When your old bits fall off,
that’s why these days I remind myself of my mothers’ old mangle.
Everything is so difficult these days;
even the smallest task is like trying to climb a mountain
layered with Banana skins.
A vexed profusion of dilly dallying old men, and prostrate fallen heroes
with prostate problems.
Enemies of the human race wearing tracksuits
and boy racers in hooded camouflage,
stir all my roots,
will it ever end?
I got on a bus yesterday, it took off violently
and I found myself on the floor staring at an old ladies stockings,
‘Oh poor dear ‘ she said, ‘Have my seat,’
against all my protestations she absolutely insisted.
This left me feeling like a valetudinarian with communication problems.
I have since thought about taking up Yoga or jam making
as I don’t like flying, anyway,
the first word you see on arriving at an airport is, ‘Terminal!’
I spend a lot of time thinking about,
Muhammad Ali,
steam powered penny-farthing bikes
and jelly babies.
Off to bed now…………
Did you hear about the man whose work all day was in front of the computer, who was terminally bored? You have captured something here Chris . . .