Pete's Holiday Poems

Trapped

2009-09-13T15:57:00.000+01:00

A couple of pints and I needed to go.
My bladder was straining and heaving and so
I made my excuses and rose from the table
And dashed off as quick as my fat legs were able.

One cubicle only, (there was no urinal,)
Beautifully painted in coats of matt vinyl.
I locked the door firmly and then (to be brief)
I had thirty seconds of blesséd relief.

And when I was finished, I turned (as you do)
And pulled the lock clockwise to exit the loo.
The lock slid quite smoothly around in the groove,
But when I pushed outwards, the door wouldn’t move.

I tried it again and I turned the lock back,
Thinking perhaps there was some kind of knack,
But though I pressed down and I turned and I twisted,
That thick and inert toilet door just resisted.

I glanced at the window but it was too small,
Off’ring no escape for a fat man at all.
And so I returned to the troublesome lock,
Half-hoping, half-fearing that someone would knock.

I hadn’t my phone and the loo was too far
From the clamorous singing that came from the bar.
No-one would hear if I hollered and knocked
So I gave out to God that the door should be locked.

Oh, how was I going to get out of here?
Would they phone 999 when I didn’t appear?
Would they think I’d a problem in holding my beer?
Or maybe assume I had bad diarrhoea?

At last, in the throes of my deepest despair,
I heard a small voice asking was I in there?
It was my nephew, my ten year old saviour,
Who I’d just admonished for his bold behaviour.

“I’m locked in the toilet!” I shouted with urgency.
“Go and find help, this is quite an emergency!”
“I know how the lock works,” he answered with guile,
And I well could imagine his broadening smile.

“I’ll give you two euro?” I took the large hint,
Thoroughly sick of my half hour stint.
“Twenty!” he said and I spluttered with anger
Quite at the mercy of this vengeful langer.

“No way!” I yelled back, more in wrath than in sorrow.
“Okay,” came the answer. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“No wait!” I cried out, with my head in a tizz.
“You mercenary bollix you, twenty it is.”

“Turn the lock halfway,” my nephew replied,
And sure, it swung open the moment I tried.
He held out his hand and I paid with bad grace,
Ruefully watching the grin on his face.

So all you still list’ning, the moral is clear –
Spending a penny can end up quite dear.
Pay heed to my story, don’t do what I did,
Unless you aren’t bothered to spend twenty quid.

The dark dark shape at the bottom of the pool

2009-09-13T12:40:00.001+01:00

We couldn’t make out exactly what it was,
The dark dark shape at the bottom of the pool.
Neil said he thought it was a chair because
He thought that the bar was missing a stool.

Sadly for us it was too far down
For any of us to investigate.
Emmet thought a ball, or a dressing gown.
“Doesn’t look like either to me,” said Kate.

Eventually we sought out Grandad’s advice
As to whether ‘twas a chair or gown or ball,
But though we went round the poolside twice
Alas! We could not find Grandad at all.

The island of broken biscuits

2008-10-01T05:27:00.004+01:00

Dashed to crumbs, my hopes and my dreams,
Where tropical colour’s not all that it seems,
Where reds and magentas turn beiges and creams,
Where crushing confectionery’s one of life’s themes,
And the water-wheel’s powered by fast-flowing streams,
And life appears normal out at the extremes,
On the island of broken biscuits.

On driving through cloud to Chirche to an Abba soundtrack

2008-10-01T05:26:00.002+01:00

We slithered down the road to fate uncertain,
The clouds were thick and turns quite hard to guess.
Mama mia! Was this our final curtain?
Would we be sending out an SOS?
Black as night, we had no voulez view,
And thought we might well face our Waterloo.

The sad demise of Mr Jones

2008-10-01T05:08:00.002+01:00

The pool’s roped off with yellow tape,
The day is growing dark.
Right now he’s just a starfish shape
Down near the eight foot mark.
His wife is in an awful way
Outside the poolside wing.
She blames herself, bystanders say,
For throwing him that ring.
He got a touch of cramp, they state,
And called for her assistance,
But seemingly the ring’s dead weight
O’erpowered his resistance.
Oh yes, it was a dreadful thing
That floored poor Mr Jones.
So which of you took that lifeguard’s ring
And filled it up with stones?

Dragonfly

2008-10-01T05:06:00.002+01:00

The massive purple dragonfly
Sat humming by the pool.
He was an inoffensive guy,
Just trying to keep cool.
Then Emmet sent a tidal wave
Of water ‘pon its head,
And though we tried our best to save
Him, Dragonfly was dead.

Turbulence

2008-10-01T03:37:00.002+01:00

The ‘Fasten Seatbelts’ sign came on
As we were flying to Crete.
The stewardess announced that one
Should go back to one’s seat.
The public took it in their stride,
The seatbelts all clicked true
And then the pilot came outside
And went into the loo.

"The only bleedin' turbulence is in that feller's stomach."

Twelve year old whiskey

2008-08-07T11:01:00.002+01:00

The crowds have dispersed
And the bubble has burst
And the bar-room is quiet once more.
The bartender jokes
With some hillbilly folks
While Conchita and Raul sweep the floor.
A man with a scar
Eyes the till on the bar
But decides that it may be too risky.
On an old upturned crate
Reclines twelve year old Kate
With a bottle of twelve year old whiskey.

The jukebox is playing
A song sad and swaying,
The click of the pool cue cracks loud.
The dawn is approaching,
Reality encroaching,
Stale smoke hangs above in a cloud.
A maudlin old hag
Takes a drag of her fag
And recalls how she used to be frisky,
And though it is late,
There sits twelve year old Kate
With a bottle of twelve year old whiskey.

Reality bites,
Someone turns up the lights,
The customers shirk from the glare.
The corner chair scrapes,
The old hag escapes
And the hillbillies slump in the chair.
Raul gives dark looks
As he does up the books,
Typing slowly in case he might miss-key.
And in a drawn, haggard state,
The young twelve year old Kate
Drains the last of her twelve year old whiskey.

Looking at the menu one night, Emmet remarked "Hey Kate, they have whiskey especially for you!"

The subterranean Ostraco blues

2008-08-04T02:32:00.002+01:00

Plakias is breezy,
The moon is cheesey,
Nico jumps boats and says it is easy.
Crickets keep humming,
Andreas keeps coming,
Don’t throw the paper and mess up the plumbing.
Watch out Kate!
Carrots on the plate!
Maria is singing,
Aftersun’s stinging,
Point out the star, on which we’ve been swinging,
Get down, Emmet,
Stop that tomfoolery,
Mon’s in the Talisman looking at the jewellery.
Dave’s gone smoking,
Áine’s joking,
Cicadas are croaking
Monica and Brenda are Malibu and Coking,
Drink is flowing,
Emmet says he’s going,
Kate’s gone to watch the video that’s showing.
Come back Kate!
There’s olives on the plate!
Adonis is walking,
Frau Fred’s stalking,
Down on the beach the goose is squawking.
Maria and Anna get
Ice-creams from the freezer,
Mon’s in the Talisman wearing out my Visa.

