was imbibed and a drink or two were consumed.
Now I was only sixteen and I had only had very limited experience of alcohol and I got well and truly bladdered on whisky Mac, cider and something unpronounceable from Yugoslavia.
One of the guys gave me a lift into the town centre and from there I caught my usual bus.
In my drunken state I managed to climb the stairs to the top deck and the bus set off filled with heavily laden Christmas shoppers and a drunken trainee groundsman.
I must have drifted off on the journey and I suddenly came to and looking out the window recognized a familiar site and I got off the bus.
I headed off up the road in the direction of home wishing all and sundries a merry Christmas as I went.
I entered through the main doors to the flats and passed the Christmas tree in the foyer and headed straight for flat number one.
At the door I fumbled for my key and presented it to the lock, it wouldn’t fit.
I peered closely at it and it was definitely my door key so I tried to put it in the lock again, still it wouldn’t fit.
Suddenly the door opened and a stranger looked out at me “Can I help?” she asked.
“Ah my name is Paul and I don’t live here anymore do I?”
The lady, who was the new warden, agreed with me that I no longer lived there so I wished her a happy Christmas and made my way back to the foyer were there was a pubic telephone with a large Perspex dome over it.
My intention was to phone for a taxi but rummaging in my pockets I discovered I had no money for the taxi or indeed to make a phone call then as I tried to duck under the Perspex hood I tripped over my own feet and fell into the Christmas tree which ended up on top of me.
The lady who now lived at no 1 heard the commotion and came to investigate and to my surprise thought it very amusing to find a drunken teenager wearing the Christmas tree.
The new warden phoned for a taxi for me and even gave me the money for the fare.
That was real Christmas spirit and I have never forgotten her kindness and tolerance and try to keep that same spirit in my own heart at Christmas.


Sadly my parents have gone now my Dad when I was only twenty one and my Mum 15 years later but they live on in my memories especially at Christmas.
I know that for many Christmas is a nightmare time of year but for me I only have the very best memories of it and many of them.
My dad always said after he’d finished decorating the living room, the odour of emulsion still noticeable “there will be no drawing pins in this ceiling come Christmas”. Of course come December the ceiling was covered with garlands, bells, stars, foil drops with baubles at the end, balloons, snow men, angels and Santa’s.
Picture were removed and replaced with something more festive, like huge stars or fresh holly and Strings were strung along the walls for the cards to hang on them.
In one corner on a table stood Santa Claus with his cotton wool beard and red crepe paper suit all the more exciting as we children knew he was stuffed full with sweets.
In another corner stood the tree, a tree of epic proportions so tall that the top 14 inches has to cut off in order to get the fairy on. Every branch was full to breaking point with countless baubles, parcels, bells, crackers and tinsels of every colour and beneath it the ever growing pile of presents.
With the decorations being my Dad’s field of expertise it was left to my mum to come into her own with everything else.
She would remove the curtains and nets and either replace them with clean or wash and return the originals.
Everything would get the spring clean treatment the sideboard would be adorned with the best linen runner and all the tables would have their own festive doily.
The fruit bowl was filled to overflowing with bananas, Satsuma’s or tangerines and another one of Brazil nuts, almonds, hazel nuts and walnuts.
There was even a Chamber pot decorated with sprigs of holly on the sideboard full of Christmas fare. Smaller bowls would appear over the Christmas period containing peanuts or dates or sugared almonds or chocolate raisins.
Come the day itself presents were placed by the chair that the recipients were sitting in, when we were younger obviously our presents mysteriously arrived at the foot of the bed in a pillowcase left for the purpose but as we got older we joined the adults for present opening.
Mums gifts were always piled so high she always had to sit on the sofa in order to fit all her presents on the seat next to her.
She always still had half of them left to open long after the rest of us had finished.
This was the time for us younger family members to examine our gifts more closely while my dad would sit smiling sagely in his chair puffing on his pipe.

