The Retired Bloke

I’m sat here in my garden A garden I know so well I’ve tended every square foot Not that you can tell I’m comfortable in my garden It’s serene safe and secure Is it wise to venture out If I’m honest I’m not sure  I’m a dreamer in my garden Plotting the rest of my life We’ve been through a lot Just me and my good wife I’m watching birds in my garden Living life so simple and free They sing songs every morning Is it me they’ve come to see I’m watching news in my garden Lockdown’s easing no doubt  Boris opens up the cafs and pubs So we can have a beer when we’re out I’m reflecting in my garden Whether I’ve missed not going out Or whether staying in a little while longer Is not a better shout!

Football, football’s coming home Aston Villa versus Sheffield United Game dedicated to Black Lives Matter I think I was in danger of getting over excited It soon turned out to be a snooze fest With Hawkeye seemingly still furloughed  It missed the goal in the back of the net Crowds would have boo’d if the gates weren’t closed Jamie Rednapp whispered on the touch line Insightful commentary certainly lacking No need for a highlight programme  As neither team seemed bothered about attacking Physios coming on wearing full PPE After added time, still nil nil The Premier League may well be back But kid me not this game was dull! 

Nothing could keep these folk in the shade The scarecrow builders of Woodland Glade Lockdown here has not been wasted Ingenious efforts have been created Bill and Ben lit up their garden Sombrero scrubber, boobs like Dolly Parton Keep two metres apart warns the PC The little mermaid relaxing under the sea Hagrid leant against a car Lockdown arms a virtual bar Superman clings to a wall Crowds in the streets loving it all Jo Wicks PE there for all to see Golfers playing off the tee Campers, boozers fishermen too Mario proud in his dungarees blue Worzel Gummidge and his aunt Sally People exploring every snicket and ally Scary beings with a severed hand Donald Trump with his Domestos brand Spongebob square pants has a wave Girl doing her exam, must behave Marilyn Monroe with her dress all floaty A pirate with his sword and little goatee Elsa, Olaf a little Frozen Smiles abound not one but a dozen Aliens look out it’s Doctor Who Minions, Potter, and Poppins too Apologies to those I fail t

Birds singing so sweet Nature’s own background music Drowning out my thoughts Lazing under shade Contemplating what to do Beers best in the sun Random clouds gather  A gentle warning of change Brollies needed soon. 

Stepping out of a cocooned existence Something inside is showing resistance Voices whispering the consequences  Teasing me tentatively back to my senses Stepping out to seek normality  Infused with a kind of irrationality Wanting to wade into a waiting world Fearing the virus could again be unfurled Stepping out to breath with other souls Daring not to breach critical controls  Glimpses of faces only seen on screens Praying for immunity and viable vaccines Stepping out to a world that’s been missing Instead of just sitting and reminiscing  Sounds and sights will seem so fresh and new The importance of life now clearly in view. 

I’m sat here on the sofa doing nothing, just killing time Even thought about writing a silly little rhyme I put my pen to paper then put it down again Couldn’t muster any enthusiasm so I counted up to 10 I thought I’d pour myself a drink, a cold one made with ice An orange juice, a splash of vodka and a little slice I gulped the thing down in one which made me quite light headed  A mixture of booze and sun and I soon felt a little shredded.  I’m now sat on the sofa doing nothing but killing time Wishing I was more active and not just craving wine. 

Beautiful day walking on sunshine Come on let’s dance be mine Be like those girls on film  Me Tarzan boy come swim In lavender fields with me Only you can set me free On Echo Beach the harder I try This never ending story bleeds me dry I know you’re a modern girl You sexy thing, too shy, like a pearl Each day I’ve been living in a box Use your imagination, don’t go to detox  I’ve been searching big fun Since I was 19 with Geno’s mum You were a centrefold, a good heart Our lips were sealed and that was a start As a slave to love I have to bite my tongue As we had it too much too young You with Black Man Ray and Leo Me showing out like a man child in Rio Hey you and the Rocksteady crew  Had such big fun became respectable, grew My senses working overtime, feeling I’m turning Japanese Such a good life ,able to do the buffalo stance with such ease Like I was dancing in the street giving a rebel yell I wanted to say let’s go all the way, could you tell I didn’t ask your name until you tol