Nico is messing,
Dave’s excessing,
Brenda counts the days but says it’s too depressing.
Áine’s reminiscing,
Emmet’s gone missing,
Too many Cokes have sent him to the toilet.
Look here Kate!
These carrots look great!
Adonis shoos a cat away,
Nico puts his hat away,
Maria goes this-a-way,
Kate goes that-a-way,
Dave and Áine chat away,
Peter wants his stomach to sit in a flatter way,
Emmet’s taunting ‘roaches,
Andreas approaches,
Mon’s in the Talisman trying on the brooches.

Maria’s drinking juices,
Kate makes excuses,
Áine lists dead cats and many of their uses.
Dave’s telling fables,
Andreas moving tables,
The bottles look small so Emmet checks the labels,
Go on Kate!
More olives on the plate!
Maria is sleepy,
Frau Fred’s creepy,
Brenda’s eyes are weepy,
Dave explains the diff’rence ‘tween a wigwam and a tepee.
Emmet’s nose is runny,
Adonis thinks its funny,
Mon’s in the Talisman spending all my money.

Nico’s throwing nuts about,
The girls shake their butts about,
The goose looks offended and humorously struts about,
The moon is waning,
Emmet is complaining,
Áine spots a cloud and says it might start raining,
Eat up Kate!
More carrots on the plate!
The waves keep rolling,
Adonis goes strolling,
Kate won’t eat despite Brenda’s cajoling,
Sunburn stings now,
Maria sings now,
Mon’s in the Talisman trying on the rings now.

Dave is re-ordering,
Peter’s camcordering,
Mon wants to know if we can afford a ring,
Adonis drinking water,
Dave’s on the porter,
Brenda’s trying to get an olive in her daughter.
Just one Kate!
Choose one from the plate!
Kate refuses,
Brenda excuses,
Nico and Emmet are comparing their bruises,
Áine watches,
Maria dances,
Mon’s in the Talisman lightening finances.

Peter’s hunched stockily,
Nico shouts cockily,
Áine is extolling the virtues of broccoli,
Monica is sweating,
Brenda’s forgetting,
Dave checks his whistle and says it needs wetting,
Where is Kate?
These olives won’t wait!
Maria sings a stanza
Of Mario Lanza,
Emmet wants to know if we can play Bonanza.
Twenty dollars,
The carrot dangles,
Mon’s in the Talisman trying on the bangles.

The goose is getting playful,
Andreas has a tray full,
Dave can’t figure out why his pint won’t stay full,
From somewhere there’s an odour
Of Campari and Soda,
Kate throws the nuts the way that Nico showed ‘er.
Stop that Kate!
Leave some on the plate!
Mon wants a sweater,
Peter won’t let ‘er,
Emmet wants to know can he have some more Feta,
Brenda and her bra
Are locked in a crisis,
Mon’s in the Talisman checking out the prices.

Foreign departure lounge

2008-08-01T14:21:00.001+01:00

Another stream of English? Greek? Swahili?
Everybody straining hard to hear.
We look across at Ray from Cabinteely.
He just shrugs and takes a sup of beer.

The plane was due to leave at 7:20,
My watch says it is now 8:22.
Of Gaelic football tops, there still are plenty,
So if it’s gone, it’s left with just the crew.

The monitor is grimy and quite dirty,
Our flight of course is nowhere to be seen.
The plane that left for Rome at 7:30
Still shows “Delayed till 7:17”

There’s no sign of our plane outside the window,
We’re six but squashed in seats designed for three.
Someone throws away last Wednesday’s Indo,
Someone else is going for a pee.

All around the travellers are sweating,
No-one really wanting to fly home.
My wife and I are earnestly regretting
We didn’t catch that bleedin’ flight to Rome.

Half an hour, another stream of babble,
Ray gets up and nods toward the gate.
We all follow like a brainless rabble,
Thankful that we’re only two hours late.

The ascent of the Kakomouri headland

2008-08-01T14:15:00.005+01:00

(an account of the daring and intrepid ascent of this previously unclimbed – except by other people – mountain overlooking Plakias bay)

For a week I’d reclined
With not much on my mind
In the Ostraco beachside taverna.
And my plans to go hiking,
Once much to my liking,
Had been very much on the back burner.
But my conscience was roused
By the choice thus espoused
With a strength that conspired to floor me,
So I sucked on my lime
And avowed I would climb
The bloody great headland before me.

So next morn, I awoke
With a post-Raki croak
And set out in my shorts and my sandals.
And though it was still night,
The moon’s bounteous light
Meant I’d no need for torches or candles.
Round the beach road I strolled
With my sweat running cold,
Hoping any stray dogs would ignore me,
Till I reached that great rock
When it came as a shock
The extent of the journey before me.

It was huge, it was massive,
Aloof and impassive
And I felt an illegal usurper.
As I started to sweat
I began to regret
That I’d not thought to hire a Sherpa.
Along the cliff’s base
I redoubled my pace
As a sense of adventure swam o’er me.
With my guide-book in hand, I would conquer this land,
Despite all the dangers before me.

To the cliff’s end I went
And began the ascent,
Still in the deep shade of the mountain.
A faint path up the scree
Led diagonally –
Fifty yards, eighty and countin’.
On the path a large goat
In a black woolly coat
Scampered off round a rock when he saw me,
And I envied his speed
As I viewed rock and weed
That adorned the slight pathway before me.

At the top of this climb,
I sat down for a time
And gulped some large mouthfuls of water,
Which lightened the load
And conclusively showed
I was right not to hire a porter.
Then I turned to the left
And hopped gully and cleft
As ambition continued to draw me
Ever higher and higher,
As my heart filled with fire
And the sunlight grew stronger before me.

At the end of this track,
I again doubled back
With another diagonal sortie.
And, as the sun baked,
How my knee muscles ached
And I wished I was not over forty.
Another sheer cliff,
And I wasn’t sure if
I was right ‘bout this pathway that bore me.
It was faint, indistinct
And I dubiously blinked
At the words on the page held before me.

But I went with the book
Round each cranny and nook,
To the final ascent I was seeking.
As I skirted large boulders,
The bag hurt my shoulders
And my knees kept their incessant creaking.
Then a dip hove to view
Up above and I knew
That the gods could no longer ignore me.
No way would I plummet
So near to the summit
With such world-famous glory before me.

Further upwards I rambled,
Occasionally scrambled
With the brown vegetation quite prickly.
My legs were all scraped,
Not a square inch escaped,
And the sweat down my neck became trickly.
When I got to the top
I decided to stop,
Cursing loud at the plants that did score me.
And I sat on a rock
At just seven o’clock
Gazing down at the view spread before me.

Just one final slope!
Up I climbed, full of hope.
The “pathway” was now indiscernible.
I clambered o’er rocks,
Taking plenty of knocks,
Wondering hard if this route was returnable.
I scaled one last lip
And my heart gave a skip,
As grave doubts had continued to gnaw me.
I was there! I’d o’ercome it!
I’d got to the summit!
Oh great joy unconfined!
(Though disgusted to find
That a German had got there before me.)

Big wave

2008-08-01T14:09:00.003+01:00

He went into the sea up to his oxters.
“Big wave!” his mother shouted from the shore.
He waved with all his might,
Then got carried out of sight
By the biggest wave that Plakias ever saw.