Wednesday, 28 November 2007


Its six months today
We've been together now
The months have past so quickly
Like moments somehow
Six precious months its been
Exactly to this day
And only two months more
Until our wedding day
In the years we have before us
Let us hope and pray
That we are half as happy after
As before our wedding day


She smiles
And I undress her with my eyes
She laughs
And I'm naked with her
She looks at me
And my heart pounds
She smiles at me
And I orgasm
I really must get out more


Your size four feet are mine
Your slender stockined legs are mine
Your firm round buttocks are mine
Your unwaxed loins are mine
Your smooth flat belly is mine
Your manicured nails are mine
Your pert young breasts are mine
Your brown bobbed hair is mine
Your pretty round face is mine
Your puppy dog eyes are mine
Your turned up nose is mine
Your pale pink mouth is mine
Your coquettish laugh is mine
My heart and soul are yours


It was an unforgettable morning
After the winter sun reluctantly rose
And the new dawn broke gently
To light the frosted landscape
And heralding the holy morn
Bathing cosy homes with light
Awaking children from their repose
As grown-ups wipe sleep away
Or tiredly yield to a yawn
And so the day has begun
Joyful yells and screams ensue
As gifts are opened frantically
Wrappings scattered here and there
It was an unforgettable morning
Though soon enough it became forgot
And as the day progresses
The latest must haves cast aside
Attention turns to the Christmas feast
When eyes are bigger than bellies
And indigestion comes on all
How different to the first morn
When in a strange and distant land
Lit by a star of brightest hue
And sheltered in a humble stable
God lay in human baby form
Watched over by lowly beasts
And shepherds stood in reverent pose
Three travellers from the east
Offered gifts to God made man
So as you enjoy your seasonal repast
Take time and spare a thought
Raise your hearts and a grateful glass
And remember the saviour’s birth


Since that day
In that fateful campaign
When you stepped willingly
Upon that sodden Flanders field
And were gathered in
During that bloody harvest
Your future was no more

Since that day
In that fateful campaign
When you stepped out and fell
Upon that sodden Flanders field
And lay with silent comrades
During that bloody harvest
Your dreams were no more

Since that day
In that fateful campaign
When you stood and were counted
Upon that sodden Flanders field
And lay in the company of hero’s
During that bloody harvest
Your hopes were no more

Since that day
In that fateful campaign
When you were called to god
From that sodden Flanders field
With hordes of silent comrades
During that bloody harvest
You could love no more

Since that day
In that fateful campaign
Others lived to fight another day
From that sodden Flanders field
And when the cost was tallied
After that bloody harvest
The world was changed forever

Since the day the peace was one
Others ventured out in the world
And thrived in a world for ever changed
A world you helped to change
You could not reap the rewards
You could never again walk in the sun
Or Feel a cooling breeze upon your face
You gave your life for others futures
You fell to fulfill others dreams
Your sacrifice secured others hopes
Since you fell others have loved
And been loved in return as you could not
When you fell upon that sodden Flanders field
You sowed the seed of freedom
When the fragile seedling bore fruit
It changed the world forever


Do I love you?
How could I not
When I touch you
My heart beats as yours
You are the one
My other self
My virtual twin
When I breathe out
You breathe in
You are the other half of me
That makes me whole
We fit each other
Like machine cut pieces
In a puzzle of love
When I hold you
The edges of our forms blur
And we are one being
We are symbiotic
Hearts beating as one
Thinking each others thoughts
Speaking each others words
Sharing the same shadow
When I hold your hand
Our fingers merge
And become indistinguishable
We are conjoined
Do I love you?
You know I do
I always have
And always will
What else can a soul mate do?


Like a ribbon that's spun
Of the purest of silk,
The road crossed the cold bleak dale
It appeared that the frost
On the wintry panes
Was embossed with images from beyond the pale
And the winter-sky,
Lit with the moon and the stars,
Made the icicles glow in the night-
And the beauty of all
Of that December view
Was perceived in the essence of light-
And deceived by the soft...firelight.


