I’m Back!

Hi everyone, I’ve just got back from a week’s holiday down in North Devon. A beautiful part of England… unfortunately we couldn’t even rely on decent weather in August, so had to suffer four waterlogged days, battling trenchfoot and hypothermia (only a slight exaggeration), before the sun eventually came out. Check out one of my holiday snaps below…

By the way – I think it says a lot about me that if you call your attraction The Big Sheep, then I’m going to put that on the “must visit” list! We did manage to visit a different beach every day, rain or shine… put that down to the stubbornness of those who live as far from the beach as is possible in these Isles.

I’ve come back with lots of ideas for new poems that I hope to share with you in the coming days and weeks. Hope you enjoyed the scheduled posts I left while I was off – it was a bit of a clean out of some older material, hence being a smorgasbord of poems, limericks, and zombie stories… variety is good though, right? 🙂

Thanks to everyone for your likes, shares and lovely comments. I couldn’t respond to each as I normally do, as we didn’t even have phone reception for 23.5 hours of each day, let alone an internet connection! My wife did discover on day three that if you hung off the back of the sofa at an awkward angle, you could just get a tiny bit of phone reception (as long as it wasn’t too windy… or cloudy… or a bird wasn’t flying past the window… it was very rural!)… amazing the lengths you go to to maintain a feeling of being “connected” to the world, once you’ve got used to it!

Now, if only there was some way to combine that beautiful North Devon scenery with a decent broadband connection…

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The Lift (poem)

Hold the lift! Hold the lift! You cry,
Sprinting through reception with a mad glint in your eye.

Wait for me! you plead, squeezing yourself in
As the ketchup from your butty dribbles slowly down your chin

There is squishing and squashing; lots of fuss and fussing
As you reach through the throng to finger your floor’s button

The doors stutter shut, and close eventually
Creaking and groaning to an uncomfortable degree

Up, up we go, then stop at the first floor
More creaking and groaning from the opening of the door

Ketchup Man bounds out, having reached his destination,
Not a glance behind him at the silent consternation

As every single person, still trapped within that box
Forms the same judgement, the same cruel set of thoughts

Everyone is thinking, but I’m the one who says it:
“He could’ve used the stairs, the lazy, idle git!”

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