Back in the day when not mollycoddled by the state you see When everything was not governed by health and safety There was a weekly school session of perilous PE Not the warm and cuddly Joe Wicks kind you see on TV The lesson started with the presentation of parents letters Pleas to be excused plus a few absent minded kit forgetters Who had to strip down to their vests pants or knickers Black sand shoes worn; no trainers or sneakers  In winter there loomed the dreaded cross country race Ploughed fields, stinky bogs splatters of shit across the face Unfit fatties, fags in pockets could only dream of keeping pace Many couldn’t last the course so finishing at all was no disgrace Parquet flooring covered in confusing lines Wooden horses to twist and shatter spines Thirty kids running around manically in close confines Competitive crab football between two psyched up sides Excitement knew no bounds when Pirates was the game A contest of chase on ropes benches and the climbing frame Heart b

Crisis for Boris at Number 10 Is it a question of where and when? Should he stay or should he go? The British public we all know Dominic’s comings and goings broke the lockdown spirit When travelling 260 miles for a parental visit Boris is backing his special adviser Would have thought he would have been much wiser Undermining Stay at Home to save the NHS Cummings clearly couldn’t give a toss Travelling so far with a wife with a virus Avoiding rules and guidance that we’re meant to inspire us Others had to cope at home While others suffered all alone This political situation is so grave That people in future may not behave They may not bother to social distance When Boris lays down the rules there may be resistance  Come on Cummings do the right thing We’ve all done so well; don’t ruin everything! 

I’m sat at the bar. Beer consuming my being. Feeling my world is caving in. Thoughts flash through the empty vessel masquerading as my brain. Am I going insane or just a sorry excuse for a man. I stand like a circus performer, a target for the daggers, wishing one would go astray and pierce my broken heart. For a start it wasn’t meant to be this way. I earned an honest living, paid my dues,now I drink every day. The alcohol searing through my veins to the point of inevitable destruction. A dereliction of my duty as a man a father a husband. I can’t remember the moment when I stood at the top of the hill and looked down towards the abyss. A black hole with no way out. I did shout, oh god how I shouted. So loud it made my ears bleed. But no one took heed of my cries my desperate pleas for a return to normality to a life where comfort in skin was akin to an instant lottery win. But why would they? They knew or did they? Could they not see me sliding lower, losing self esteem. Reflecting o

It hurts Being isolated from your beating heart  It hurts No longer able to touch your soul   It hurts Images of your smile slowly fading into a misty landscape It hurts Frivolous and free laughter still echoes in this empty box It hurts Rolling meadows emblazoned in vivid splashes of colour miss your footsteps It hurts  Sitting alone staring out to sea in a paradise place once shared It hurts Perfume lingering like you’re still standing there It hurts Staring at the myriad of mesmerising stars and seeing your face It hurts Fighting back the tears, the fear of losing the memory of you It hurts. 

I am a pretentious poet I have an attitude so what I don’t care what people say I’ll post my poems everyday I’ll talk about rubbish and nonsense About everyday stuff and Sex I’ll make em rhyme if I can Write poems bout trips to Japan I am a pretentious poet I fool myself that I can write But stuff at best is really shite I am no Wordsworth, Whitman or Wilde My poems at best are quite reviled In writing I lack any style or finesse  But carry on regardless nonetheless.

Confusion reigns as lockdown relaxes  The Chancellor talks about raising taxes We may need to economise live a little leaner But thankfully we can all re-employ the cleaner Teachers rebel about going back to school I can get on a golf course and play like a fool Rihanna’s knickers and scent have made her minted Sharing commutes with open windows permitted The tracing app is about to go nationwide Now there will be no bloody place to hide Ditching testing and tracing a mistake says Hunt Trump attacks female reporters what a silly stunt The Premier League lose battle to play neutral venues  Up to my back teeth with the virus monopolising the news  Surely to god The Sun can find a different tack Woohoo extensions pulled out with pliers by Emily Atack

There once was a little squirt Whose instructions he tried to pervert  He went to house parties  Snogged some lookalike Barbies And forgot to stay alert!!