The gulls screech and scream
Swooping above the cliff top
While white horses ride the waves below
As the tidal surge is broken to a stop
Fishing boats appear to dance
Driven by weather to the south
And make slow progress in the swell
Bobbing towards the yawning harbour mouth
As the weather quickly closes in
The gulls desert the cliff top
Making their way inland to safety
Waiting patiently for the storm to stop

Wednesday, 21 November 2007


Our first year of wedded bliss
Then a second year united
Another year notched up
Yet one more year in concert
Another year together
One more year in partnership
Another year with you
A year of dull and sunny weather
The ninth year still bonded
Another year together
One more year of companionship
Another year of just us two
A year of sad and happy days
Fourteen years now coupled
Another year together
One more year of friendship
Another year chalked up
A mixed year of good and bad
Nineteen years now joined
Another year together
One more year of togetherness
Another year on the sentence
A year of nag and nag and nag
Twenty four long bloody years
Another year together
What did I do to deserve this?
The punishment didn’t fit the crime
Not even the great train robbers
Had to serve this much time


From the land of the long white cloud
To the land of the midnight sun
I will follow you to the ends of the earth
Because for me you’re the only one


There is a simple equation
That has confused a few
Where the amount of love
Someone feels for you
Is inversely proportional
To how much that you
Love them, and I think
You’ll agree that is so true


I love her with every fibre of me
I love her so much it hurts
I love her in baggy trousers
And I love her in short skirts
I love her when we’re alone
And when we’re with friends
I love her when the day begins
And I love her when it ends
I love her when we’re together
I love her when we’re apart
I love her when we hold hands
And when love making starts
I love her when she’s sexy
I love her when she’s coy
I love her when she makes me mad
And when she brings me joy
I love her at the first caress
And in the afterglow
I love her when we say goodbye
And when we say hello
I love her when she laughs
I love her when she cries
I love her now that I’m alive
And I’ll love her till I die


I have stood in view of the far pavilions
I have stood upon the great lakes shore
I have stood in the heat of the hottest desert
I have stood at Niagara and looked in awe
I have seen many things in my long life
It is my plan to live to see many more
But I know I will never see more beauty
Now I stand beside you of that I’m sure


I have stood in view of the far pavilions
I have stood upon the great lakes shore
I have stood in the heat of the hottest desert
I have stood at Niagara and looked in awe
I have seen many things in my long life
It is my plan to live to see many more
But I know I will never see more beauty
Now I stand beside you of that I’m sure

Wednesday, 7 November 2007


Lets face it life just isn’t like it is in books
I chose my wife because she was stately
Yes I married my wife because of her looks
I chose correctly and I still love her greatly
So I married my wife because of her looks
But not the one she's been giving me lately


