DINNER SINNER

 

When you’re a kid and dinner tastes good

You can't have anymore. That’s the trouble

If it tastes like crap you have to clean your plate

And you’re even allowed to have double

WHAT’S THE POINT OF BEING AN ADULT

 

What’s the point of being

An adult if, when you wish

You can’t once in a while

Behave a little childish

WHEN I WAS AT SCHOOL

 

When I was at school

Our English teacher, Mrs Rowan

Once asked of us as homework,

During the half term holiday

To memorize our favourite poem,

This was met by groans,

By the class, but not me

I chose A.E.Housman’s

“Ode to an athlete dying young”

And it has stayed with me ever since

ODEON

 

When I was a kid

My sister worked

At the Odeon Wood Green

And got me in for nothing

I loved the pictures

And I went everyday

It was a special place to me

Of course it was a far cry

From its Roman namesake

With its grand architecture

And hi-brow classical

Musical performances

But it was a magical place

Where I lost myself

In the flickering shadows

Of movieland

And escaped reality

LOOKING AFTER THE PENNIES

 

When I was a boy

I saved my pennies

For a rainy day

I saved every cent,

My pocket money

Every Friday

The Money back

On the empties

A paper round

In the morning

And delivering

The Weekly Sport

On a Saturday evening

Cleaning Grandmas windows

And Odd jobs

For the neighbours

Then on Saturday morning

I’d take it all,

The Ten bob notes

And tanners,

Halfpennies

And threepenny bits

And pay it all in

To my Post Office savings

TALES OF A YOUNG ANGLER – SOUTHGATE BOATING LAKE 1966

 

My father was a keen angler and my older brother followed suit and in time so did I.

There was a difference between my brother and me however namely that he was a good fisherman like my dad, and I was useless.

Amongst other things I couldn’t bait my hook properly, I was loud and noisy and terribly clumsy.

If I managed to avoid falling in the river, lake or stream. I would drop something in the water instead.

The inherent problem with fishing for me was (A) the fishing rod was twice as long as me and (B) the line had a hook on the end.

I would get snagged in weeds or bushes or trees, passers-by, my dad, my brother, a boat, in fact you name it I would get hooked on it.

But if all of that wasn’t enough to qualify me as a useless angler then the fact that I had never caught a fish would have sealed it.

For three years I fished with my dad or my brother or with mates and nothing.

And the longer it went on the smaller my angling peer group became.

I was so desperate to catch a fish, but the harder I tried the worse I got.

I even dreamed of catching fish and in those dreams, I caught them by the dozen on unbaited hooks and I reeled them in effortlessly,

But when I woke again next morning, I was the same crap angler I was the night before who nobody wanted to fish with.

So, it was for this reason that I found myself fishing alone at the age of nine on Southgate Boating Lake.

I had been there all day and hadn’t even got a bite so just before I decided to call it a day I cast my line in again, this time from the boat jetty.

My float went plop about forty feet from the jetty, and I nodded to myself with satisfaction.

Within a minute or two I became aware of something digging into my foot.

I waggled my wellied foot in an effort to dislodge the source of the discomfort.

But when I put my foot down, I realised I had just succeeded in moving the offending article more securely under my foot.

There was only one solution to the problem and that was to remove my boot and shake out the debris.

I lay my rod on the jetty and sat down next to it and removed my welly.

As I shook it a small pebble bounced off the jetty and splashed in the water which is when I realised my float was bobbing franticly in the still water.

I had a bite, and it was a bloody good one.

I didn’t have time to replace my welly so I quickly stood up and snatched up my rod and line and struck.

I felt instinctively I had it hooked and began reeling it in my maiden catch.

And there I stood on the Southgate Lake boat jetty reeling in my catch wearing only one welly.

Moments later I landed the thrashing writhing monster of the deep, a three-inch long Gudgeon the most beautiful fish I had ever seen.

