I'd like to duly thank the honest hard-working WordPress Team For truly making this poor poet's last fortnight his fever dream, Since this poster's half-arsed drafts wound up Freshly Pressed I look on my new viewing figures and feel, in a word, blessed.
Suddenly my oh so sad email traffic saw a mad increase! This site inundated by emails? Will wonders never cease? And now, whereas once I called all WP 'improvements' a pain- (I hate your loss of Classic form!) Now I shan't- can't- complain.
Look, see my usual likely numbers for my typical average post? I'll be happy to see a handful- or two, double digits at the most, So to see my views so sky high, and my Likes at 200 and rising? Thanks, WordPress Team, for everything...'cept the advertising.
So though I honestly expect to lose these most welcome views- They'll stall back to earth, my high spot become yesterdays news- Still, for one short spell I'll not have writ these silly shi skits in vain, And I'm old enough to know I'm unlikely to see the Likes of this again.
'Captain, I dinnae think the Search Engines can take the strain!'
'Baby, even the losers Get lucky sometimes, Even the losers Keep a little bit of pride, They get lucky sometimes, Yeah, they get lucky sometimes.' Tom Petty And The Heartbreakers, 'Even The Losers.'
May 17 2025. 'Twas that rare day this football fan lives to see- Middling Crystal Palace actually won the FA Cup! But even then I feared my joy would be brief, Such luck strikes but once in a blue moon, And surely it only happens to better richer teams?
August 11 2025. Our next season started off even more happily, Lowly Palace tripped Champions Liverpool up, Them high-falutin' Premier table toppers came to grief; 'Pool settled for the second place plastic spoon; How prettily at Palace that Community Shield gleams.
May 27 2026. Now, today, late in May, amazingly, preposterously, Humble Crystal Palace have won a European Cup!* It's unbelievable, inconceivable, it's beyond belief! I'm wondering if- when- I'll be rudely awoken soon? For this fan it's the stuff of his most fantastical dreams.
*OK, only the third tier European trophy, but when you've never seen anything like it before, and the trophy cabinet has sat dark dusty and empty for160 years...
'Waaay too much ecstasy for this one tiny mind to take in.'
'Was I wrong about the world, It's a brand new place, Where else could a creep like me Make such a pretty face? Feeling like the weight that weighed a ton Lifted off my shoulders now, My losing streak is done.' Eels, 'Losing Streak.'
This Boomer once loved to hear the music aired on Classic Hits, '97FM on your dial, where the sound of Yesterday never quits!' I've long loved rehearing the ol' songs I've heard since my youth, But lately overfamiliarity's breeding contempt, to tell the truth.
My mind is pondering some channel switching; When some songs come on I start a'twitching, Time was once when I heard a Classic song I'd lightly, brightly, parrot-likely sing along, A few of these songs I know every word to- Old tunes my musical heart once stirred to- Those evergreen gems reprised on 97FM- I think I finally might have overheard them.
Now the perennial favourites get played every hour on the hour My appreciation for two big hitters has seriously begun to sour, Silky songs once the stuff of Dreams now really grind my gears, For How Long now have I been jammin' my fingers in my ears?
Fleetwood Mac once made my heartstrings sing, Now too much Mac is too much of a good thing, Any sing-song off of 'Rumors' now pains my brain- I chuck well up when the DJ drags out The Chain again, And recently the Eagles have had an indecently Long Run But one more chorus of Hotel California- and I'm done. How many replays of these ditties can one man take? 97FM- air less Eagles and cheesy Mac, for pity's sake.
'Don't stop thinking about tomorrow, Don't stop, it'll soon be here, It'll be better than before, Yesterday's gone, yesterday's gone.' Fleetwood Mac, 'Don't Stop.'
'Time passes and you must move on, Half the distance takes you twice as long, So you keep on singing for the sake of the song After the thrill is gone.' The Eagles, 'After The Thrill Is Gone.'
I'm one of those fuddy folk of a certain age Who finds Tik Tok type 'news' fails to engage, I thumb through my old Skool paper page to page.