Thoughts of flying home

2008-08-01T14:06:00.001+01:00

The thoughts of flying home again are killing me,
Another endless stretch of work and rain.
Every fibre of my soul is willing me
To take the brash decision to remain.
Deep down though, I know well it can’t be done,
Although the harsh realities are filling me
With despair that I can’t stay here in the sun,
However hard imagination’s grilling me.

The thoughts of flying home again are killing me.
Blank depression’s all that has survived.
The prospect has been resolutely chilling me
Ever since the day that we arrived.
I feel the urge to pack a case and run.
Responsibilities, alas! are stilling me
And so I’ll merely stretch out in the sun.
The thoughts of flying home again are killing me

Rethymnon lighthouse waltz

2008-08-01T14:03:00.002+01:00

At the end of the pier,
Where few tourists go
In the mad Cretan heat,
O’er the waters so clear
That languidly flow
To bathe his tired feet,

He stands tall and straight
With a big toothless grin
On his world-weary face,
Watching tourists and freight
Purring out, purring in,
Past his thick sturdy base.

His old grey tin cap –
Does it nod to the bucks
In their bright fancy gear
That now hold the map
And the maritime books
On the opposite pier?

Does his mind flicker back
To empirical times
When he stood proud and strong,
Shining forth in the black,
With his nautical chimes
Chanting loud the old song?

In his mind, does he hear
The victorious crow
Of the large Turkish fleet?
At the end of the pier,
Where few tourists go
In the mad Cretan heat...

Ravine

2008-08-01T14:01:00.001+01:00

A ravine or a gorge or a gully?
The Cretans don’t seem to know which.
The difference admittedly’s woolly.
How do you describe a large ditch?

Poolside brilliance

2008-08-01T13:56:00.002+01:00

With a leap and a bound,
He sprang off the ground
And dived in with joy unrestrained.
Universal acclaim!
It was only a shame
He’d not realised the pool had been drained.

Kate and the dragonfly

2008-08-01T13:55:00.002+01:00

The serried mountain massif
Stood inscrutably impassive.
The sun was hot though afternoon was late.
Upon the lake, relaxing,
We did nothing that was taxing
Till a dragonfly went buzzing after Kate.

The size of a small sparrow,
It flew at her like an arrow,
And caused Miss Lawless to become irate.
All around her, it went buzzin’,
Likely calling for its cousin,
This huge dragonfly that buzzed around poor Kate.

Was she being battered?
Well the evening calm was shattered
With yells and shrieks too awful to relate.
She was screaming out blue murder,
Even distant farmers heard ‘er
When a dragonfly went buzzing after Kate.

Well the pedalo was rocking
It was tilting something shocking
As all her jigging distributed weight.
And Emmet had no wishes
To be swimming with the fishes
When a dragonfly went buzzing after Kate.

The fish beneath the waters
Called out to their sons and daughters
“Dinner will be soon served on a plate!”
All the baby fish came tumbling,
Their little bellies rumbling,
When a dragonfly went buzzing after Kate.

‘Twas like assault and battery
Committed in a cattery
Or a banshee shrieking loudly to its mate.
Far away in West Darjeeling
People wondered “What’s that squealing?”
When a dragonfly went buzzing after Kate.

On the mountain, rocks came falling,
The destruction was appalling,
With towns submerged by limestone, shale and slate.
All the traffic was diverted
And the Red Cross was alerted
When a dragonfly went buzzing after Kate.

In the White House, they suspected
That the decibels projected
Could only come from en’mies of the state.
The fighter planes were scrambled
As the Secret Service gambled
‘Twas no dragonfly just buzzing after Kate.

And then suddenly, it vanished,
As by Royal Ordnance banished
And the anguished howls ceased to reverberate.
Once again great peace descended
On the lake so calm and splendid
On the day a dragonfly buzzed after Kate.

The short stubby finger syndrome

2008-08-01T13:52:00.001+01:00

It’s the short, stubby finger syndrome
When your fingers grow chunky and fat.
In hot sunny climes,
It happens sometimes
That you can’t hold a pen
When you think of good rhymes,
And that, says the saying, is that.

The jewellery shops of Rethymnon

2008-08-01T13:49:00.001+01:00

In Rethymnon in Northern Crete,
There’s jewellery shops on every street.
In fact I’d say each second shop
Would make the jewel-eyed shopper stop
And point at watches, brooches, rings
And other bright and shiny things.
Such is the amount, I’ve often thought
How the market can support
So many stores all selling bling.
But yet the singing tills all ring!
‘Tis clear to anyone who cares
To wander down her thoroughfares,
The town’s prosperity is fuelled
By all these shops so brightly jewelled.
Thus, borrowing a phrase of old,
The streets are truly paved with gold.

The Poolside Show

2008-07-31T21:53:00.001+01:00

Across the pool, her boobs were flashing tersely,
Like something from an Alan Ayckbourn farce.
That was yesterday, but now conversely
Today we’ve had the pleasure of her arse.

The towel

2008-07-31T21:51:00.001+01:00

The towel sat on the lounger from the morning until night
But I was not quite brave enough to shift it.
I sat upon the poolside with my knuckles turning white,
Hoping for a sudden gust to lift it.

But no-one came and claimed it and the lounger stayed unused.
The second day I eyed it with a scowl.
All throughout the morning I grew less and less amused,
Till after dinner, I threw in the towel.

The monastery at Preveli

2008-07-31T21:49:00.001+01:00

At the monastery, fowl were a-plenty.
The air rang with cheeps, quacks and clucks.
Of the Catholic geese, there were twenty,
The remainder were Greek Ortha-ducks.

UFOs in Crete in July

2008-07-31T21:48:00.002+01:00

Cylindrical and white,
Sure we got an awful fright,
When it suddenly swam o’er the mountain’s peak.
Then another came in view
In the sky so clear and blue
And a woman turned and gave a piercing shriek.

All the faces turned on high
To those objects in the sky,
You could sense the helpless panic in the crowds.
Then up spoke an English gent
With an air of puzzlement
“D’ya know, old boy, I think they could be clouds.”

Daves joke in verse form

2008-07-31T21:46:00.001+01:00

If you should go
To the Ostraco,
You should not be surprised
If you get too jarred
And end up barred,
You may well be ostracised.

The Parental Guidance Restaurant

2008-07-31T21:44:00.001+01:00

You can get whate’er you want
At the Parental Guidance Restaurant.
The menu, folks, is quite extensive
And singularly inexpensive.
Mine host, a woman old and nice
Will offer up some sound advice.
Should your daughter, short and cute,
Ask that the curry be served sans fruit,
She’ll answer in a voice so sweet
That fruit is good for her to eat,
For, (speaking with a slight inflection,)
Fruit can bolster your complexion.
And when the meal is served and done
And your caffeine-bred nine-yeared son
Requests a coffee, not dessert,
She’ll stare as if profoundly hurt
And ask his age and tut aloud,
And suddenly it seems a cloud
Has settled o’er the dinner table.
As parents you will feel not able.
See what modern ways have done!
Is that the way to raise a son?
But she holds back with great forbearance,
Despite this pair of hopeless parents.