I miss the unbridled freedom I miss being as one in a crowd I miss flicking through pages in bookshops  I miss flying off to foreign lands.  I miss the sand caressing my feet I miss dipping my toe into the ocean I miss being moved to tears in the movies I miss the buzz and bustle of busy bars.  I miss the aroma of coffees in piazzas I miss vertiginous views over crowded cities I miss catching teas and cakes on corners I miss sailing silently into setting sunsets I miss clambering up to the tops of mountains I miss strolling through moors of purple heather I miss being self absorbed in art  I miss the sound of willow on leather I miss ice creams licked on lively piers I miss being cosseted in rooms with views I miss the eclectic tunes of foreign tongues I miss travelling through history in museums I miss the lure of live loud music I miss manicured gardens to stroll through  I miss flashing lights and fun of the fair But most of all, miss being with you! 

Draw me in sky blue You light up endless darkness Give hope in lockdown Smiles from miles away Healing the soul from sofas Love shared on WiFi Strangers used to scowl  Chatter is now flowing free Safely at distance Wildlife distancing Released from human impact Walking in the street

“My dear friends this is your hour” Your time to celebrate our freedom From your locked down world, Where all seems grim and bleak, Where normality seems a distant memory How life now would have been  So different though, but for the sacrifice  of the brave men and women of our land Who gave all to protect this country from a visible foe Today we should have been wrapped  In each other’s arms dancing in the street Sharing a toast and hope with our loved ones In hostelries in towns and cities, at the coast and in villages But here we are shut down at home  Looking out onto the world outside That’s waiting to embrace us again That’s waiting to celebrate defeating the unseen enemy The killer of so many innocent friends and family Our troops are our heroes, the medics and key workers Who risk their lives so that future generations Will be able to lift their glasses Toast our generation for defeating this invisible foe It won’t just be victory in Europe but victory for the world.  In the me

Normal People smashes bingeing records Tracing app will it reap any rewards? Concorde Captain dies of Covid 19 Conor Burns Minister becomes another has been Infected volunteers may have to test drugs Rosie Wicks steps in to plenty of hugs The deadly disease has killed a Strangler In many States there is still lockdown anger Baseball is back to bare empty ball parks BA boss sued over Grindr remarks  Wine left breathing’s a bloody waste of time People posted charges for serious crime Microbe in mosquitoes can block malaria The murder hornet may develop US hysteria The service sector slumps 80 percent Oil prices rise as more people are present Prefab homes make a comeback in Selby Back to 1946 car sales that are unhealthy Pain in the teeth, do it yourself fillings Too much running may develop misgivings Well that’s the news in silly rhymes From today’s online edition of The Times. 

In hazy distant times when we could flutter our wings Fly high over misty horizons to experience new tunes on violins Soak in eternal springs, capture exploding sunsets Relish the dew of morning strolls sidestepping silhouettes  In hazy distant times when we could flutter our wings Feel liberated from social convention to do our own things Barefoot dancing on fields of golden paradise Myriads of eclectic flavours to consume and entice In hazy distant times when we could flutter our wings Escape normality, anxiety and all the stress it brings Caress romantic cultures, smile with soulful strangers Marvel at music and songs from choirs of angels.  In hazy distant times when we could flutter our wings Venture beyond garden fences where so called life begins I dreamt this technicolour fantasy could be forever sipped But is life more fulfilling now our wings have been clipped? 

