The Retired Bloke

It was so sad to hear of the tragic death of Vichai Srivaddhanaprabha in a helicopter crash at Leicester City. It was just a reminder as to how precious life is.  Precious Life is precious So fragile A single moment One solitary second Is all it takes To take away A soul 

A poem that reflects on the fall from grace of the use of plastics.  When Plastic was Fantastic  When plastic was fantastic It was all the rage Thought it was the future  A material here to stay We loved the fact that straws could bend Could be made clear, coloured and curly Fish and chips in newspapers Replaced by takeaways in trays Drinks in plastic bottles So easy to discard Glass bottled milk No longer clink clink Gone forever almost extinct.  We thought this was the future We certainly didn’t foresee  That all this crap  Would eventually  End up in the sea. 

It seems to be getting more and more difficult to order a drink in a pub nowadays. I am predominantly a beer drinker but occasionally I have a G&T. Ordering a G&T is now like ordering a cocktail, other than the fact there doesn’t seem to be any standard names for the different concoctions. There’s no equivalent to Sex on the Beach...or is there? I stand to be corrected. Anyway here is my poem about the subject: I’ve Always Been A Beer Drinker I’ve always been a beer drinker Didn’t care too much for spirits But when I did it had to be A simple glass of G&T The other day I was in a bar Thinking of what to drink Fancied something different But here was my predicament When I said I think I’ll have a G&T  They looked at me confused We have 50 sorts of gin for you Here take a look at the drinks menu.  There was so much to choose from A brand from every town and city And what is this fuss about tonic botanical The choice in the past was full fat or low ca

Yesterday we went to Whitby for the day not realising that it was Goth Weekend. Even though Saturday and Sunday are the main event days there was still a great vibe in the town. What was great was how friendly everyone was despite their appearances.  Big Black Boots Big black boots Black frock coats Frightening looking folks White faces painted Not for the faint hearted At the alter of Bram Stoker Skulking in a dim dark corner Vampires for the day Victoriana at play Sinister yet serene A nod to what has been Transformed into Goth City The seaside resort of Whitby. 

Yesterday I went to my first ever yoga class. I have got to admit that I wasn’t looking forward to it. I thought I would be the only bloke. As it it was I wasn’t. It felt a bit strange at first but I soon got into it.  This poem is loosely based on that experience.  I Felt Like Stretch Armstrong I feel like Stretch Armstrong A bit of yoga it didn’t take long To get into positions not natural Seemed at first very irrational To do a downward facing dog Breathing easy to clear the fog Things got tough I became a warrior Aching limbs I became even sorrier Struggling to balance on my mat Thinking where to place my fat That I’d even bothered to turn up at all She said it’d be good I would have a ball  Another stretch this time a locust Praying to god this torture must End and be able to stand up normally Oh no another movement of deformity  Relax she said as I balanced on a brick Hoping that it’d be over pretty quick Our next move was against a wall Keeping us up to prevent a fall I’ve got t

On days when there is only the mundane to keep me  occupied I have to remind myself why I retired. It is easy to think this is the beginning of the end rather than a new beginning. This poem links those thoughts with my love of sport as an analogy.  When I Retired I didn’t retire from life Didn’t want to be a spectator Standing on the sidelines Watching the clock ticking down When I retired I wanted to be a participant Have dreams and ambitions Play a full part, know in my heart There’s nothing more left to give When I retired  I wanted to be a better team player A giver rather than a taker Supporting family, my loved ones Achieve their goals and ambitions When I retired  This was just half time The end of a frantic first period  This was a new start Not the end

Yesterday getting back from Santorini was a long slog to say the least. The Easy Jet flight was delayed by about 2 hours. We had to wait for what seemed like a lifetime to get our bags back. Then on the M56 home we were stopped in a traffic jam for two hours as the police tried to deal with someone trying to jump of the motorway bridge.   This poem tries to summarise our journey: Waiting Waiting, just wasting Our life in a queue Plane late Doing my best To avoid been in a state Pandemonium at the airport People a plenty Sitting on the floor Feeling feckless and fraught Nothing to do  Just negative thoughts Praying for our time To get on the plane Waiting just waiting For our bags to arrive Watching the clock tick Dreading the drive Bags in the car We didn’t get far Bumper to bumper Police shut the road A poor soul On a bridge Threatening to jump Two hours we waited I guess we should   Have been elated When a disaster  Was avoided And a life was saved Waiting just waiting We should be g

Today we spent our last day in Santorini. We decided to climb up the mountain which was at the back of the hotel in Kamari to Ancient Thera. This archeological site was very impressive and certainly worth a visit, both from s historical perspective and the terrific views of the coast. Today’s poem is about this visit; Ancient Thera.  This was a walk to history A little mystery A little adventure As we took tentative steps Towards a life alien Yet so familiar Each step closer To a previous civilisation As we climbed higher The world below Turned microscopic As we approached Something historic Perched precariously On a mountain top Ancient Thera Welcomed us to A world where imagination Takes us to another place Where genius from a previous age Invented, created civilisation To remind us that we are transient A speck on the history of this world.

This week we have been exploring Santorini. As it is right at the end of the season we have managed to avoid the crowds by and large. This is a beautiful island made more so by the whitewashed buildings and churches with blue roofs.  I tried to write a poem to express this beauty but after several disappointing attempts I just wrote a daft rhyme. (P.S. before anyone points it out, I know a lot of the references are Italian and Santorini is in Greece. But I struggled to find Greek references that rhymed with Santorini. Makes the poem even sillier!!) Daft Rhyme I’m no meanie Certainly no Mussolini  Enjoy a bit of Puccini  While sipping a dry Martini With my wife in her bikini I used to love the Sweeney I used to own a beanie Er indoors say mine is teenie  Royal wedding a bit of Eugenie  Man City managers Mancini and Pellegrini Italian hot spots Tuscany and Rimini Aladdin and his little genie I know this rhyme is a little silly But god I love a bit of Santorini. 