Yes the menu’s writ in size twelve font
At the Parental Guidance Restaurant.

Plakias

2008-07-31T21:40:00.002+01:00

The weather’s so hot here in Plakias
You end up with rather a tacky ass.

The poor little shark in the pool

2008-07-31T21:37:00.002+01:00

Lonely and friendless,
The days seemed so endless
For the poor little shark in the pool.
There was just him, with
Nobody to swim with
In the water so fresh and so cool.
Only him, all alone,
Swimming round on his own,
Rejected, abandoned, forsaken,
Though up on the edge,
‘Neath the palm-fronded hedge,
The loungers all seemed to be taken.

But the children stayed dry,
He could not fathom why
Those humans stayed out of the water.
Whene’er one came near,
The mother, in fear,
Would snatch up their son or their daughter.
He’d no cause to harm them!
His grin would soon charm them,
And then he would not be so lonely.
If only they’d get in
Just suffer a wettin’,
If only, if only, if only.

But no-one jumped in
So the solit’ry fin
Just circled around in the water.
A triangular marker,
Like graphite but darker,
Like the sail of a yacht, only shorter.
Lonely and friendless,
The days seemed so endless
For the poor little shark in the pool.
There was just him, with
Nobody to swim with
In the water so fresh and so cool.

Racketeers

2008-07-31T21:36:00.002+01:00

Oh there are creatures in the trees
That are making quite a racket.
The decibels rise by degrees
And Monica can’t hack it.

Are they cicadas we enquire?
Perhaps a herd of cricket?
Whatever, it’s a raucous choir
And Monica can’t stick it.

The Cretans do not seem to hear
The racket they are making,
Deaf to that projected cheer
That sets the eardrums quaking.

Nothing falls out of the tree
Whene’er I try to shake it.
The noise is rising deaf’ningly
And Monica can’t take it.

Baby goat

2008-07-31T21:34:00.001+01:00

Yessir, they’ll serve you baby goat,
Prepare it at your bidding.
It is a Cretan dish of note
And no, I am not kidding.

Plakias and Bob Dylan

2008-07-31T21:32:00.001+01:00

Yes and what are the towels on my balcony doing,
Flapping around to get dry?
Yes and what are the crumbs of my croissant doing
As they disappear in the sky?
Yes and what are we doing in Plakias
In the middle of July?
The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind,
The answer is blowing in the wind.

Said George

2008-07-31T21:29:00.001+01:00

A little piece of Paradise
Beneath the Cretan sun.
To fattened eyes, a little slice
Of how things once were done.
But oh that wind!
That howling wind
That whistled down the gorge,
Like Zeus’s choice
And vengeful voice
‘Gainst those who’ve sinned,
Said George.

Tavernas lounging on the beach
And gazing o’er the bay.
How much their languidness can teach
The tourist of today!
But oh that breeze!
That rampant breeze
That whistled down the gorge,
Like banshee shrieks
From limestone peaks
To basking seas,
Said George.

The little winding thoroughfares,
The pots of homemade jam,
The whistling as the chef prepares
A kleftika of lamb.
But oh that gale!
That constant gale
That whistled down the gorge,
Like waves that pound
The stony ground
And make gods quail,
Said George.

The cricketing grasshopper

2008-07-31T21:27:00.001+01:00

On the steps in a manner improper,
Far away from the rye grass and thicket,
We first came upon this grasshopper
(Or it might well have been a large cricket.)

Half way up to our first-floor apartment,
It seemed to have OD-ed on brandies.
It was green in the colouring department
And it’s legs were quite spindly, like Ghandi’s.

It sat like a large green back-stopper
Engaged in a long game of cricket,
This quite paralytic grasshopper,
Far away from the rye grass and thicket.

For three days, it sat there unmoving
On the stairs that led up to our landing,
Once more conclusively proving
There are things that defy understanding.

At last I decided to flick it
And discovered it had come a cropper.
So we said our goodbyes to the cricket
(Or maybe ‘twas just a grasshopper.)

The patron saint of holidays

2008-02-05T14:40:00.002Z

I’ve shivered in the snow and ice in Vilnius,
I’ve braved the traffic madness of Trieste,
I’ve flown without much hassle
To the walls of Edinburg castle
And Pula left me very much impressed.

I’ve strolled the Jewish quarter in Girona,
In Wroclaw I have dined on wild boar.
In Frankfurt I’ve drunk beer
In the Christmas market cheer
And ambled by the clear Slovenian shore.

Oh I’ve seen so many wondrous sights ‘cross Europe,
Tripping like a trav’ler here and there.
And it will make people weep
To learn I’ve done it on the cheap,
Oh God bless all the folks in Ryanair.

The Pyrrenees

2007-09-26T17:02:00.000+01:00

Walking o’er the Franco-Spanish border,
I spied a hiker striding forth with ease.
His thighs appeared in perfect working order,
But oh, he had a wondrous pyrrenees.

Carcassonne

2007-09-26T16:55:00.000+01:00

Oh dans le very south of France,
If you need to lie down, perchance,
Les benches there sont secs et bons
To rest your weary carcass on.

The Unkindest Cut

2007-08-13T22:08:00.001+01:00

Two weeks of sun and cooling beer
Upon sweet Tenerife,
Sitting by the water clear
‘Neath knotted handkerchief.
The cooling breeze upon the pier
Afforded some relief
From all that humid atmosphere
That draped the isle’s massif.

But time, like some cheap souvenir,
Was stolen by a thief.
Two weeks just seemed to disappear –
Alas! ‘Twas far too brief.
We flew back home with little cheer,
Holed fast upon a reef,
And learned about the heatwave here,
Which maximised our grief.

The Holiday Wasp

2007-08-10T15:38:00.001+01:00

As hibiscus plants and olive trees
Swayed lightly in the gentle breeze,
And children splashed about the pool
In valiant efforts to keep cool,
Out of the blue and cloudless sky,
A liitle wasp came buzzing by.
From whence he came remains unknown,
But soon his fear-inducing drone
Caused consternation to the host
Of people burning up like toast.
They looked up from their books and mags,
Put down their colas and their fags
And flapped around like windmill sails
Tormented by impromptu gales.
He flitted thus from bed to bed.
“Hello to one and all,” he said,
But sadly, fickle humankind
Could not translate the waspish mind.
And so they threatened fatal blows
Whene’er he skirted round their toes.
He so tormented one poor chap
Who swatted with his baseball cap
That in the end, this silly fool
In terror dived into the pool,
An action divers do not tend
To do while in the shallow end.
The little wasp just floated on
Beneath the sun that brightly shone
And people, leaping upwards, gave
A version of the Mexican wave,
And struck at him with well-thumbed books,
And gave this insect dirty looks,
Until, at last, his fun complete,
He disappeared into the heat.

Fly Food

2007-08-10T15:37:00.001+01:00

A table laid out for a feast
With succulent forearms and thighs,
Lightly but thoroughly greased
To attract all the ravenous flies.
No neon signs needed down here,
The smell of the food will suffice,
And soon all the diners appear
To sample the free merchandise.
And when they have loosened their belts,
And buzzed away home to their brood,
I look at my red, blotchy welts
And thank God I can still provide food.

