The Retired Bloke

Yesterday my wife and I visited Leeds. We both independently had noticed that the place looked so much more downtrodden since we were last there, only a few weeks ago. We came across some guys playing with a giant chess set in the street. It got me thinking... Checkmate  Two men locked in combat On a once busy city street Lines are drawn Brains not brawn  Define these two urban thinkers Chess is their weapon of choice A battlefield laid out on the pavement The King once powerful and all conquering Now a shadow of what he used to be The Queen once primed for hostile takeover Moves aimlessly from place to place In search of the hidden pot of gold The Bishop can only stand and watch As life changes beyond recognition The Knight once glorious and sublime Has fallen from grace Committed a heinous crime The Castle once the bedrock Is now a dilapidated unloved shell Where crowds of followers used to dwell The pawns now trudge down trodden Not knowing where to turn Two men locked in combat

My first car was a maroon Hillman Avenger, like the one pictured. It was the most unreliable piece of machinery. It was nothing but trouble.  Rust Box A wheel at each corner held together with hope and a prayer A rust box disintegrating faster than I lost my hair In rain hale snow it never wanted to go Reluctant as a Yorkshireman paying for a beer A constant battle to keep straight and steer Gripping hard, knuckles so white Muscles flexed to turn it right It rattled and rolled it jangled my change Fragile nerves it would rearrange Building up speed like a granny at a zimmer It’s wafer thin tyres couldn’t get much thinner Coppers would stop and beg me , go quicker Ignoring on my lap the bottle of liquor Handling on ice was almost obscene Pirouetting faster than Torvill and Dean A challenge a gradient greater than one percent Was like being covered in treacle and buried in cement  But when the road fell away and faced an abyss I would kiss St Chris and emit some pis