More daftness

 

Bond Street with David Beckham

 

Now I’m fifty-three

I find it kinda scary,

That my hair has started falling out

And my ears have gone all hairy.

 

But, I like the finer things in life

And I like to window shop.

To mooch about the snazzy streets

And imagine I’m a fop.

 

So there I am on Bond Street one day

Dreaming of the past.

In my mind I’m cool and groovy

But it isn’t going to last.

 

Then suddenly a door burst open

And a dark man pushed right past.

I know that bloke, I thought,

And then it came to me quite fast.

 

He got into his double R

Parked up against the kerb.

I looked in through the window

His look said ‘Don’t disturb’.

 

I hesitated for a moment

And the engine roared to life.

I’ll stand back here a second

He must be waiting for his wife.

 

I had a little cogitate

As I was feeling rather mellow.

Then again it dawned on me

I do recognise that fellow

 

He drove his car along the road

Only sixty yards, no more.

I could have jogged up to see him

But, I didn’t want to be a bore.

 

The door swung open and he got out,

And now it was they saw.

An electric current passed down the street

The place was in uproar.

 

Baker-boy cap pulled to one side

And narrow skinny jeans.

Retired from sport, of any sort

How does he stay so lean?

 

A hundred phones pulled out,

Held up against the sky.

All aimed as one at one so young,

This oh-so famous guy.

 

Then I felt quite sorry,

Does this happen a lot d’you reckon?

Of course it does, indeed it must.

If you are David Beckham. 

 

Gasholder No.1

 

Around the world

There is a scene,

That sets a backdrop

For the Oval Green.

 

Built to last

In the reign of Vicky.

The dodgy builder

Took the mickey.

 

To correct the fault

They tried again.

By ‘79

It was as right as rain.

 

Ready they say for

Test Match Cricket.

Watching over

That first game’s wicket.

 

It’s planned destruction

Caused a storm.

The Oval without it

Would look forlorn.

 

Good news today,

Lest the future hate us.

The structure's been given

Grade II Status.

 

 

(To explain, the Victorian gasholder that looms over the Oval

cricket ground in south London has been granted Grade II status.)

Sightseeing in Sevenoaks

 

In Seal Hollow Road

There’s a wall with archéd hole

That abuts the

Park and house of Knole

 

No dog for me

 

 

Write about your self she said

And my teacher I obeyed

I showed it to my father

It left him quite dismayed

 

Not the description of my person

Or the main content of my log

Just one line at the end

That I hadn’t got a dog

 

He sat me down and explained to me

The problem with my situation

That a dog isn’t really suitable

When you live in our location

 

Imagine that we had a Newfoundland

Now that would be quite grand

But the trouble with this doggy type

Is that four foot six they stand

 

We wondered about a Daschund

Now that’s a little critter

But what if some giant took him

And made a sausage fritter

 

Perhaps something lively

Oh that I would adore

A friend that’s really bouncy

I’d love a Labrador

 

We’ve got a friend called Monty

We see him at our school

 He’s a tough but charming boxer

And we think he’s really cool

 

We could have a little Snautzer

A wire haired little chappy

But I think they’re territorial

And can turn out rather snappy

 

A Dalmation is a lovely beast

Their coat is white and spotty

But imagine it running round the place

It would drive us all quite dotty

 

Some dog’s coats are shaggy

And some their coats are smooth

But there’s always hair to clear up

And perhaps we’d have to move

 

So you see there’s much to consider

And a lot to think about

When all these things are weighed up

Then there has to be a doubt

 

Because a dog needs his space

And a lot of exercise

If you deprive them of these things

They have the saddest eyes

 

Then there’s the problem of their habits

And we’d need a bag and scooper

Imagine all the mess there’d be

If we had a profuse pooper

 

Above all we live in a terraced house

There’s not room to swing a cat

If we tried it with a dog

We’d knock the place quite flat

 

Then the RSPCA would call

And tell us off quite soundly

They’d take our canine buddy from us

Which would effect us all profoundly

 

So let’s not join the Kennel Club

Let’s stay as we are

Play with Grandma’s on occasions

And admire them from afar.

 

The King and the Wombat

 

 

The King had a Wombat

He had won him in a bet

He took him to the Palace

After a visit to the vet

 

The King was quite a bossy man

He liked to get his way

The Wombat he grew tired of this

And the Wombat ran away

 

In the Palace gardens the Queen was tired and restless

‘Will you play some ‘Wom’ with me? I’m feeling rather flat.’

The King replied ‘I would, my dear!’

‘But we haven’t got a bat.’

 

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