“Bob, go to the Hilton” I was told “and meet Sam Barrowclough”
A lunchtime meeting at the Hilton sometimes life was tough
I was expecting a Yorkshire man with whippet on a lead you see
With a copy of the pigeon fanciers weekly laying on his knee
A dour Yorkshire man wearing cloth cap and dressed in tweed
So was not prepared for who it was to greet me I must concede
The whippet welding Yorkshire man had turned out to be
A very pretty young woman who was called Samantha you see
She was actually a stunningly beautiful petite young blonde
The type of delicious creature it was impossible not to be fond
She introduced herself with a broad smile and a hearty hello
I stuttered out my own introduction by way of a quid pro quo
She offered her hand to me in greeting and I accepted it gladly
Her hand was soft and smooth like silk and gripped mine firmly
In my large paw her little hand was almost like that of a child
In silence we continued to shake hands and we both just smiled
We held each other’s gaze and hand perhaps too long slightly
We both laughed nervously and her cheeks blushed brightly
She then turned away and bade me follow which was no chore
I followed her exotic heady fragrance out thought the door
Silently she led me down a corridor in the lounge direction
I followed mesmerized by her form and admiring its perfection
Even wearing four-inch heels I marveled at her daintiness
Only reaching the dizzy height of five foot three more or less
The straight blonde hair cascaded onto her shoulders softly
A fitted silk blouse complemented her waifish frame perfectly
She had the tiniest of waists and the slenderest of hips to swing
And pert round buttocks contained within the tailored skirting
Then the shapely legs clad in stockings unless I miss my guess
The overall effect was stunning and I was smitten I will confess
Then sunlight illuminated her form through silk and cotton
The sudden transparency left nothing at all to the imagination
Seemingly completely oblivious to the effect she had achieved
On the red-blooded men in her wake she’d never have believed
She stopped by a vacant seat and slowly turned towards me
This caused the illumination of her fine breasts for us to see
The vent on her skirt caught momentarily on a cushion pad
A glimpse of her stocking top confirmed the suspicion that I had
She effortlessly and elegantly slipped into the vacant place
And gestured for me to sit beside her in the neighboring space
Not coy she sat straight-backed upright confident and proud
Her voice was strangely hypnotic clear and soft but not loud
Once again I was completely enveloped in her intoxicating scent
Then she opened her briefcase and deftly removed the document
Like a precious work of art I had admired her from a distance
Now I could examine in detail every brushstroke every nuance
Her blonde hair cascaded onto her slim shoulders like fine rain
The sun was highlighting strands like spun gold again and again
The golden rain tumbled to caress the nape of her neck gently
Coming to rest on her soft silk covered shoulders diffidently
I was transfixed by the vision of golden hair framing her face
Of pale alabaster like porcelain on a doll or like a Greek grace
Her eyes stunning and captivating were of translucent green
And her nose was small and angular sat perfectly in between
Her mouth was only narrow but the lips were full and luscious
As she spoke the pale pink lips glistened moistly and sensuous
I would blush to my roots if our eyes met however fleetingly
And then a smile would dance about her mouth provocatively
I turned my attention to her slim pale arms naked and bare
The suns illumination fringing like white gold the downy hair
Then her small delicate hands with fingers so elegant and slim
No bitten or false nails just naturally well cared for and prim
Also no rings adorned her fingers in fact there was no jewelry
But then no jewelry could ever improve on this beauty before me
Suddenly she dropped her pen and leant forwards to retrieve it
Causing her blouse to gape revealing her breast well just a bit
Just the briefest glimpse of breast with a hint of lace and frill
Enough to quicken the pulse and excite the senses and thrill
Then she catches me letching and smiles as I avert my gaze
Now it’s her milky white flesh that blushes in a crimson blaze
All too soon our short business meeting was at a close and done
I felt her soft and delicate hand in mine and then she was gone
So blinded by her beauty and intoxicated by her sweet perfume
I could barely stammer out a sentence before she left the room
I was left with only the exotic fragrance lingering about me
Feeling quite despondent and in a strange way quite empty
In my hand I found her business card as you would expect
Then I turned it over like you would to more closely inspect
A hand written note and number is not what I thought to see
Here’s my number, call me soon, I’d like to see you socially


You can write it in a letter
In flowery words
On sweetly perfumed paper
And seal it with a loving kiss
You can write it in smoke
Across the clear blue sky
You can use dots and dashes
Like the old Morse code
Just say you love me

You can sing it in a song
Like a nightclub crooner
Honey covered words
Set to the music of love
You can beat it out in rhythm
On a set of bongo drums
Emblazon it on a banner
Trailing behind a biplane
Just say you love me

You can say it on the telephone
In dulcet tones
Your voice soft and sweet
To match the words of love
Say it in electric letters
On the side of an airship
Display it on a big screen
Before the match kicks off
Just say you love me

You can say it in dance
In the ballet tradition
With grace and poise
Moving like Darcy Bussle
You can send a signal in smoke
Like a Native American
You can say it in an Email
Just one line will do
You can say it in a Text
I luv u or u r m9
Just say you love me


If I were inside your head
What would I see?
Through your blue grey eyes
How would I view me?

If I were in your heart
What would I feel?
Would it beat a little faster?
When I see me?

If I was in your skin
When we made love
Would I feel electricity?
When I touch you

If I were inside your head
What would I think?
Would I know I was the one?
When I look at me?

If I were in your heart
Would it be full?
Or have an empty space
For the one you seek

If I were in your mind
Would I feel content?
Would I see someone special?
When I look at me?

If I spoke to me
With your mouth and lips
And I said I love you
Would it be the truth?