Birthday wishes to Captain Tom A hero, a legend who’s second to none He captured the heart of a locked down nation Epitomised the backbone of his generation 100 laps of his garden for the NHS £30 million he raised, a resounding success Today a centenarian we raise a glass to Tom A man who made us proud of where we come from Hurricane and Spitfire will light up the skies Awaiting for the moment the Queen says arise Sir Tom, a military man, a national treasure Whose given us hope and belief in equal measure

I haven’t been out me door for a week Not changed me socks they bloody reek  I’ve run out of deodorant and antiperspirant  The whiff from underarm is clearly unpleasant Teeth they’ve missed their dose of Maclean’s My sex appeal’s more like Mr Bean’s Breath like sewerage on a hot summer day Not helped by lashings of chicken Bombay My hair’s a mess it’s bloody out of control  Scissors at the ready and a pudding bowl Beard’s scraggy and not looking it’s best Scratching and itching like a bloody bird’s nest! My dirty fleece; you’ll find a month of dinners Thanks god I’ve given up looking in mirrors Despite all this I observe government demands And spend all my days washing me hands!

iPad ready sat on sofa in living room Debating whether we’re using FaceTime or Zoom Our tablets balanced on a table precariously  Are you’re happy with that angle seriously? It takes a time to make the connection Wife wipes down the device for fear of infection After a while they come into view I think they’ve already had a few They mutter something like can you hear me Then do a bottoms up and a hi five...virtually We sit together like on Mr and Mrs It’s not long before the men are off for their pisses Wine bottle well hidden not in view It’ll be harder to tell that we’ve had a few too Spielberg’ll have a duck fit when we slip out of frame Happens loads when there’s a hint of a game  We sweat a lot at the thought of the pub quiz spot But cheat on our phones just out of shot!  Women whinge at the blokey buddy banter Complain that in lockdown her man doesn’t understand her The girls witter as the blokes look bored When talking about football the lads get ignored.  The call degenerates

Blank faces pass in a blur No time to stop, no time to care Wrapped and cocooned in pity Driven to despair by another committee Steps we take that go nowhere Recorded on a device from a billionaire.  Exhaling pollution like it’s going out of fashion Energy wasted on a pretty pointless passion We pity the pavement ne’er-do-wells Turn our noses up at unsociable smells Make a beeline to avoid the nutter Selling Big Issue from another gutter Our meaningless lives lost in the moment Ignore these folk like a rancid rodent But times do change our mindsets too Sitting at home with nothing to do But think how selfish we’ve all become What enabled us to all succumb To a world where lives weren’t equal  There’s going to be no thrilling sequel When lockdown’s unlocked and people flock To towns and cities, let’s take stock To remember those who matter most The guy who continued to deliver post Those stacking shelves to give you toast The Just Eat man delivering Sunday roast Health workers, social c

Tory Grandees lockdown release pleas Drug shortages bring NHS to its knees Gee Wizz budget airline spreads its wings Virtual online orgies titillation it brings Forget the moonshine it’s bootleg beauticians Homeless swap streets for hotel suite conditions  Spring cleaning’s gone mad, we’ve all gone chore crazy  Except me of course I’m still being bloody lazy Lockdown crop pickers pick for Britain I’m so bloody bored I’ve taken up knitting We’ll have to wait a while for a virus vaccine  Lockdown protest only seven can be seen Kim Jong-Un is he really a gonner? Surely it’s time to give Captain Tom an honour So that’s the news of the weekend in rhymes Mainly from the latest edition of the Sunday Times. 

I’m sure I could be President My hair’s a mess for starters Tweets twittered totally insane Ignoring dictates from doctors I’m sure I could be President Ego shining at the lectern Shooting random stats from hip And nonsense from my rectum.  I’m sure I could be President Fake tan smudged over the face Head high so far up in the clouds Ignorant to the fact that I’m a disgrace.  I’m sure I could be President Would always say believe me Everything I do or say is yuge! Really really great you see I’m sure I could be President Instigate another incredible rant Look the voter’s right in the eye And suggest the solution’s disinfectant!  