And in timely fashion just as the fish appeared a small group of angling friends were passing to verify the breaking of my angling duck and I would no longer have to fish alone.

I was so grateful for that tiny fish and incidentally that was the only Gudgeon I ever caught.

IT HAPPENED AT THE LIDO – UNSUITABLE VIEWING FOR A BOY

When I was growing up in the sixties we lived in North London and one of the things I really loved to do was to go swimming.

We were quite well fixed for pools in the area, and I would swim until the chlorinated water left my eyes red and sore.

But of all the pools I swam in, the one I loved to swim in most of all was the Durnsford Road Lido especially during the summer months.

It was only sixpence to get in and for that poultry sum you could stay all day long which of course I did, and I would spend as many days of the holidays there as I could.

Playing with friends and watching Mad Jack stunt diving off the high platform.

When I first started to go there it was just a joy to spend all the time in the sparkling water.

As I got older, I would come to appreciate the many delicacies on which to feast the eyes upon, delicacy’s invisible to an eleven-year-old boy’s eye.

 

On one particular visit after I’d got the maximum value from my sixpence and enjoyed a full day in the pool.

I was getting changed I caught sight of something quite disturbing as an old man stepped out of the shower.

Though when I say he was an old man I should point out that from the perspective of an eleven-year-old everyone over twenty was old.

But just as he passed me, he lowered his towel, though not in a pervy way, and he revealed the biggest scrotum I had ever seen, not that I had seen a lot of scrota and those I had seen belonged to my peer group so were somewhat pink and hairless.

But not only was this old man’s scrotum huge it was also purple, in fact it looked like a large purple boxing glove.

I was taken aback by the extraordinary spectacle but with my limited knowledge of old men’s genitalia I was left to conclude that I was destined to acquire a large purple ball bag of my own.

And as I stood there holding my speedos in front of my shrivelled specimen, I thought

“If I’m going to get one like that, then I’m definitely going to need bigger trunks”

MEMOIR OF A NORTH LONDON SCHOOL BOY # 2

“That billy goat’s beard looks like Palmer’s fanny” Wendy said out of the blue and giggled

“What?” I said taken by surprise

“Who’s? Rich asked

We were sitting at the back of Mr Cooke’s 4^th year biology class.

It was the first class after lunch, and we were watching a very boring natural history film about mounting goats.

Rich and I had taken second sitting dinners which consisted of liver and bacon whereas Wendy’s lunch was made up largely of cider.

“Claire Palmers fanny looks like that” she said and pointed at a large brown goat on the screen.

“Seriously?” Rich said

“But she’s so small” I said irrelevantly

Claire Palmer was the smallest girl in our year by a distance, small and plain with straight lank hair and a freckled complexion, looking back she always looked like she should have been a year or two behind us, but I guess she stopped growing when her pubic hair started. 

I’d known her since junior school, but she was the quiet shy type, and I don’t think she said more than a few words to me in all that time.

To be truthful she wasn’t really on my radar but at that moment she had become significantly more interesting.

“She’s the hairiest girl in our year” Wendy continued

“What’s yours like?” I asked taking advantage of her alcohol induced indiscretion.

“Ask him” she said nodding in Rich’s direction

“You’ve been in Wendy’s drawers?” I asked shocked and a bit jealous, not because I fancied Wendy, but I hadn’t been in anyone’s pants except my own.

Rich just blushed, so I punched him hard the arm.

I couldn’t believe he’d had his digits among Wendy’s ginger pubes and furthermore that he hadn’t told me all about it.

He was my best mate after all.

But he was such a drip and he’d scored before me.

“Linda McLean’s got a corker though” Wendy said a little too loud as Linda turned around and looked at me.

 

As we were walking to the next lesson Wendy suddenly felt sick and went off to throw up, Rich had French in the annex, and I had German in the main block and it was when I was on my own that I felt a tug on my jacket sleeve.