Bosoms Bared

2007-08-10T15:36:00.002+01:00

Bosoms bared beside the pool
Don’t invoke apoplexy.
They’re big and flabby as a rule
And anything but sexy.
They flop around like punctured balls,
Distract you when you’re swimmin’,
And if that verily appals,
You ought to see the women.

Blasé about Air Travel II

2007-08-10T15:36:00.001+01:00

When I was young and strong of lung,
To travel on a plane was an adventure.
It seemed so rare to go by air
That high excitement bordered on dementia.
The engines’ roar, the way we’d soar
Above the earth to where the sun was shining,
The popping ears, the hidden fears,
The scanning of dark cloud for silver lining.

Along the way, we got blasé,
And flight today has lost it’s sense of wonder.
We’re on, we’re off, we belch and cough
And have no qualms the plane will fall asunder.
The stewardess may still address
Locations of life-jacket, light and toggle,
But we just yawn in abject scorn
With minds that sadly long since ceased to boggle.

Blasé about Air Travel

2007-08-10T15:35:00.000+01:00

At breakneck speed, tin cans career
Through unpolluted atmosphere
To bring us to our tourist destinations.
Within the gap ‘twixt clouds and space,
They hurtle at a fright’ning pace
O’er territory governed by small nations.

And way below, without a qualm,
These foreign folk show no alarm
At all these ticking time-bombs o’er their houses.
While up above we yawn and stretch
And doze and stare and cry and retch
And re-arrange the folds within our trousers.

A Body to Die For

2007-08-10T15:34:00.000+01:00

He kicked off his flipflops and took off his shirt
Displaying his muscular torso.
The girls by the pool all became quite alert,
Like meercats on heat, only more so.

Aware af his actions, he limbered up next,
Which drew a few gasps from the women.
In togs tight and skimpy, he consciously flexed,
Preparing his body for swimmin.’

No tentative toe in the pool for this man,
No stepping down into it slowly.
He’d run and he’d dive (at least, that was the plan)
Like a brilliant, athletic young goalie.

But sadly the poolside was slippy and wet,
Which somewhat impeded his talents,
And in a split-second we’ll never forget,
This virile young man lost his balance.

His head struck the edge with a sickening thud,
His body came tumbling after.
We still might have saved him, we easily could,
But we all were spreadeagled with laughter.

Yippee!

2007-08-10T15:32:00.002+01:00

With cases of leather,
Adorned with white heather,
Our spirits are blown on the wind
Like a feather.

We’re in this together.
We pray for good weather,
And vow to remain at the
Start of our tether.

We Go Home Tomorrow

2007-08-10T15:32:00.001+01:00

The children laugh and yell and splash.
The poolside barman counts his cash.
But heavy lies the sunkissed air,
For we go home tomorrow.

Not a cloud to spoil the blue,
The mountain decorates the view.
Life, again, has proved unfair
For we go home tomorrow.

Palm trees swaying, toddlers playing,
Whitewashed walls and olive trees,
Bellies bloating, lilos floating,
Wafted on a gentle breeze.

Sunbeds filles with bodies tanning.
In the shade old ladies fanning,
But I’m consumed by deep despair,
For we go home tomorrow.

Bottled water selling quickly,
Blonde-haired Germans swimming slickly.
Next week they will all be there,
But we go home tomorrow.

Thin Veneer

2007-08-10T15:31:00.000+01:00

Around the pool, the young boy lumbered,
Awkwardly, yet unencumbered,
Though his legs were singly-numbered,
Still he laughed with boyish ease.
And as I woke from idle napping,
On my sunbed, sunshine trapping,
I saw his shorts leg idly flapping,
Flapping lamely in the breeze.

On his hands and foot he bounded,
Like the letter M quite rounded,
And I watched him, most astounded,
As he stumbled on all threes.
And as my peace was interrupted,
And my pleasant dreams disrupted,
A fleeting, savage thought erupted,
Filling me with strong unease.

Why, while I am holidaying,
Far from normal everydaying,
Should this one-legg’d boy come straying,
Like a sudden, sharp disease?
I’m trying to escape reality
At this holiday locality,
Fleeing from the world’s brutality
And it’s tragic amputees.

Thus my mind, when pricked a little,
Gushed a waterfall of spittle
Through the shell, refined but brittle,
Shaped by civilised decrees.
Spewing forth, like gonorrhoea,
Through the flimsy, thin veneer,
Viscous, putrid and unclear,
Hidden for eternities.

And then I shivered, quite disgusted
At the way my mind, once trusted,
Could be, in an instant, rusted
By such selfish thoughts as these.
But my question, rashly tabled,
Begs which of us should be labelled
As the more obtuse, disabled –
The cripple or the ill-at-ease?

The Rice Building

2007-08-10T15:30:00.002+01:00

Forty three storeys
Constructed entirely
Of rice.
The grains had been specially
Bonded and petrified
Twice.
They used fresh basmati,
To make sure that it
Wouldn’t tilt.
Oh, it was the very first
High-rice apartment
They’d built.

The First Splash in the Pool

2007-08-10T15:30:00.001+01:00

Holidays are pretty brill,
Yes, holidays are cool,
But they never really start until
The first splash in the pool.

For some they start when clocking out,
Or coming home from school,
But I suspect it’s all about
The first splash in the pool.

Travel can be quite a bore,
Painstaking as a rule.
Yes, everything is pants before
The first splash in the pool.

Sue Him!

2007-08-10T15:29:00.001+01:00

Guaranteed sunshine, the travel rep said,
Bring sunhats and suncream and lotion.
The climate, he said,
Is quite heavy and dead
In the Mediterranean Ocean.

We remembered his words on the very first day,
When we joked that we’d ring and complain,
In the midst of the day
As we ran with dismay
From a large heavy shower of rain.

Sneering?

2007-08-10T15:28:00.000+01:00

The new arrivals lug their cases,
All with sweaty white-skinned faces,
Sweating madly through their pores,
Checking numbers on the doors.

While we, who’ve been here one whole week,
Nicely tanned and super chic,
Watch them with a knowing eye,
Sneering as they trundle by.

Until our conscience lets us know,
We’ve only several days to go,
While they, with their excited tread,
Have all their holidays ahead.

Shake, Rattle and Roll

2007-08-10T15:27:00.000+01:00

The tram from Soller to the port
Was longer than we all had thought.
Our arms and legs were blue and black
From clonking, clanking down the track.

But still I thought it quite divine,
Rock and rolling down the line,
(Although I’d say that it was Hades
For any eight-month pregnant ladies.)

Not Sweating Just Glowing

2007-08-10T15:26:00.002+01:00

“Not sweating,” she said, “just glowing,” said she,
Put out at our little dig.
“Of course,” answered Dave, “it’s self-evident ye
Are glowing there like a pig.”

Joanna

2007-08-10T15:26:00.001+01:00

Raise a glass to Joanna
In her bright red bandana.
When she played the pianner
With a chisel and spanner,
The club tried to ban ‘er
For her troublesome manner.