The newspaper allows you time to get to the gist, Let you leisurely read stories you may have missed, Though sometimes the tale comes with a cruel twist.
This morn I sadly found I have just cause To cease my reading, sigh, and give due pause And consider Life's swings, roundabouts and see-saws.*
A name in the obits caught my eye... A teacher of mine had been called on high, And I thought back mistily of times long gone by.
From Kindy on I was a kid who'd not be taught, Despite what may be writ in the attendance report This kid was absent from class in deed, act and thought.
But Diane strove to engage the fast and slow, Even a cretin certain bozo slouched in the back row Who made it yawningly obvious he didn't want to know.
To me English and Mathematics made zero sense, I cared not one jot about present, past or future tense, And who could make sense of pounds, shillings and pence?
School learnings would never be my strong suit- Who gave a hoot about some number's square root? So I stayed slumped on my backside seat, resolutely mute.
Who needed this brain-draining schooling? Leave me a'slumbering, snoring and drooling: All the better to spend the afternoon playfooling.
So I continued on my disengaged way, I had no interest in what Teacher might say, Till she started reading to us at the end of the day.
When she read us Ogden Nash and Denis Glover, C. S. Lewis and Lewis Carrol, who led me to discover This poor student would soon morph into a Literary lover.
I grew intrigued by English's quirks, Found limericks brought on knowing smirks After seeking out Algy Swineburne's saucier works.
What comical creations could be seen and heard- Like Spike Milligan's loonish leaps off into the absurd- Peter Cook's masterly manipulations of the written word.
What a boyish joy in English I now found, But Maths remained wholly unknown ground- Laughter, not long division help the world go round.
Now all of a sudden on a steep learning I embarked, Now a startling interest in learning had been sparked, Now I didn't want my report card to be blackly marked.
(Word-wise, Diane had indeed opened the door, But on two given subjects I'd revert back ass as before, Maths plus Science would remain a misery mystery evermore.)
Now many years later I can look back And think of why and when I changed tack, And how lucky I was to be shown the right track.
If Diane hadn't sparked this love of literature Where and when I'd now be is up for conjecture... I'd not be a man with a blameless record, that's fer sure.
At minimum I'd be a ne'er-do-well, At maximum I'd be in for a decent spell, Redoing another sentence in a cold grey cell.
So I say Diane was one of a kind, She saw this dumb kid, wilfully blind And opened my ears and eyes and mind.
*See-saws in American English are teeter-totters, and a roundabout is a merry-go-round.
'The kind of kid who makes the best of teachers lose hope.'
'Don't know much about history, Don't know much biology, Don't know much about a science book, Don't know much about the French I took.'
'Don't know about geography, Don't know much trigonometry, Don't much about algebra, Don't know what a slide rule is for.' Sam Cooke, 'Wonderful World.'
Zero Interest, And After Investing Time And Money.
I've sat through many pointless professional football matches But what I've just seen stinks, I'd have been better off donning a couple of pirate eye patches And catching up on forty winks.
Crystal Palace versus West Ham United, upon a Monday night, A dire dead boring draw, Both teams just bad as the other, at least in my jaundiced sight, Nil-nil, zero-zero the fu final score.
Never have I been sat down and been bored so shi witless, I wound up feeling a numb ass, I swear to Jesus, Joseph and Mary, as God is my witness I'd druther've sat through Mass.
'Twas a match not to be gloriously enjoyed but grimly survived, Like watching oil paint dry, By the end of time I felt shit short changed and sleep deprived As I wiped a weary teary gritty eye.
‘Another day in the life of a Palace fan as the season tapers and totters away.’
'I'm so tired, I'm feeling so upset, Although I'm so tired, I'll have another cigarette And curse Sir Walter Raleigh He was such a stupid git.' The Beatles, 'I'm So Tired.'
Once Daylight Saving Time goes Fall all too swiftly follows...
On my walk I stepped 'round into Rose Street and went 'whoa!' Those trees that enliven Rose Street in stately green liveried rows? Now those green leaves look like they've been touched by a rainbow, How prettily through the fragile Fall foliage the golden sun glows; But Mother Nature, next time you call Fall in early- kindly let me know.
