Mushroom promises swell into existence,
flim-flam miracles,
pristine plump “truths”
when uttered, swelling proud
alongside peach-keen
endorsing smiles

But the treacle of decay acts quickly
so even the casual observer
sees the rot before the ink dries,
smells rank mould,
and we decry ad infinitum

Let's take a dive through my home estate,
a place I've tried to escape since my first brainwave.
I'll show you flat roofs and wayward avenues,
shopping trolleys that become steeds at two in the morning
next to mowed down greenery lying abandoned due to overuse.
I used to deliver newspapers along this route.
This spot, right here, has a great Wrekin view.
Back in my youth, it reminded me of you -
new roads, new horizons, new people to meet.
Let's keep moving to the end of the street
where a house is sent letters from the wicked government,
asking a mother if she's recovered from her own ill head.
Like her bed is four-poster when she can barely pay rent.
Her pathway displays a name written in cement.
Our descent continues with the drop-offs at Maccies.
A clock towers over us while we're waiting for taxis
to take us out of this place and onto higher plains
with house party nights and endless summer days.
But our dreams remain chained like bicycle frames,
The keys are locked away, we pray
in cars under stars, they say
we can be anything we want to be.
Such as royalty, or prime minister of this great country,
if we work as hard as anyone who's born into money.
So we hunt for hidden weaponry, hoping they see our cannon fire
and where spirits only fade, there will one day be a parade.

Remember the sandwich of youth?

On a drizzly beach with actual sand,
the grit crunch making things somehow better
for the supermarket cheddar
and margarine on sliced white

Let the memories come

The loved ones flinging frisbees,
or playing impossible cricket matches,
grand unplanned architecture,
studded with dead shells,
monuments to a hopeful utopia,
collapsed by the heavy-heeled truths of vengeful siblings
or everyday tides

Sea air makes you hungry and tired,
content,
like life and years try

Away, not home,
this continental heat.

The air pretends
this North Atlantic rock
is worldly

The smiles of the natives
lean manic
as we clutch at multipack lager
and disposable charcoal,
grasp at the living myth
of a cloudless sky
and give ourselves to these gods

Our worship sees us sacrifice
meat and skin,
both burnt to early hours regret
and delicate, bathroom sorrows

A sporadic bacchanal
whose scarcity ensures
that be it working week,
weekend or holiday,
feverish
we’ll pay the tithe

Sunstroke and/or hangover
prove penance for our lapse
from the frigid, three bar
Protestant norm,

but these exotic gods will beguile again
even as the blistered skin still peels

Early every morning
Swooping squawking birds
Leave their liquid calling cards
Before the street has stirred
Where people in their track suits
Drink to overload
And stagger to their rented rooms
Down Blackpool’s Crystal Road

Where the road sweeper doesn’t sweep
And no one comes to call
Except for black clad bailiffs
Who come to take it all
The druggies & the drinkers
Share the one abode
To take away the misery
Of life on Crystal Road

The seedy little B&B’s
Fight to rent their rooms
Sharing each other’s bathroom
Sharing each other’s gloom
Screaming kids and drunken louts
Your eardrums will explode
It’s a sure way into madness
When you stay on Crystal Road

The wind blows like a hurricane
The rain falls like a flood
Washing away the *****
The debris & the blood
The hens are ****** the stags are too
They’re all in party mode
Throwing up and having ***
In rooms on Crystal Road

A *******’s bar called ‘Paradise’
At one end of the street
Full of seedy little men
And women with no teeth
A food bank at the other
Feeds those with no abode
But even they refuse to stay
In a house on Crystal Road

A B&B in Brighton
It’s only 30 quid
We turn up at reception,
We wonder why we did

The place is dark and dismal
The lobby stinks of death
The owner nearly knocks us out
With her stinking breath

We have to share a bathroom
With Deirdre & Stan
**** stains on the toilet seat
Skid marks in the pan

The room is small & pokey
There is a smell of damp
The TV is about the size
Of a 1st class postage stamp

The landlord smells of cigarettes
His wife smells of B.O.
The whole place smells of fry-ups
We just can’t wait to go

There's still
a part of me in London-
I left it in my dingy block
on Deptford High Street.
Another part of me still
remains in St James Park,
somewhere in the flowers
and another somewhere in
the markets of Camden Town.
I don't think it'll ever leave.