Here We Go

2007-08-10T15:25:00.000+01:00

Here we go, on our flight,
Now we’re up in the air,
And we don’t have a care
And the sun’s shining bright.
It’s as sweet as a kiss,
Or a header well-met.
Does it get, does it get
Any better than this?
Oh the roll of the drum
And the foot-tapping thud
Sure are almost as good
As the two weeks to come.

Hail to the Bus Driver

2007-08-10T15:24:00.002+01:00

The passengers applauded as the aeroplane touched down,
But no-one claps the driver of the bus to Blanchardstown.
He pulls up to the bus-stop, but there’s no-one there reacts,
He doesn’t get the kudos that the airline man attracts.
So next time that the fifty five pulls into Heuston Station,
Let’s give the poor old driver a magnificent ovation.

Damned Scary Mountainy Drives

2007-08-10T15:24:00.001+01:00

Now Mon, despite all her fine talents,
Is not quite the bravest of wives.
She feels like she’s losing her balance
On these damned scary mountainy drives.

It seems like they’re somewhat magnetic,
These routes where the hairpin bend thrives.
But Mon finds them all too frenetic,
These damned scary mountainy drives.

She clutches her seat in a panic,
It’s a wonder her reason survives!
Every bend in the road is satanic
On these damned scary mountainy drives.

It’s no use to quote the statistic
That the mountains claim very few lives.
In fact, it just makes her ballistic
On these damned scary mountainy drives.

From bottom to summit she’s fretting,
And breaks out in rashes and hives.
The veins on her forehead keep sweating
On these damned scary mountainy drives.

She says that they’re not to her liking –
Those slow-motion aerial dives.
She says she does not find them striking,
These damned scary mountainy drives.

Yes, logic’s summarily banished,
No matter how strongly she strives.
All sense of propriety’s vanished
On these damned scary mountainy drives.

Perhaps she just feels she’s not ready
For when her last moment arrives,
Or maybe she just feels unsteady
On these damned scary mountainy drives.

But as soon as the car ceases moving,
Placidity once more revives.
Her temper then stops disimproving
On these damned scary mountainy drives.

Yes, when we arrive at the summit,
She’s full of Yahoos! and high fives,
No longer afraid that she’ll plummet
On these damned scary mountainy drives.

Cuevas de Arta

2007-08-10T15:23:00.000+01:00

Untouched by any tour guide’s lights,
Beyond archaic stalagmites,
Deep in the bowels of the earth,
Created prior to Moses’ birth,
I thought, though it is hard to prove,
I saw a hazy shadow move.
Flitting lightly here and there
Within it’s subterranean lair,
Watching as we chattered by
With deep and somewhat mournful eye.
Only glimpsed in blackest holes,
These earthly, prehistoric souls
Whispered softly in the nooks
Where mankind hardly ever looks.

Busman’s Holiday

2007-08-10T13:33:00.001+01:00

On our holiday fortnight, I pitied poor Neil,
And could see why this holiday held no appeal.
He sat on his arse drinking beer by the pool,
Listening to music and trying to look cool,
Smoked thousands of fags and spent all of his cash,
And watched as his mother swept up all his ash.
It actually wasn’t much different to
The things that he’s normally likely to do.

Bobbing Along

2007-08-10T13:32:00.000+01:00

Every single tourist in Mallorca
Has come down to our complex to get cool.
The weather had been forecast as a corker,
And there’s only room to stand up in the pool.

We’re bobbing up and down in it together,
Sardines would claim that it is very cruel.
At least we’re mostly out the burning weather
But there’s only room to stand up in the pool.

No opportunity to practise swimming,
I think it’s horizontal, as a rule.
But Lord above, it’s well and truly brimmin’,
And there’s only room to stand up in the pool.

The rest of this whole island is deserted
With weather that would make a camel drool,
The lifeguards at their stations were alerted,
But all of them are standing in our pool.

One chappie’s poolside, standing in a fever,
Naturally he feels a silly fool,
We tried to wedge him in with someone’s lever,
But there’s no more room to stand up in our pool.

Blanching

2007-08-10T13:31:00.002+01:00

We’d pick the pods and shell the peas
And boil them to a hundred degrees.
After straining, leave to freeze,
Extending thus, the life of these.

On holidays, I burn my skin,
Approach the pool and jump right in,
Boil and freeze alternatively,
I should live till I am ninety three.

An Annual Problem

2007-08-10T13:31:00.001+01:00

The problem with holidays away in the sun,
From which there can be no reprieve,
Is that when the two weeks have just barely begun,
You know you will soon have to leave.

Airline Food

2007-08-10T13:30:00.002+01:00

Airline food, I often find,
Though always mocked and much maligned,
Is often tasty and refined
Whenever I, aloft, have dined.
Though other people seem to mind
The scrambled egg and bacon rind,
It makes sure that your stomach’s lined,
For which this feast has been designed.

Age-Old Problem

2007-08-10T13:30:00.001+01:00

Leonardo da Vinci could not understand it.
It drove Pope Alfonso so mad that he banned it.
Poor Isaac Newton, the simple-brained lout,
Sadly could never quite figure it out.
Pablo Picasso wrote plenty of theses,
But Freud and his cronies just shot him to pieces.
Einstein, old fool, kept on getting it wrong,
But Brenda sussed out how to wear a sarong.

A Giant Fan

2007-08-10T13:29:00.001+01:00

A giant fan upon the hill would surely be progressive.
Someone could turn it on whene’er the heat got too oppressive.
Of course, a lot depends upon this giant fan’s positioning,
But this island badly needs a bit of serious air-conditioning.

The Kettle Haters of Lanzarote

2007-08-10T13:09:00.000+01:00

No-one in Lanzarote has a kettle,
It’s really hard to get your water hot,
When all is said and done, you have to settle
For heating up your water in a pot.

This kettle-fearing island’s population
Have banned attempts to foster this device,
Perhaps it is their catholic persuasion,
Or maybe ‘cos they just don’t like the price.

Two and four slice toasters are prolific,
Coffee makers gleam in glass and metal.
Microwaves are deemed to be terrific,
But God forbid you ask them for a kettle.

The Camel Train of Timonfaya

2007-08-10T13:08:00.000+01:00

At Timonfaya, we parked the car
To board the camel train.
It led up a volcanic spar
And then came down again.

The beasts of burden all were muzzled,
Lest they might be naughty.
They looked extremely puzzled
Though magnificent and haughty.

The girls got on the one assigned,
Unsure and apprehensive,
While we sat on the one behind,
With Neil looking pensive.

Then, with a grunt, the girls’ beast rose,
Austere and autocratic,
While ours struck a defiant pose,
And stayed there sitting static.

A few digs and a few digs more,
The leader struck the camel,
Until, with quite a surly roar,
Up rose the bolshie mammal.

And so we went on up the hill,
The girls one walking gladly,
While Neil and I were being still
Thrown up and down so madly.

For fifteen minutes we tossed and bumped,
Like Chief Inspector Clouseau,
And when it stopped we quickly jumped,
When it was safe to do so.

The Camel Train of Timonfaya
Makes countless trips a day.
It never ventures any higher
Nor wanders from the way.

Eau de Camel

2007-08-10T13:07:00.000+01:00

I was once told a fact that I will not forget,
Camels get turned on by eau-de-toilette,
So don’t be confused by his “let’s-go-and-play” grunts,
He’s simply attracted by your special fragrance.