“What were you lot talking about in Biology?” A girl asked

When I turned around, I saw it was Linda McLean with a frown on her face

I liked Linda even though she was completely flat up top, but I had to admit I liked her even more after finding out she was more substantially equipped down below.

“What?” I said

“What were you saying about me in biology?” she asked forcefully

“We were talking about the flicks” I lied “Rich wanted to see “Rio Lobo”, John Wayne’s latest and Wendy fancied “Love Story”

“I heard my name mentioned” she continued

I shuffled my feet as I struggled to find an answer

“Well, um…. “I mumbled “I said I was going to ask you to the flickers, and Wendy said “Great idea Linda’s a corker”

She didn’t speak for a moment then she said

“Well, are you going to ask me then?”

 

That Saturday night on the back row of the ABC Muswell Hill I confirmed Wendy’s assessment that it was indeed a corker, and I was left to speculate that if little Claire Palmer was considerably more luxuriant down below than Linda then she must have to wear bigger knickers.

MEMOIR OF A NORTH LONDON SCHOOL BOY # 1

 

It was a blistering hot day in 1969 when the third year of Secondary school started, and Alexander Park Comprehensive School was heaving with familiar faces. 

It had only been called Alexandra Park as long as I had been going there, before that it was Cecil Rhodes Secondary but as Haringey was such a racially mixed borough political correctness reared its ugly head and the name was changed.

And the racial mix of the area was reflected in the student body, in fact assembly was like a session at the United Nations.

There was however one noticeable absentee in form that morning, Winifred Bliss, and it was noticeable because she was a foulmouthed gobby cow.

She was West Indian, though I don’t know which island, she didn’t really communicate with the white kids other than to tell you to fuck off.

Our form tutor Mrs Holiday told us that Winifred would not be returning to the school though she would not elaborate as to why.

Obviously by lunchtime rumours abounded as to her whereabouts but it wasn’t until we had drama with Mr Dickens that the truth surfaced.

He stood up in front of the class

“There is some very foolish talk around the school regarding Winifred Bliss” he announced

“So, I have decided to tell you the truth”

The class fell silent and waited with bated breath, for what seemed like an eternity.

“Winifred was arrested by the police during the summer holidays” He said

“What for sir?” Mario asked

“For sleeping with boys” he answered

Sleeping with boys, I thought, what’s wrong with that, though I didn’t say it out loud as everyone else in the class was nodding sagely like they understood,

But I didn’t, my brother and I often shared a bed with our cousins, and they were girls, but they didn’t get arrested.

I never voiced my confusion to anyone about Winifred Bliss or the fact I used to get a stiffy when I shared a bed with my cousins.

A few months later the penny finally dropped regarding the significance of the phrase “Sleeping with boys”.

WIGGLY WORMS AND CURLY WHIRLY’S

My face has been washed clean

And my hairs the best it’s been

I must smile and must not fidget

That photographers such a twit

So, when he asks me where’s the birdie

I will frown and look quite surly

SLIDING OUT OF CHILDHOOD

The first sign of childhood ending

That you can remember so far

When you are too tall to be allowed

On the slide at the burger bar

THE UNHOLY TRINITY

 

I do love you kid’s

Honestly, I do,

Even when Ben

Doesn’t listen to advice

Goes his own way

And then in the end,

Does what I suggested anyway

 

I do love you kid’s

Honestly, I do,

Even when Josh leave’s something at school

His jumper, his shirt, his shoes

Yesterday it was his P.E. kit

Today he lost a shoelace

Tomorrow will be something else.