From the East Coast of Ireland to the Lowlands of Scotland,
a well-trodden path,
Grandma going to Whiteinch Baths,
to do the family laundry,
And to take my Auntie for a swim,
the black and white photos look a bit grim.

She mispronounces certain words.
When you put your dinner in between some bread,
she'd look at you, dead, and say,
"If yis waanted sangwhiches, I'd have made yis sangwhiches!"

And, "you're very pass-remarkable,"
I think it means you're quick to comment on others,
my Mother's also from Glasgow,
and doesn't know why Grandma speaks like that,
so this isn't just me being a Sassenach,
or a daft English ****.

25th of January is Burns Night,
serve the neeps, tatties, a glass of fizz,
and of course, some Haggis.
Some say offal's awful,
but I just can't get enough of the stuff.

A firm favourite of our clan is a creamy dessert named Cranachan.
Topped with berries and a splash of whiskey,
you can guarantee a thumbs up from me.

The ancient family tartan is red and blue,
then there's the family crest too,
a knight with a shield under a tree,
I think it represents gallantry.

I sometimes wish I had a proper Scottish name,
like Hamilton, Douglas, or McCain,
don't suppose it matters,
at least I can understand the patter,
(that means joke or language.)

A saying about saving your coins,
"Mony a mickle macks a muckle,"
always makes me chuckle.

"Does it, aye?"
is a very dry reply,
used to take the **** and can be easy to miss.

When my Mum was younger, the family liked to roam,
but when she visits Glasgow,
she says it feels like home,
her voice even changes when she's on the phone.

Sounds English most of the day,
then my Auntie calls, and she's on her way,
"Haud ye weesht!" when she picks up the phone,
that means be quiet,
but you wouldn't have known,
that isn't her normal speaking tone.

Scottish family,
some are distant to me,
but through my parentage,
it's nice to have the heritage.

Covid-19,
this all seems like some dystopian dream.
The PM’s on TV,
saying he’s shutting down the country.

It’s like watching Sci-Fi,
protective equipment is in short supply,
we need to keep our distance,
there’s even been resistance to this.

People flocked to Cheltenham,
over 250,000 of ‘em.
The crowd was big at the Stereophonics gig,
Have a Nice Day,
critics say they should have stayed away.

No gatherings in parks,
panic sparks mass buying,
people are crying because they can’t get their medication.

Stay home,
some people are alone which limits the spread to other people,
but it’s probably not good for their mental health,
despite their wealth,
celebrities are just like you and me.

“Imagine all the people,”
okay, maybe not,
easier to isolate in a 200-acre estate,
behind a giant steel gate.

Two-weeks in quarantine,
nervous wait between infection and symptoms,
not enough testing machines to screen for this unseen virus,
most pull through which inspires us.
others don’t,
they were real people who fell ill,
not a number on a spreadsheet.

There was some negativity,
but people have the capacity to come together,
free taxi rides for NHS staff,
putting in the graft,
but they didn’t sign up for the draft.
They’re health professionals working to the bone,
staying away from home adds to the stress.

People reassess what it means to be important,
Key-workers,
not high earners but they still went to work to serve us,
when all this is done,
Remember that in years to come.

If the majority of your office work is done via computer,
you don’t have to be a commuter.
Work from home, no need to travel into town,
Zoom remotely in your dressing gown,
Microsoft Teams,
sending each other memes via Slack,
keeping it all on track,
maybe this could be permanent once life goes back?

Taking an online course,
attacking a new hobby with great force,
exercise, art supplies,
devise fun games with chalk on concrete,
liven up the street.

Rainbow pictures,
reading your scriptures,
video chat with your Nan in her flat,
shopping for your neighbour,
donating to food banks,
giving thanks.

This will pass,
the new normal will be different,
but we’ll be content because we won’t take things for granted,
hopefully.
Emotionally it’s been rough,
turn that frown around once it’s safe to leave Lockdown.