No point in crying, you know why we’re here.

Saw the league tables, smelled blood, descended.

You’re on our list; we can wreck your career.

Don’t try to fool us; we’ve been heads, too.

Educating the underclass? A thankless task.

We got out in time, saw which way the wind blew.

Up all night, checking figures? No matter.

We make facts fit, the one thing we’re good at.

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Their bungalow seemed

to grow out of the ground.

The garden was big enough

to lose himself in.

While grandchildren marched

importantly in and out of sheds,

Dad took me on a tour of his empire

that terminated at the compost bins.

Ran leaf mould through his fingers,

exulting at what he’d created,

the miracle of degradation,

black gold. It’s life that matter...

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The Goons, Bill and Ben,

Hancock’s Half-Hour,

Steptoe & Son,

That Was The Week That Was,

Doctor Who, Blue Peter,

Play For Today, Match of the Day,

Till Death Do Us Part,

Monty Python, Dad’s Army,

Whatever Happened

To The Likely Lads,

Fawlty Towers,

Not The Nine O’Clock News,

Boys From the Black Stuff,

Auf Wiedersehen, Pet,

Yes, Minister, Blackadder,

Det...

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Why was it built?

The line had to take

a one hundred and eighty

degree turn to evade

the Duke of Northumberland’s

estate. The price:

a tunnel, and a viaduct

crossing the Edlingham Burn.

Blast those shooting parties!

No matter: the navvies

set to work. The curve adds

to its Grade II listed beauty.

It appears much shorter

than from below

and closed...

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Listening to The Man Who Sold The World

on the Bob Harris show at your Nana’s

when you should have been revising.

The traffic from the Kingston by-pass

roared by her New Malden terrace.

Harris played it again and again.

Oh! You Pretty Things on the radio

in the spring sunshine on the

back porch. Or was it Changes?

What a euphoric song that was.

Catching the Route...

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