I knew you were a chump mate I knew you were a chump Your virus cure stinks mate Your virus cure stinks Your wacky mate is mad mate Your wacky mate is mad Too desperate for a cure mate Too desperate for a cure You’re losing the plot mate You’re losing the plot Your country’s in a state mate Your country’s in a state Your solution’s hard to swallow mate Your solutions hard to swallow And if you did you’d be dead mate And if you did you’d be dead! 

I forget why? Or when, I decided to do this thing. A run a day to challenge me. To pass the time till spring...maybe. Or to try to lose the excess inches or to try to please my princess.  I forget why? I’d only done five days before when training like a marathon bore. Day after day the days were ticked off. Despite a cough a lot of scoff I’d soon completed a week. In spite of lack of credible technique and my legs that were antique.  I forget why? I pledged to go onwards, forwards to infinity and beyond as Buzz would say from a distant pond. A month passed and we were in Sri Lanka. On a thing they used to call a holiday.  I forget why? This distant land I knew I had to conquer. The streak it continued mercilessly until we were in isolation.  I forget why? Bombarded by instruction, education,a nation in lockdown. I decided I could continue the streak in our beautiful bluebell wood.  I forget why? When yesterday I passed a place of peace. A place overflowing with kindness, funding on t

I close my eyes and hear the wind whooshing through the trees. It reminds me of the times I could listen to the seas. It takes me on a journey to far off distant shores. To a time when we were not engaged in virulent virus wars.  I can almost feel the golden sand snuggling between my toes. The cheery chatter of fellow travellers hugging me so close.  I close my eyes and drink another cup of tea. Imagining it’s a margarita sipped in life once free.  I close my eyes and feel the sun caressing my face. Imagining this feeling felt in a different place.  I close my eyes and dream that this will be over soon. So I can watch in wondrous places, the sun the stars the moon. 

This lockdown thing I’m smashing it. Or is it smashing me. I’m trying oh so carefully to not become lazy. I’ve weeded every garden bed...I’ve even done them twice. I’ve never done the grass border quite as precise. I’ve pressure washed me pavement so much it hurts my eyes. I’ve even done the washing up a job I do despise. I’ve taken time to prune the bush. I’ve baked a chocolate cake that’s lush. I’ve had a trip to the bottle bank. Well several to be frank! I’ve FaceTimed everybody, I’m sure they sick of me. They’ve run out of excuses for not speaking you see! Oh lockdown, oh lockdown you’ve got me so confused. I’m now doing all these bloody jobs that I previously refused. 

She said I looked just like Sting Well tantric sex is not my thing I’ve never sent a message in a bottle Or walked on the moon or other twaddle For every breath I bleeding take  Standing so close to me is a big mistake You wrapped me around your finger De do do do de da da da don’t linger You see I can’t stand losing you So lonely, so lonely who knew? I’m in pain I’m the king of pain I’m wrapped around your finger again Invisible sun where has it gone Her beds too big without you son Roxanne turn off that red light The synchronicity is shite She said I looked just like Sting Good god dear what were you thinking

His name was Billy Butterworth. A tattooed lump of lad. He spent all days down the gym. Pumping iron was his fad. His muscles inflated and ready to pop. His girlfriend deflated and gave him the chop. But bothered oh no he knew he could pull. Living for him was never dull. He lived life in the fast lane. Invincibility, his only domain. Nothing could ever touch him. Ego bright but a little dim. His mum she tried to warn her lad. Stay at home this virus seems pretty bad. Come on mum nothing will touch me. I’m fit as a fiddle as you can see. Besides it only affects old fogies like you. Put the kettle on let’s have a brew. Night after night he partied with mates. Went out with some lasses on plenty of dates. He ignored his mum, he didn’t believe her. Until that fateful day he developed a fever.  Look here son what have you done. Pleaded his mum as she dialled 111. Billy struggled to catch his breath. Thought he was bloody close to death. They put him on a ventilator. His mum a distant spect

When lockdown is all over Will we miss the pure blue skies Will we miss the morning chorus Or the shortage of supplies When lockdown is all over Will we miss the daily run Will we miss Jo Wicks PE Or no holidays in the sun When lockdown is all over Will we miss the chats online Will we miss the gentle way of life Or no restaurants to dine When lockdown is all over Will we miss time with our kids Will we miss playing in the garden  Or no job to earn some quids When lockdown is all over Will we miss the panel’s views Will we miss folk in their living rooms Or one topic in the news When lockdown is all over Will we miss those acts of kindness Will we miss doorstep clapping Or anxiety and stress When lockdown is all over Will we miss eating to excess Will we miss the quiet streets And forget the NHS???