Yesterday sat in the spot you can see on the picture, we awaited the sunset in Santorini. Four young female tourists sat down beside us in this fairly smart bar. One of the girls asked for some hot water. The waiter questioned why she wanted hot water. Well to cut a long story short the whole situation descended into a farcical stand off between the waiter and the customer over her desire to make her own cup of tea. (With her one tea bag).  A little limerick to describe the event:  Storm in a tea cup Four girls sitting in a Santorini bar Started acting a little bizarre When asking for hot water Started berating the waiter When refusing her some to make char. 

Last night I sat down to watch England play Spain away in Seville in the UEFA Nation’s League. I was expecting a comfortable Spain win. How wrong was I! In the first half England were superb, going into the break 3-0 up.  The second half was understandably a different story with our back against the wall. We defended resolutely and managed to hold on to a historic 2-3 victory.   Seville Stunner This was a famous night in Seville.  An England team demonstrating the skill To tear a talented Spain apart  A performance gutsy and full of heart.  Sterling a player previously misfiring Scored two goals, was awesome, inspiring  Rashford cant get a game with United Seeing him score I was totally elated.  3-0 at half time,England in dreamland  A game to compare to the 1-5 v Deutschland.  The second half backs against the wall England struggling to even get the ball A headed goal, Spain pulled one back Only one team on the attack A goal at the death made it a 3-2 victory Up there with the best in

                                                                   I am currently trying to write a poem a day for a full year. I have completed about 290. Usually I can complete one in about twenty minutes. Today I really struggled. I wrote two poems, however I didn’t think they were very good at all and threw them away. I started to feel quite frustrated with myself. I decided to write a poem about how I felt. Hopefully tomorrow I will wake up with renewed inspiration! Inspirational Drought Today I’m feeling fraught. Reeking in self doubt. Challenging every thought. An inspirational drought. No time to think or cry. Words,eliminated, erased Before the ink is dry. Quiet confidence replaced With a hollow emptiness   To express this pent up feeling Of lost hope. A shallowness Of sentiment that’s concealing Those lost syllables of insight. The dismal darkness descends  As I desperately seek for the light, Of returning creativity to transcend.

I don’t think anyone ever forgets their first car. Mine was a maroon Hillman Avenger similar to the one in the picture. I bought it in 1982. It was about 6 years old. It had only done 17,000 miles. It was won by an old lady in a competition and was only driven on short journeys. I thought I would be buying a reliable form of transportation. How wrong was I. We went to Bristol from Hull once in the car.  It broke down at Brough, just outside Hull, the first time. Instead of deciding to turn around we continued. It broke down about 5 times on the way down. Each time the AA thought they had fixed it.  As soon as the engine warmed up it came to a shuddering halt. 12 hours later, we finally arrived in Bristol. However I still loved this car.  It gave me freedom for the first time to explore and have my first knocks. I eventually caved in and sold it and bought a green MG Metro.  This poem expresses how I thought abought my first car: My First Car I remember my very first car A Hillman Aveng

Most Saturday nights during the autumn like a lot of the British population we settle down to watch X Factor and Strictly with a bottle of red wine.  Often I don’t quite make it to the end of the evening without dozing off. This poem is about our Saturday nights.  Saturday Night (Not at the Movies) Saturday night watching TV A little bit of X Factor and Strictly Wine in one hand remote in the other The bottle placed handy for another It feels a lot like a guilty pleasure Very chilled out simply no pressure Nothing here to tax the mind No big step forward for human kind It’s simply nice to relax and unwind Watch Simon Cowell try to find The next superstar the next big thing Asking what song they would like to sing Then there’s Bouncy Bruno waving his arms Spreading compliments about dancers charms Feedback sometimes gets pros a little furious Not when Revel Horwood says they are gorgeous At the end of the night a little worse for wear I struggle eventually to get out of the chair And sl

I wrote this poem today, following my wife’s excellent effort in completing her first ever 10k run. Less than a year ago Lesley could not run 200 metres without having to stop. Completing the Couch to 5K programme, using a phone app, she has now achieved a distance she could only dream of. I feel proud in my small part in helping her to do such a good distance. Here’s to a half marathon!!!

I am always sorry when autumn arrives as this is a reminder that summer is over. However I do love the autumn colours. 

I have been busy the last couple of days decorating my son’s bedroom. Decorating is not one of my favourite tasks. Here’s a poem about my latest effort!  Not Keen on Decorating I’m not that keen on decorating I don’t have the inclination  Even though our rooms are degenerating  Cos I’m lacking in motivation To do anything about it Until my wife has a quiet word To encourage me to commit Resistance now being quite absurd  So out I traipse to the shed Drag out old brushes and rollers Find the old bed spread That I use for furniture covers Bedroom emptied onto the landing Take one deep breath and begin The miserable task of sanding Paper so rough it hurts my skin Once the dusty mess is made A bucket full of sugar soap solution Washing walls, cleaning skills displayed Probably more like dirt re-distribution  Finally we’re ready for the paint job Even opening the tin is a nightmare Several attempts later, starting to sob Tin lid finally free, was starting to despair.  So now armed with rol