If it’s only a whiff, he will cuddle and court you,
To respond to his hormones, he’ll try and exhort you,
But if you have plastered it on, he will find you,
And tiptoeing gently, he’ll sneak up behind you.

So if you are splashing on Christian Dior,
And your hair is set off by your jewels galore,
And your skin is as white as some perfect enamel,
You probably smell like a female camel.

Cockroach

2007-08-10T13:06:00.000+01:00

The Lanzarote cockroach is a giant,
It’s two feet tall and nearly three feet wide,
It glares at you with beady eyes defiant,
And asks you if you want to step outside.

It hides beneath the seat that’s on your toilet,
Giggling as it waits for you to come,
Lifting up the lid will surely foil it,
But if you don’t, it bites you on the bum.

Boobies

2007-08-10T13:04:00.000+01:00

Boobies by the swimming pool, boobies in the sea,
Boobies lying on the beach and staring up at me.
Some are like two footballs trampolining through the dunes,
Others put me more in mind of eating shrivelled prunes.
Some are brown and some are pink and some are blessed white,
And some, I’m sad to say, should be kept strictly out of sight.
There’s every colour, every shape and every size of cup,
At least in dear old Ireland they’re discreetly covered up.

Blame the Entertainer

2007-08-10T13:03:00.000+01:00

It was the entertainer’s fault really,
He shouldn’t have mentioned a thing,
But he asked, quite succinctly and clearly,
If anyone wanted to sing.

The laughing-eyed blonde who’d been seated,
Arose and minced up to the mike,
And the entertainer repeated,
“You can sing any song that you like.”

But before she had started her singing,
She asked, could she make a small speech?
In my ears, the alarm bells were ringing,
And my sick-bag was not within reach.

“I dedicate this to my lover,
My husband of nearly ten years.
He’s constantly helped me discover
My passion and laughter and tears.”

And before we could dash to the doorway,
She launched into “Stand By Your Man,”
And we sat there, bemused at her foreplay,
As only a true voyeur can.

The song was intensely beguiling,
As though she were taking the piss,
And she stood there singing and smiling,
And then blew her hubby a kiss.

At that, the whole bar-room erupted,
And a great swell of vomit was spewed,
The bar service was interrupted,
And the band called a short interlude.

The manager clearly was blaming
The staff for not having the nous,
And every drinker was claiming
A free pint of beer on the house.

To clean up the place took an hour,
An hour I’ll never forget,
Which showed the incredible power
Of a badly sung Tammy Wynette.

Yosser

2007-08-10T13:02:00.002+01:00

Yosser was swimming in the foamy brine,
When a lobster nipped his scrotum.
The doctor gave Yosser some iodine,
And told him to go and coat ‘em.

Water

2007-08-10T13:02:00.001+01:00

In Dublin I never drink water,
I find it exceedingly dull,
I know very well that I oughta,
But I never touch one spoonful.
But here in this hot, sunny weather,
I’ve drunk pints and pints of the stuff,
I’d say twenty tonnes altogether,

And I can’t get enough of the stuff

Warm Water

2007-08-10T13:01:00.000+01:00

I just peed in the swimming pool,
And heated up the water.
This bit is lovely for a swim,
But close your mouth, dear daughter.

Turtle Power

2007-08-10T13:00:00.002+01:00

The little girl lay on the lilo and dozed,
Dreaming of ponies and dolls, one supposed.
All round the pool, the girl wafted and floated,
On top of a turtle all puffed up and bloated,
Palm tree fronds fingered the hazy blue sky,
As several disinterested clouds sidled by.

Then, all of a sudden, the turtle got burst,
People just stared at it, fearing the worst,
It shot from the pool in a vertical climb,
The girl clinging gutsily all of the time.
It swooped high and low, like a rodeo horse,
Weaving a most unpredictable course.

Eventually, when it was sixty feet high,
It ran out of steam and fell out of the sky.
Both turtle and girl fell back into the water,
Her father dived in and he pulled out his daughter.
The moral is clear, so there’s no need to harp,
Leave lilos alone if your toenails are sharp.

The Taxis of Playa Grande

2007-08-10T13:00:00.001+01:00

The taxis go up and down Los Avenida,
Each one controlled by an arrogant bleeder.
They don’t stop at junctions unless they do have to
And cut you stone dead with a loud peal of laughter.
They’ll block the whole road at the drop of a hat,
To pick up a fare or to just have a chat.
But if you slow down for a second, you’ll find you
Will soon have a very big taxi behind you,
Who makes no wild gestures, just drives up your ass,
As though you should stop and allow him to pass.
None of them know how to use indicators,
No wonder they’re likened to tinpot dictators.

The Great Tattooist

2007-08-10T12:59:00.000+01:00

Tattooists up and down the street
Work tirelessly to make ends meet.
With sharpened needles they create
A lion rampant or innate.
A swooping eagle can adorn
Your shoulder with a unicorn,
And on your backside you can have
Immortalised your friend Gustav.

But high above the summer breeze,
The Great Tattooist works with ease.
Millions simultaneously
Receive a colouring for free.
He works until he goes to bed
To turn the people brown and red.
His choice of colours is quite small
But he can transform one and all.

Teguise

2007-08-10T12:58:00.002+01:00

Teguise, Teguise,
It’s not very breezy
Compared to the coast,
But the living is easy,

Except on a Sunday,
When it is the one day
When thousands of people
Have haggle and fun day.

They come for the market
And often remark it
Ain’t far in the car but
It’s tricky to park it.

Sod’s Law

2007-08-10T12:58:00.001+01:00

She spent loads of time in improving her tan,
And she went as deep brown as anyone can.
From the first rays of sunlight to last thing at night,
She made sure that she did not go back home white.

The hours she slaved away, front, side and back,
In every orifice, in every crack,
And then, to her shock, on the very last day,
Her beautiful, beautiful tan peeled away.

Shopping for Presents

2007-08-10T12:57:00.000+01:00

We have to try to find a prezzie
For Lil and Keith, and Rose and Dessie,
And something else for Luke and France,
Because they’re watering our plants,
And Granny and your Auntie Lou,
And Sil and Vi, and Denzel too.
[We needn’t buy for Ruth and Gus,
Because they never buy for us]
Perhaps some sweets for Kate and Kevin,
And something small for number seven.
And a holdall made of camel skin
To carry all these presents in.

Say Cheese

2007-08-10T12:56:00.002+01:00

The two children stood in the water,
Facing their dad on the beach.
Their father, with camera, was trying his best
To get a good photo of each.

“Big wave!” he shouted out cheerily.
The two little kids waved like mad,
And then a big wave knocked them both off their feet,
And swept them right up to their dad.

Revenge

2007-08-10T12:56:00.001+01:00

I came up this morning at seven o’clock,
With thirty six towels that I’d bought,
And each one I spread
On a different sunbed,
Not just for revenge, but for sport.

And then we went off for the rest of the day,
And we lazed on the beds by the sea,
And we laid and got brown
Till the hot sun went down,
And then we returned for our tea.

And I went to the pool and I gathered each towel,
To the stares of the Germans and Dutch,
And I nodded my head
And I grinned and I said,
“Oh, thank you, oh, thank you so much.”