Friday, 2 November 2007



If I knew then what I know now
I would not have hesitated for a second
I would have asked out Anne
Lovely self conscious Anne
Who never saw the beauty in herself
The brunette hair that framed her face
Her fabulous legs which she often kept covered
Her intoxicating laugh
The little scar on her cheek
That went red when she was tipsy
Anne who never saw what we all saw when we looked at her
Who always thought herself ordinary
Nothing could have been further from the truth
If only I’d asked her
But I dithered and I was too late
And I lost her to another
So instead I ended up dating her younger sister
Just to stay close, which was torture
And if I knew then what I know now
That night after the dance
When I sat alone with her in the lounge
With Marion asleep in her bed
I would have crossed the room
And rummaged in that awful baggy caftan
That she always wore wrestling her out of it
And I would have spent every precious minute
Caressing her naked flesh
Playing her body like an instrument
While my girlfriend slept above
If only I’d known then what I know now of life


If I knew then what I know now
I would have taken my chance
And I would have asked out Sharon
She was at the college were I worked
Sharon with the freckles and Auburn hair
And that lovely smile that could light up a room
She wanted me I knew that
It was obvious that Saturday in the Longship
But I let her slip through my fingers
What a summer we could have had
Exploring every freckled inch of her
In the long summer grass
But instead I went in vein pursuit of Theresa
Her best friend
And I broke her heart
If only I’d known then what I know now of life


But If I knew then what I know now
When I was thirteen
I would have got to grips with Maria
Oh big busty Maria at the Durnsford Lido
A full year older than me
Big soft and round everywhere that important
What a great summer it was
How much better it might have been
If I’d realized what was going on in my trunks
Was due to her close proximity
Then the summer was over
And I let her get away
That winter we moved away
And I never saw another summer with Maria again
If only I’d known then what I know now of life


If I knew then what I know now
I would have pursued little Tina
Posh totty Tina
Tina with the short blonde curls
Always exquisitely dressed
And the sensible shoes
With twinkling eyes
A fragrance to stir the soul
And the most perfect smile
But I held back because I’m common
I know now she didn’t care
If only I’d known then what I know now of life


If I knew then what I know now
I would have made Linda mine
Lovely Linda how I loved her
Her smile long remembered still affects me
That Christmas at the taxi rank
My lips hold her kisses still
My heart still yearns for her
I let her go because in the back ground was Roger
I thought it best to let it run its course
Or he would forever be between us
I was wrong and I lost her
I know now she was the one
My soul mate my Linda
What a life we could have had together
What a life we could still be having
If only I’d known then what I know now of life


If I knew then what I know now
I would have asked out Sharon
Sharon with the big sad eyes
And the big round breasts
What a game we could have had
But I held back
Because she was my best friends ex
I know now that he wouldn’t have cared
If only I’d known then what I know now of life


If I knew then what I know now
I would have asked out Vicky
Young Plain little Vicky
Plain yet still alluring
A skinny little thing
With small pert breasts
How I wanted her but I held back
Because she was half my age
I know now that she didn’t care
If only I’d known then what I know now of life


Teardrops stain my cheeks
Now my love you’ve gone
Gone to join the angels throng
As sad and lonely I live on

I am comforted to know
In my sadness and despair
I’m alone but you are with me
As I feel you everywhere

With my faith for strength
I wipe my teary eyes
Safe in the knowledge
That no one really dies

We will be together again
If my beloved you will wait
Beyond the golden portal
Just through heavens gate


Who is there?
In my darkest hours
When pain wracks my body
When dark thoughts plague me
Who is it who sustains me?

Who is there?
At times of anguish
When I feel so alone
When I feel all hope is gone
Who lifts me and guides me

Who is there?
In the depths of my despair
When I see no end
When I seek release
Who is it?
Who will take my pain

He is there
When the pain ends
When darkness is banished
In the light of love
My lord god will keep me


Faith is such a simple concept
It’s so simple
It’s just about belief
It’s so completely uncomplicated
You just have to believe
No strings attached
Just unconditionally believe
And if you do the world is your oyster
All your doubts and fears subside
When you accept his existence
His, hers its
The creator, the deity
The master puppeteer
Don’t analyse it
Don’t try to define it
To deconstruct it
Don’t worry about the Who the what or the why
Its doesn’t matter
Don’t worry about who the creator is
It doesn’t matter what race
What gender, what creed or what colour
Just accept it, embrace it
You still won’t be able to see it
But you’ll know its there
It’s totally invisible to your senses
Yet it connects with you at the core
With your essence, your soul
You can’t see it yet its wonders are all around
You can’t hear it
Yet its sound fills the world
You can’t taste it
But it’s the spice of all life
You can’t smell it
But its exotic and heady fragrance is on every breath of wind
And you can’t touch itBut it can be felt when it touches you