 

I do love you kid’s

Honestly, I do,

Even when Sam has a paddy

Stamping his feet

Banging the floor with his fists

And blames everyone,

Except himself

 

I do love you kid’s

Honestly, I do,

Even when a constant stream

Of your friends ring the doorbell

Seemingly endlessly

A dozen times in an afternoon

Every afternoon

 

I do love you kid’s

Honestly, I do,

Even when you misplace reading books

Or homework or letters from school

And I have to search

And I find them

Where I told you to look

 

I do love you kid’s

Honestly, I do,

Even when you don’t shut doors

Or cupboards

Or drawers

You don’t hang your coats up

Or put your slippers on

 

I do love you kid’s

Honestly, I do,

Even when you leave

Dirty sports kit in your schoolbag

And half a sandwich in your lunch box

When you want to go outside when it’s raining

And watch TV when it’s sunny

 

I do love you kid’s

Honestly, I do,

Even when you leave clothes on the floor

School bags in the hall

Coats on the sofa

Shoes on the stairs

Sock’s everywhere

 

I do love you kid’s

Honestly, I do,

Even when I have to wake you up

Every school day morning

And you wake up at six am

On Saturday and Sunday

And you wake me up as well

 

I do love you kid’s

Honestly, I do,

Even when you won’t go to sleep at night

When you mess about and talk

Or when you bicker and fight

And when you’re told to stop

You say OK and carry on

 

I do love you kid’s

Honestly, I do,

Even when you leave lights on in every room

Or you leave the TV on

The computer and the PS2

And you’re all playing football

Outside with your friends

 

I do love you kid’s

Honestly, I do,

Even when you have a bath or shower

And there’s more water on the floor

Than there is in the bath

And you leave wet towels on the floor

And the soap in the bath

 

I do love you kid’s

Honestly, I do,

Even when I shout at you

It’s not that I don’t love you

But the Wisdom of Solomon

And the patience of Job

Sometimes just aren’t enough

 

I do love you kid’s

Honestly, I do.

GOODBYE CHILDHOOD

 

You know you have reached the end of your childhood

When Christmas is a lot of work and Naps are good

When Saturday mornings are now just for sleeping

And Hitting girls is no longer considered to be flirting

When The only thing in your cereal box is cereal

And You only WANT clothes for Christmas for real

When you’re Driving the car it’s no longer any fun

You always wear a hat and have to keep out of the sun

You leave foot ball matches early to beat the crowd

And you don’t like concerts because they’re just so loud

You actually buy yourself scarves, gloves, and sunscreen

And you think car insurance premiums are obscene

When being bad is no longer considered being cool

And you have friends who have kids who go to school

You saw the Star Wars movie when it first came out

Finally, your parents' jokes are now funny without a doubt

CHILD FATIGUE

Children! Are you tired?

Of being harassed

By your stupid parents

Making you stressed

Move out you lazy slob

Move out and get a job

And do your own bill paying

While you still know everything

BILLIARDS FOR ONE

 

My mum often used to say to me

Will you stop all that fiddle di di

Playing with yourself constantly

You will go blind just you mark me

I said to her with all due respects

I think I’ll carry on until I need specs

At the time I thought what a silly cow

I really wish I’d listened to her now

If only I had at least given it a try

I might at least have saved one eye

BAD SCHOOL DAY

 

When I was at school

When I was just a lad

What was embarrassing

And made me very sad

Was the day I called

The history teacher dad

WHEN WE WERE KIDS

 

When we were kids

Our cots were covered with brightly coloured lead-based paint, which we chewed and licked

And we did not die

 

When we were kids

We didn’t have childproof lids on medicine bottles, or special latches on doors or windows

And we did not die

 

When we were kids

When we rode our bikes, we didn’t need to wear helmets or protective knee and elbow pads

And we did not die

 

When we were kids

We would ride in cars with no seat belts or air bags. We would even ride in the passenger seat 

And we did not die

 

When we were kids

We drank water from the garden tap and from streams and not from bottle it tasted the same

And we did not die

 

When we were kids

We ate bread and dripping spotted dick for pudding and drank fizzy pop with sugar in it

And we did not die

 

When we were kids

We would share drinks among our friends from the same bottle or can without sterilizing it first

And we did not die

 

When we were kids

We made go-carts out of wood and old pram wheels then we would race down the steepest hill