Ode to our Hired Car

2007-08-10T12:55:00.002+01:00

5561 CBW
We were very very sorry
We had to trouble you.
As Micras go, you weren’t the worst,
Though you’d only take Cardiac Hill in first.

Lookee Lookee Man

2007-08-10T12:55:00.001+01:00

Jonathan Mbabwe was a Lookee Lookee Man,,
He used to work the promenade all day.
Selling his sunglasses by Dior and by Ray-ban,
And Rolex watches brought in from Taipei.

If quality was guaranteed, he wasn’t quite a purist,
His goods’ authentication was suspect,
But he made an honest living off the unsuspecting tourist,
For which you really had to be hard-necked.

He was hard, he was a black belt, he was judo seventh Dan,
No-one ever kicked him up the jacksie,
Yes, Jonathan Mbabwe was a lucky, lucky man,
Until he got run over by a taxi.

Lazy Sod

2007-08-10T12:54:00.002+01:00

The cleaners came in while our son was in bed,
They needed to do our apartment, they said.
They swept and they tidied and then in a minute,
They made Neil’s bed while the sod was still in it.

Landlubber’s Shanty

2007-08-10T12:54:00.001+01:00

Oh, give me a breeze and a deep rolling swell,
And a ship that bobs up on the tide,
And a bottle of rum and some herring as well,
And I’ll vomit right over the side.

With a heavie-eye-addy
And a heavie-eye-oh
Etc etc..

Jet Ski

2007-08-10T12:53:00.002+01:00

We did the jet skis, Neil and me,
Or rather, more grammatically,
We did the jet skis, Neil and I,
Engine, water, sun and sky.
Skimming at a decent pace,
Although we weren’t allowed to race,
Building up a head of speed,
And going very fast indeed.
And, though you will be quite surprised,
Neither Neil nor I capsized.

I Fell Asleep

2007-08-10T12:53:00.001+01:00

I fell asleep beside the pool,
Beneath the burning sun,
No need to say I was a fool –
I ended up well done.
Except for one white handprint where
My hand lay on my chest,
And now my wife has made me swear
I’ll always wear a vest.

Hibiscus

2007-08-10T12:52:00.002+01:00

The Customs might frisk us
In case the hibiscus
That’s found in all places
Is found in our cases.

But, by my cat’s whiskers,
The shagging hibiscus
Is in other places,
So get off our cases!

Haggling

2007-08-10T12:52:00.001+01:00

Haggling is a subtle skill,
At which I’m not proficient.
Observers of my tactics will
Declare I’m quite deficient.

I always start off much too high,
Much higher than the price is,
My wife has always said that I
Am useless in a crisis.

The trader on the market stall
Thinks I’m a proper loo-lah,
But does he haggle? Not at all,
He’s bringing home the moolah.

What use is algebraic thought,
Or esoteric scruples?
Far better if our teachers taught
Some haggling to their pupils.

Friday 13th

2007-08-10T12:51:00.002+01:00

We missed the turn off for the north,
And entered Arrecife.
We confidently sallied forth,
But shortly came to griefy.

There were no signs to point the way,
And many cars around us.
We chose to take a left and pray
And hope it would not ground us.

Unfortunately, we got stuck –
It was a bad decision.
Tis only me could make such luck
With such adroit precision.

Fat Kid by the Swimming Pool

2007-08-10T12:51:00.001+01:00

Fat kid by the swimming pool
Catching all the sun,
Blocking all the shagging rays
From each and everyone.

Fat kid dives into the pool,
With a splash gigantic.
No more water in the pool.
Complex owner frantic.

El Golfo

2007-08-10T12:50:00.002+01:00

El Golfo, mysterious greenish lagoon,
We visited it on a clear June afternoon,
I wasn’t impressed by the simplistic format,
Like green Fairy Liquid spilled on a black doormat.

Comparison

2007-08-10T12:50:00.001+01:00

Lying by the pool in my swim togs,
At twenty five minutes past eight,
The sun smiling high
In the royal blue sky,
And the warmth of the sun feeling great.

Sitting in the rain in a traffic jam
At twenty five minutes past eight,
The man right ahead
Has just stalled his car dead,
And I think that I’m going to be late.

Cloud

2007-08-10T12:49:00.002+01:00

They never mentioned clouds in the brochures,
Sunshine guaranteed is what they said,
But since we came here it
Has been cloudy quite a bit,
Next year I think we’re going to the Med.

Clever Kid

2007-08-10T12:49:00.001+01:00

Jimmy’s in the swimming pool,
He’s lying on the bottom,
Isn’t he a clever kid?
I wonder where we got him.

Look how he can hold his breath
For all this length of time.
Darling, can you go and get
Another coke and lime?

Cardiac Hill

2007-08-10T12:48:00.000+01:00

[Take her away, Fats…………]

I found my apartment
On Cardiac Hill,
On Cardiac Hill,
A one-in-two

My heart stood still
On Cardiac Hill,
I lay there until
My pulse came to.

The wind in the palm trees played
Love’s sweet melody,
But all of that climbing made
A cripple of me.

They pumped my heart
On Cardiac Hill,
And they got a thrill
When I came to.

Butterfly

2007-08-10T12:47:00.002+01:00

The butterfly flits tirelessly from one flower to the next.
The swimming stroke named after him has left me quite perplexed.
It takes a lot of energy, your biceps ache like hell –
Why is it called “The Butterfly”? Can anybody tell?

Boat Trip

2007-08-10T12:47:00.001+01:00

I didn’t bring a coat,
When we sailed upon a boat
Round the Isle of Lanzaroat
On a hot, bright day.

But it was a little breezy
And the sea was rolling easy
And I felt a little queasy
In a not-right way.

At Guinate Tropical Park, Lanzarote

2007-08-10T12:46:00.002+01:00

There were goldfish and eagles,
As big as most seagulls,
And peacocks that roamed through the park.
There were pretty flamingos,
And lemurs and dingoes,
And owls that reposed in the dark.

There were coloured macaws
With their prehensile claws,
And cockatoos screeching and cawing,
And parrots that ate
All the nuts on their plate,
And some ducks that were frankly quite boring.

There were budgies that chirped,
And a turkey that burped,
And a crane that watched what we were doing,
And a very big toucan
Who eats more than you can,
And turtledoves, billing and cooing.

There’s a garden of cactus
That didn’t attract us,
And some ostriches Neil found scary.
And some small yellow weavers,
That worked hard as beavers,
But, puzzlingly, not one canary.

An Interesting Medical Phenomenon

2007-08-10T12:46:00.001+01:00

Normally I fart like peals of thunder
[My wife and children scarcely will deny it]
But here in Lanzarote, to their wonder,
My arse has been peculiarly quiet.
I wonder if it’s due to change of diet.
Flatulatory people ought to try it.

Turtle Dove

2007-08-10T12:45:00.002+01:00

The palm trees frittered in the breeze
And I espied a turtle dove
Cooing lightly in the trees,
And then it flew down from above.
Upon the poolside shower it sat,
Surveying all with regal cool.
I found it quite amusing that
It crapped into the swimming pool.