Time for the six...

The sun is out, the sky is blue

Power from solar coming through

Porridge for breakie, out of weetabix

Now sat here waiting for my rugby fix

Comon boys you can beat the Scotts

We're all behind you in front of the telly box

You've got the team, no need for luck

So bring us home the Calcutta Cup!

What do I do now I've caught it?

What do I do now I've caught it
It shouldn't have eaten me soffit
I'd better now say
What happened that day
When that poor lickle fella done bought it.

It happened one day in the spring
When I heard from the loft a loud ding
A bit of a clang
Then a loud bang
I thought 'what the hell is that thing'

I ventured up stairs with a light
And expected a terrible fright
But when I got there
The loft space was bare
hmm this critter is awfully bright

I sealed up its means of escape
With brown paper and vinegar and tape
It'll not outsmart me
As you will all see
What measures I'm prepared to take

It wasn't a bird or a bat
Or next doors mangy old cat
Of course its the grey
Nut collector by day
I think I'm gonna need me a trap

Its not that I'm adverse to pests
Only ones in me loft that build nests
I will have to catch it
And maybe despatch it
Oh you do know how I like to jest!

With the trap from the shop now bought
And sights on the beast being caught
I waited it out
On me comfortable couch
For lessons to squirrels to be taught

Next day I inspected me trap
Two sad lookin eyes lookin back
Now what do I do
I haven't a clue
Squirrel, don't look at me like that

What do I do now its caught
Beyond this part I'd not  thought
What do I do next
Now I'm completely vexed
Practicalities like this should be taught

I called up the pest control chap
And explained what I had in me trap
It was bangin around
A gawd-awful sound
'I'll look in me book and call back'

'Page one suggests a good shot'
But a gun I'm afraid I've not got
'Page two's not for you,
and page three's just for me,
then indeed a problem you've got'

'Page four ahh yes a big stick'
A stick, I can't its too quick!
I don't know what to do
'The problems with you'
I hung up cos he was being a di plonker

I considered calling me daughter
When I suddenly thought of the water
I will have to be fast
Its pain shouldn't last
If I drown it I really mustn't falter

Now the drowning how should I deliver
As he sat in his cage all a quiver
What should I do
I know, the canoe
That's half sunk on the edge of the river

I drop the cage in with a splash
Poor Cyril stopped dead in his dash
He looks out of his cage
With no hint of a rage
My decision was maybe a bit rash

For the author the method's not right
Take him to someone you don't like
Maybe your teacher
Or some purvey preacher
And let out the poor lickle tyke


Inspired by someone I met in a pub but quite closely recounted to the details provided. Of course there is lots of this story I wouldn't condone whatever your feelings are to non native, invasive species in Britain. And as you can read in this link- here - the law agrees that its wrong.

Cyril, in squirrel heaven 

Poem - A lock, lock-in

A lock-in where I grew up was the after hours drinking extension by invitation only following the withdrawal from midland bank of a howling voucher. Said voucher started at a mere £5 for 15 year olds rising quickly to £20 for us veterans. In the late 80's that went an awfully long way! Howling vouchers were strictly for the individual and not to be shared, rounds were for the old folk.


The approach to Brum was with trepidation
So much to look at with eyes of admiration
How did they build that, more importantly why
Glory years of engineering now gone by

Who would have thought that beneath your seat
was this magnificent engineering feat
As you hurtle past above concrete pillars
in Juggernaut and ozone killers

The cavernous M6 hides Salford junction
Without which years of history wouldn't function
bridges of iron and ornate stone
will never again see the light of sun

Heron still fish and and pigeons fly, where
they built the roads over us but I ask myself why
office blocks sit where chimneys ought t'
alongside a canal that has no water

I'm in lock 10 near the bottom of the flight
determined to be cheerful but try as I might
to accept the words of the waterways chap
two hours to fill two pounds is just cr**

I'd be surprised at much less than a day
before we are winding our weary way
up through to Brum via twenty three locks
in our steal and American oak lined box

Two locks up at lock number eight
another boat in our direction waits
There's no pike or coy or rudd or tench
Just an ever growing rotting stench

of the detritus usually well below level
now showing its ugly rotting mettle
With trolley, car seats, bikes and chairs
and of traffic cones keeping strangely in pairs

There is nothing more that we can do
but sit in the lock with number four brew
sitting and waiting can be an idle sin
but feel free to join me in my lock lock-in

Was it you who left the paddle's open?

Stuck in Lock 10