MARK THOMAS AT THE WEST END CENTRE 4 DECEMBER 2008

He came on stage with a cup of tea looking

like a younger Stanley Holloway ready with stories

about early heroes, free speech, Coke (the sort

you drink) and the toffs and sad ladies of Norfolk.

Mark's first love were these strange comedians

whose jokes were the landmine that killed Di,

performance artists like the one at the ICA

wh...

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People thought I was some sort of freak

and said my life must be incomplete

as my face had no tache or beard

in fact, was bald and looked plain weird.

All I wanted was a tache collecting debris,

that was fit for a screaming queen,

that was a badge sleek and evil

worn by the sprawling, grinning devil.

People thought I was some sort of freak

as I could only shaved twice a week

and t...

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I was sitting quietly at the bar with a pint of bitter

in my right hand and I was about to bring it to my lips

when a skinny man, wearing a trilby and knitted sweater

sad “you like art. Want to buy something as cheap as chips?”

On a red flatbed lorry with a crane at the back

was a bronze sculpture weighing at least 2 tons

“Yours for £1,000.” What could I say but “yes, I'll take it.”

It...

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All life, love, truth are a pizza

There is no substitute for a pizza

Nothing is more simple than a pizza

He deserves paradise who can make his companions a pizza

God is Infinite and His Shadow is also a pizza

No one knows what he can do until he tries a pizza

Let him who would move the world first move a pizza

He deserves paradise who can make his companions a pizza

We are here to l...

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In front of the stage in the gardens

must have been 50 photographers

with metal cases, rucksacks, shoulder

bags, tripods, spare cameras round

their necks (just in case I suppose)

and holding up one with a huge lens

about 9” long in black, grey and even

one camouflaged in shades of green)

pointing to Phil Woods & Friends

roaring through some standards

from the American Songbook ...

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“Welcome, dear friends, please be seated”

I loved that line by the poet Nazim Hikmet

when I first read it when I was only 22.

It was in a remainders bin at the Poetry Society

and sounded so different from the usual

Rupert Bear lectures about blossoms, Philomela,

holidays, spirit etc in a language no one speaks.

“Welcome, dear friends, please be seated”

It felt like he was talking to m...

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The best time of the day is in the morning when I've left my dreams and I'm barely awake

and I imagine that beside me there's be bottles of champagne or at least a glass of saké

or that a cheque for a million pounds has dropped through my letter box

or that my clothes are freshly ironed and the holes have vanished from all my socks

or that a group of angels are round the table eating marshm...

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The cat will be curled at the bottom of the bed

while I wait for eyes to make their pictures

and for that song to once again enter my dream,

take my hand, and lead me from the bedroom,

through the hallway with its unkempt bookcase,

wicker basket for dirty washing, a framed poster

of “The Lady of Shalott” by William Holman Hunt

and into a room that exists only in my dreams

where ...

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From the womb I wanted to be a chef

which is why I pretended to wear a plain

skull hat, whites and apron when I was six.

My joy was watching mother in the kitchen

adding sultanas and curry powder

to the stew, burning meat in the oven

to make sure any nasties were dead

and not using sugar, spices or herbs.

By the time my schoolfriends waved

their au revoirs in helium tones

I was read...

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I was walking over the heathland to Caesar's Camp

as part of my 10,000 steps (I'd reached 3,263) when

I looked at the clouds and saw what looked like a lamp

igniting the sky with its glory. It hovered silently

beneath the crest of a hill from where, on a clear day,

you could see London's Eye and fire breathing towers.

I followed the lamp (that was about the size of a mansion

with a...

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The beautiful long days of childhood

especially that Saturday morning

when snow covered everything equally

with layers of innocence and happiness.

Snow reached the top of my gumboots

and the wind rested among the clouds.

Roads were clear of Traco* buses that would

have saved me trudging through the snow.

String from my duffel bag cut into my shoulder

as I walked up the blankness o...

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