And we did not die

 

When we were kids

Sometimes if we didn’t have a go-cart, we would race down hills on a tin lid or even a Tea tray

And we did not die

 

When we were kids

We sometimes fell out with each other and even got into fights punches were thrown and eyes blacked

But we did not die

 

When we were kids

We played football, cricket, and street rounders and sometimes that ball really hurt you

But we did not die

 

When we were kids

In the summer holidays we would leave home after breakfast and only go home to have our tea 

No one worried or minded

 

When we were kids

We sometimes we had accidents falling out of trees or just falling over and we got cut and bruised

And no one got sued

 

When we were kids

We played with catapults, spud guns and pea shooters and every autumn we played with conkers

But we did not die

 

When we were kids

We made up games with sticks and played at being Indians with spears and bows and arrows

We didn’t poke our eyes out

 

When we were kids

We didn’t have video games or multi-channel Telly or Video and DVD’s or personal computers

We had friends instead

 

When we were kids

Our parents didn’t bail us out if we broke a law they sided with the police and we were punished

And oh yes, we did not die

Various

GRAMPA’S DARKEST DAY

Darkness descended since
We lost our brightest light
Daddy carries you in his arms
In that tiny coffin gleaming white
Goodbye my precious little angel
I will see you in the sky tonight

JOYS OF A CHILDHOOD LOST

We virtually lived outside
Me and my friends
On long summer adventures
Until the days ends
But we wernt just
The fair weather sort
We played outside even
When days were short
Rolling around in piles
Of autumn leaves of gold
Splashing through puddles
Despite being told
Playing imaginary games
About being lost in the fog
running through the woods
Chasing the dog.
In winter when Saturday came
Then off we’d go
With luck we’d wake
To find a fresh fall of snow
Then we’d happily sledge
Across the snowy land
Or build a snowman
Till we can’t feel our hands
Hours pass in minutes
As we’d happily roam
But despite the cold
We didn’t rush to get home
When we did we crunched
Through the crisp winter frost
Those were the joys
Of a childhood lost

I WAS LITTLE MORE THAN A LAD

I was little more than a lad
And my hometown lay behind me
But I didn’t walk the road
As a lad for very long,
I quickly became a man
So I walked for many years
And for many miles
In country and in town
Working in the sweet smelling fields
And the foul odorous cities
But I wandered tall and proud
Now the road lead me home
And the path breathes life
Into my wistful heart

SUNDIAL

The sun burned bright
Its rays struck the sundial
And cast a shadow
Shown in sharp relief
From the gnomon
Upon the brass dial
And as the straight edge
Reaches three o’clock
It’s time to go

WHY DO WE NEVER LEARN?

Why do we never learn?
We look back at past mistakes
And yet we do the same again
We view history
Without learning the lessons
Time and time again
But every time
History repeats itself
The price goes up

WE LOVE YOU STREET ANGELS

They are a constant about the place
They are the friendly face
Revellers stop on their merry way
And invariably they will say
As they lean at precarious angles
"We love you strangles"

THE STREET ANGELS HAVE TROD THE PATH

The Street Angels have trod the path
For Five years on Woking’s streets
Armed only with Gods light
And their calming influence
They are Not preachers of the word
Nor are they there to evangelise
They are the doers of deeds
The holders of hands
And the wipers of tears
They are a friendly face in the dark
Or a soothing word in the confusion
A conduit to common sense
The Angels do not judge
Nor are they there to chastise
Angels listen with sympathetic ears
And speak in a voice of pleasant reason
They give up their time
For the lost and the vulnerable
And the over enthusiastic revellers
Until the last club closes.
The Street Angels
Do not police the streets
But they do tread the path
And they are part of the peace

A Mixed Bag of Poems

AT THE ELEVENTH HOUR

At the eleventh hour
On the eleventh day
Of the eleventh month
We heard the generals say
You can go home now lads
To the land you’ve defended
Thank God one and all
That the madness has ended