I love our Summer maximum highs, hate our Winter minus zeros.
When did our long languorous Summer decide to pack up and go? Sadly, those lovely rustling russet leaves are in their death throes, Leaves from the beeches highest reaches soon to be brought low, At the mercy of when and wherever the fickle Autumnal wind blows, All soon gone to ground, but now- don't they put on the prettiest show?
'Old Mother Nature can make us stop still and just take a deep breath of appreciation at times.'
'Winter time is coming All the sky is grey, Summer birds aren't singing Since you went away, Since you've been gone, end of the season, Winter is here, 'close of play'.' The Kinks, 'End Of The Season.'
Going socialising was much less remote pre-internet, Then the Mall was where all the cliquey schoolgirls met, To wander aimlessly, seeing what's in store, or better yet Meet a cute member of the opposite sex, even- if lucky- get Invited to share a slurpy 'n' chicken wings at Johnny Rockets.
Now half the doors have taped up fading signs saying 'To Let,' Now Johnny Rockets is a sad and empty shell, swallowed by debt, The once cool funky Food Court reeks of questionable taste and regret, Are you game enough to play fried chicken Salmonella Russian Roulette? Odds on E. coli are running at 2 to 1- if lucky you'll only get the cold sweats.
'Johnny Rockets, gone from the Mall; now replaced by 'Chance's Chicken.'
(Social changes, the effects of Covid, shopping online, the soaring costs of gas/petrol? All seem to be part of making our once popular and crowded Mall the place not to be. And a taste of our Campylobacter Fried Chicken has also been instrumental in a few of my friends deciding to give the place a miss.)
'Slick and spasm, you got both arms up Across your face, Your knees start wiggling, all over the place, You flap your arms and your feet start kicking Then you know you doin' the funky chicken.' Rufus Thomas, 'Do The Funky Chicken.'
Last night we went off to bed, I went out like a light, But at dawn something felt wrong, or not quite right.
'Good evening, Constable, I'd like to lodge a theft report, This morn I woke to find the bright new day I counted on Would show, on second thought, to be one full hour short, How can I rest easy with an hour of prime daytime gone?'
'Constable, you seem to be taking a dim view of my plight, Constable, is our complaint a waste of time in your sight?'
'As the hours tick by my feelings of distrust grow stronger, When the clock chimed at high noon I exclaimed 'no way!' Losing daylight savings means our nights are darker, longer, It ain't right to lose an hour of de light at the end of the day.'
'Constable, it's daylight robbery, plain as black and white, Someone stole an hour of our day, like a thief in the night.'
'I know it takes a bit of time to get to grips with Daylight Saving but this is downright ridiculous.'
'Over, under, sideways, down, Backwards, forwards, round and round, Over, under, sideways down, Backwards forwards, round and round, When will it end? The Yardbirds, 'Over Under Sideways Down.'
It's a happy birthday to the comely lass Come into this worlds one April Fool's Day, I can't let another Earth's rotation pass Without stopping for a second to say 'Thank you Lou, for marrying this silly dumb ass, I'm still a hopeless fool for you, and will ever stay.'
(For those in the Northern Hemisphere it may not yet be April First, but here in the Southern Hemisphere we're already there.)
Reverend: 'And if anyone can think of just one reason- Bride: 'Whoa, hold up there Buster, I'm thinking, I'm thinking...'
'I ain't got much but it ain't without trying, But I still got my girl so there's no need for crying So I guess I'm kinda lucky.' Hammond Gamble, 'I'm kinda Lucky.'
I would bet Tiger Woods would top most any golfing poll, Who would- could- rank higher on the GOAT golfers list? And who’d you bank on to drain a long shot at the last hole? But so much the better if he’d use a hire driver when pissed.
'What do you mean Officer? Now I gotta pee in that piddly cup?'
'Crawling from the wreckage, crawling from the wreckage You think by now at least That half a brain would get the message.' Dave Edmonds, 'Crawling From The Wreckage.'
Obbverse 