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"Come in" said
Brian "and have a Hobgoblin...
Have a few more and your legs'll be wobbling,
The finest of ales that I could suggest!"
A claim that I rapidly put to the test.
Bring in the amps
and bring on the guitars,
Crack open some bottles and have a few jars,
Fry up some chicken and light up the coals,
Spit-roast a hedgehog and bake a few moles,
I mustn't forget to say Reggie the hamster -
Not meat for the bar-b-cue nor yet a jamster,
Just a small rodent who came for the ride -
Along with the amps and guitars came inside.
But first before
music and rhythm and beat,
All of us sat down to drink and to eat,
Except for poor Reggie who failed to engage,
But hid away quietly deep in his cage.
Out in the garden - don't sit on the ants,
Or they will most rapidly enter your pants,
Where they will make straight for those parts I
won't mention,
With all sorts of evil and unkind intention,
So fearful of insects with voracious jaws,
All of us thought that we'd come eat indoors,
Where I must briefly just tell you one thing,
Brian's renown - he's the mushroom-cook king,
And so after various dining-room dramas,
Brian and I fought a duel with bananas,
Let's not pursue that - it's rather symbolic,
Especially when under effect alcoholic,
Accompanied by music from mad axeman Ben,
All set to get on with a jam session when,
Miriam comes in and says 'boys just go
steady...
No time for that now 'cos the strudel is
ready'.
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Then
after dinner - let's go for a stroll,
Too old for debauchery, drugs, rock'n'roll,
Such excessive antics dismissed with a shrug,
We go for a walk down through Moreton-on-Lugg,
Along by the riverside, come to a bend,
A tiny green meadow-slice where we can spend,
Stepped down from the pasture, a world of its
own,
Hours just sat dreaming or skim the odd
stone,
Still warm from
some ashes a faint smoke still rises,
To add to this evening of gentle surprises,
A quick search for kindling wood while it's still
light,
Before very long there's a fire blazing bright,
Soon there's some fisherman come down to chat,
And cast a few flies at a big old trout that's
Thought to be hanging round this very reach,
Now there's a party here down on the beach,
Then we're all
joined by a couple of poachers,
Out after rabbits with two brindled lurchers.
Whatever they're after, whatever their scam,
Or our lost intention of having a jam,
All go with the flow and all fishing life's
swim,
Snatching this moment to follow a whim.
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Then comes a
morning of sore aching heads,
We'd done a few bottles it has to be said,
Not in a hurry to get up and rave,
At last we get sorted, go find Uncle Dave,
There in his bungalow, tying some flies,
That's not very hip for a musical guy,
But hey, who needs hipness, 'cos by now you'll
know,
Our governing principle - go with the flow...
So into the studio with drums and guitars,
Let's blast our hangovers from here up to Mars,
With bass-line convulsions and drumming
attacks,
We'll do a few numbers, lay down a few tracks,
I'm here in my element, sakes alive,
It's years since I've been in such a dive,
No light from windows - smoke and gear,
I'm reveling in the atmosphere
While mad axeman Ben just blasts us away
I'm recording this for posterity.
But sadly, soon,
everybody will know,
The time will arrive that we all must go,
Loading into the vans and the cars,
The amplifiers, the people, guitars,
And there's poor old Reggie still stuck in his
cage,
In desperate need of something to assuage,
This culture shock, let's get him home quick,
And trust that hamsters don't get car-sick,
So hoping that you too enjoyed this trip,
A scam for a jam, and just sod being hip.
Andy Morley
6th May 2007
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Poems © Copyright Andy Morley 2007
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