Each November
We remember
At the Royal Albert Hall
And we remember

With dignity
With respect
They stand in silence
And we remember

In silence
Petals fall
Like crimson snow flakes
And we remember

Gently falling
They settle
Upon hat and tunic
And we remember

Each petal
Once a life
Floats in silent homage
And we remember

Red poppies
Springing eternally
From the bloodied fields
And we remember

Falling petals
Falling in millions
To recall the fallen
And we remember


I remember
Those with no future, But only a gallant past
I remember
Those who never lived, To enjoy the fruits of their sacrifice
I remember
Those who will be forever young, Those who will never be old
I remember
When the sun sets on their past, And rises brilliantly for our future
I remember
Father’s, sons and brothers, Husband’s, friends and lovers
I remember
That lost generation of men, Who went to war for our tomorrow
I remember
Poor man, gentleman and scholar, Who stood shoulder to shoulder
I remember
Those who fell before the foe, For a future they wouldn’t know


Upon the wooded hill
The forest sentinel stood
Made from wind falls
Wooden scraps and ullage
Skillfully fashioned
To become, complete with binoculars
The birdwatcher
But all was not as it seemed
For the sentinel
Destined to forever study
What fell before his gaze
Every autumn
Turned his attention upon
His favorite birch tree
Who when the autumn wind blew
Began to shed her leafy canopy
All the year round he studied
In detail her fully covered form
But in the autumn he could
Revel in her nakedness
The sentinel spoke to himself
“Oh I’m getting a woody”
And with that his sap began to rise
“Oh no too soon, too soon”
Then all too suddenly it was over
So upon the wooded hill
The frustrated forest sentinel stood
Staring through his binoculars
And telling himself
“There’s always next year”


The deciduous trees still have their foliage on
With autumn changing hues like a chameleon
From yellow and gold and red and brown
Some leaves have already began falling down
Then the autumn gales come quite inevitable
Leaving the once proud trees quite skeletal
Sadly now all the leaves have fallen down
Thus adding to mother natures golden gown


Misty mornings
Start dim and dismal
Penetrating Dampness
Seeping into your bones
Some days it brightens later
Enough for shirtsleeves
Then when darkness falls
Curtains are drawn
At the months beginning
Grass is still growing green
The trees are well covered still
Then leaves turn green to yellow
Yellow is burnished to gold
Gold to burning red
Then red to earth
Beyond the equinox
Days have already become
More dark than light
Before the clocks fall back
And the sun sets sooner
Days of sunshine deceive
Sheltered pockets warm and confuse the senses
In the later days
When the residual warmth diminishes
The bite remainsTo herald worse to come


In the late summer sky
The falcon in majestic flight
Spied its unfortunate prey
Then swooped down from great height

With lightning speed
It took a pigeon on the wing
Then with much less grace and style
It performed a clumsy landing

In a quiet village garden
On the sunny patch of grass
The falcon went about its work
And performed the coup de gras

From the house a curious cat
Peered out with envious eyes
Through a window as the falcon
Devoured its pigeon prize

The cat crept through the cat flap
In its most stealthy way
The falcon though was off
But left behind its pigeon prey

The cat inspected the pigeon
Sniffed it and poked it with her paw
Found it a disappointment
And she strolled away once more

As she strolled back to the house
The falcon swooped to the ground
Snatched up his pigeon prize
Before the cat could turn around

The falcon had taken the bird
Leaving nothing in its place
Leaving only feathers on the lawnAnd a scowl on the cats face


The autumn leaves fall
Like flakes of gold
Drifting to earth like surreal snow
In the golden harvest
As they fall they dance
Wildly in the breeze
To autumns tune
Before coming to rest
Then on peaceful mornings
They gather in the quiet corners
That pepper the autumn landscape
Cast like a threadbare cloak
Spread by mother natures hand
And in the misty morn
The golden harvest
Lays deep and undisturbed
Like collected thoughts
In the corners of my mind
The watery sun slowly burns away the mist
And Illuminates the October landscape
Before the wind disturbs the peace
And chases the leaves awayScattering them like my dreams