MICHAELMAS DAISY

Lovely Miss Aster,
My flower girl Maisie
My natural beauty
I love her like crazy
My own precious
Michaelmas Daisy

HAPPY BIRTHDAY DAD

Happy birthday dad
See, we did remember
Because you are so dear
Just like every year

We will never forget
We just wish and wish
You were still here
Just like every year

So we wish you
A happy birthday
And wipe away a tear
Just like every year

Harold Curtis 19/6/1922 – 8/5/1978

DANCING PIXIES IN THE GREEN

Dancing pixies in the green
And sparkling water sprites
Oft heard but never seen
Bathing in the morning light

DEATH IN THE SHADOWS

Death in the shadows
Grim reaper take flight
Don’t let me be the one
You’re coming for tonight

PEBBLES SMOOTH

Pebbles smooth,
Like crude glass
Smoothed by nature
Time and tide
Its patterned form
Marbled in style
Sits comfortably
In the fingers
To be skimmed
Back to the ocean

I HEAR A SINGING CHILD

I hear a singing child
Innocently engrossed
In childish play
Singing sweetly
To her audience of dolls
Safely oblivious
In her enchanted world
Would that it could
Always be that way

DEAR OSCAR

He was witty
Blessed with a fine mind
A bel esprit
And was the clever kind

MICHAELMAS DAY

Feast of the Archangels
As the autumn equinox nears
Michaelmas marks the turning
Of the husbandman's year

29th September

THE SCULPTOR CREATES

The sculptor creates
With skilful hands
The beauteous article
An artistic gift
Its concept borrowed
From his dreams
And his subconscious mind
To infuse in his design
And create a work of art

DREDGING IS NO SILVER BULLET

Dredging is no silver bullet
Is the word coming from their ranks
But at least it would be something
To prevent rivers bursting their banks
While the environment agency
Just blindly keep on firing blanks

SLAVERY WAS BORN OF EMPIRE

Slavery was born of Empire
But not a European one
Slavery existed for centuries
In fact thousands of years
Way before Europe rose to the fore
Even the Romans came late to the party
Following in Greece’s footsteps
Peoples were enslaved
From around the globe
Where there were trade routes
There was slaving
Arabs traded slaves bought
From African tribesmen
Muslims enslaved slavs
Turks enslaved Ukrainians
Mongols reached into the heart of Europe
And took slaves by the thousand
White Europeans became involved
Black enslaved black
White has enslaved white
I don’t know if it will ever end
I certainly hope so
But what I do know is
That the British didn’t invent it

ORIGINAL FAIRY TALES

Original Fairy Tales
Were not devised
To scare children
And inform them
That monsters existed
Children already knew
There were monsters
What Fairy Tales did
Was to teach children
That monsters
Could be beaten

NAZISM WAS LIKE A CANCER

Nazism was like a cancer
Spread across the continent
And when Hitler was defeated
It was not a cure, for the cancer
Was merely in remission

MISSING OUT

They’ve taken all the fun away
It’s prohibited from the school day
Thanks to the politically correct crusade
And the heath and safety brigade
There can be no unacceptable names
Or boisterous competitive games
Now playing in the snow and ice
You must play games safe and nice
The nanny state has declared
That the nation’s children must be spared
But when I was a child we did alright
And we did survive an occasional fight
But we had more freedom in my view
We could choose what things to do
You didn’t have to climb in trees
Or pick the scabs off wounded knees
You didn’t have to play kiss chase
Or catch a snowball in the face
You didn’t have to make a slide in the snow
If you didn’t want to you could say no
Conkers was not a compulsory game
You didn’t have to call girls names
You could roll in the grass again and again
Or jump in puddles after heavy rain
You didn’t have to skip with girls
Or run with grass seed in your curls
If you didn’t want to there was no need
You could sit alone and quietly and read
But if you chose to you could do it
And after all we were young and fit