Boris out of hospital looks a bit peeky Plenty of issues still with distributing PPE Milan lump in throat Andre Bocelli We’ll all have to wear masks to stay bleeding healthy Nutters on the quiet roads some caught speeding Business insurance not paying out quite disappointing Lockdown still under ministerial review In Spain back to work for a selected few  50 million pints of beer left in pubs Bathing 6 feet apart on holiday still no hugs Thank god another series of Killing Eve Tim Brooke Taylor dead RIP cant believe  As for the death of legend Stirling Moss Peter Bonnetti, goalkeeper another great loss Tiger King still getting Netflix airtime FaceTiming friends pissing up on wine And finally....top news in the Sun paper today Can you spot the naked butterfly painted lady.  Good day! 

Unseen enemy Just waiting in the shadows For those not locked down

Boris, Boris has the virus Along with a cabinet minister It doesn’t matter who you are This pandemic’s bloody sinister! Boris, Boris has the virus We’ll need to keep our distance It doesn’t matter who you are Police will enforce their insistence Boris, Boris has the virus We’re allowed to go for one run It doesn’t matter who you are Going for two’s just not done Boris, Boris has the virus Life’s just not the same It doesn’t matter who you are This ain’t no bloody game Boris, Boris has the virus This thing we need to suppress It doesn’t matter who you are Thank god for the NHS

Couples couples everywhere Doing the lockdown shuffle  One activity is the rule To keep you out of trouble

Random clutter in every crevice Shouting at me to vent my anger A shoe here, a sock there, a coat  Hanging slovenly on the bannister I rant and scream and make a fuss Demand that the stuff’s put back Arguments would often ensue that Almost gave me a heart attack It felt as though I was banging my head Against the proverbial brick wall So hard it knocked me senseless Incandescent from an issue so small But now the mess is all gone As well as the subject of my concern  Sadness now has replaced the fury Oh please let the clutter return. 

Today she packed her home Into the back of a Transit Tearfully each item stored Placed as she’d planned it Life would change forever No longer mummy’s little girl Now a woman stepping out Into the locked down fearful world Into the medical battle she’ll go To treat, to change a strangers life Skill compassion and determination Battling an illness grave and rife We’ll tearfully say our goodbyes She’ll be strong and she’ll be fine So very very proud to see her Fighting on the NHS front line. 

Bring back Brexit Politicians fighting Leavers and remainers Nothing exciting Bring back Brexit Felt like a crisis Coronavirus  Even scared ISIS Bring back Brexit Bored at home Freedom of movement Now we’re all alone Bring back Brexit Border control Irish backstop Loads of loo roll Bring back Brexit EU cost us billions Propping up business Costing us trillions Bring back Brexit MPs sharpened knives Talk was cheap Didn’t cost us lives

Sitting at home sorting socks Watching more trash on the box Feeling bored can’t go out Down the pub for a stout Wife she tries to organise Housework to prioritise Cleaning handles, knobs And plenty of other jobs Just to keep me occupied Oh god how I’ve tried  To look so very busy Even played monopoly  Bit boring on me own Tried to listen to Post Malone Whoever he may be It’s only been one day you see Corona virus isolation Fulfilling the national obligation 

There’s bedlam down at Asda Two women grappling the last loo roll They scream stomp and shout about They’ve totally lost control There’s bedlam down at Asda Trolleys so full the shelves are empty Crowds at the till moan and groan Not one packet of pasta but twenty There’s bedlam down at Asda We’re not concerned about shoplifting thieves But the old women in aisle eight Who decides she needs to sneeze There’s bedlam down at Asda The shelves are empty and bare We’re told to isolate safe at home I think I’ll wash my hair. 

No more rushing for the train No more dodging the rain No more busy working days No more tedious surveys No more stuck in traffic jams No more stuffy city trams  No more last minute breaks No more business hand shakes No more flashy foreign travel No more trips across the channel No more luxuriating on a cruise No more gramming foreign views No more dancing in the club No more nipping out for grub No more cheering for your team No more fun parks extreme No more singing in the crowd No more kissing folk allowed Time to strengthen family ties Time to appreciate blue skies Time to stop, listen and learn Time to chip in and do your turn Time to understand the bard Time to clear out the yard Time to play with your son Time to have lots of fun Time to visualise the future Time to regain your humour Time to binge on a box set Time to take up the clarinet Time to learn a foreign tongue Time to sing a favourite song Time to look in loved ones eyes Time to catch a sunrise Time to dream of foreig

Living life is like walking a tightrope Full of nervous tension and hope Beautiful balance and all is good The perils and fears understood Keeping focus one step at a time Plans, practice, preparation align This is the very moment that counts Not distracted by an occasional bounce Don’t look back always forwards Listening to those positive words Ignoring negative to help you cope Living life is like walking a tightrope

Cracking cakes at Crumbles on the Corner  A fabulous tea shop like no other Where friendly folk gather to meet For a delicious delightful sugary treat Cracking cakes at Crumbles on the Corner Two women serve with bold tattoos Conjuring up some perfect brews Laughing, joking with strangers and friends  A normal coffee shop this place transcends Cracking cakes at Crumbles on the Corner Sat drinking tea there’s an old lady She’s experienced life; well over eighty Wistfully staring out of the misty window A lonely existence now she’s a widow Cracking cakes at Crumbles on the Corner Sat alongside her are two young walkers Eating and clinking cups on their saucers The rain outside brings others inside Sandwich; hot beef, turkey; can’t decide Cracking cakes at Crumbles on the Corner Mulling over my culinary dilemma Ladies listening with their antenna  You simply can’t go wrong with beef Melts in me mouth don’t affect me teeth Cracking cakes at Crumbles on the Corner The rain pours down other

An obnoxious bloke got in a stew  He clearly hadn’t thought it through A vicious fight he did start Couldn’t pull them apart Panic buying bog paper for his loo

Love is it really for me? This oriental fad tai chi You’ll love it you see! Besides first session’s free Sold to the Yorkshire man Try free one, that’s the plan Martial arts I am not a fan I’ll never be a black belt Dan I’m not that flexible not that bendy Can’t put leg in places not meant to be Don’t worry love it’s complementary  Won’t pay a penny can recover by Wednesday Cajoled and bullied in equal measure I tried to be positive hide my displeasure  Succumbed to a bit of peer pressure  She said I would feel much much better Dance studio stood in the centre Avoiding eye contact of Tai Chi mentor Breathing stretching I tried not to surrender To the glare of women the opposite gender Tiger, deer, bear, golden rooster, crane Snake creeps down am I going insane Repulse the monkey feel the pain Most of the commands it’s hard to explain  He said I’d feel the positive energy Rid myself of my usual lethargy Practice at home commit to memory You’ll love it you see the ancient Tai Chi!

From Arizona to Barcelona There’s only one corona It’s spreading like a Kardashian tweet Kissing condemned when we greet It started with someone in Wuhan Lockdown ended up the solution A liner quarantined in Japan The government work on their plan A South Korean sect showed disrespect As they infected countrymen through neglect Visit Italy and you have to stay at home Fourteen days shacked up all alone Schools are looking to close their classes They talk of this affecting the masses Panic buying at check out hell Everyone’s run out of sanitising gel Propaganda tells us to do it the Boris way Singing twice, washing hands; Happy Birthday!