Word Of The Year

Staycation – the word of 2020 –
Is here again, and life’s still empty.

A holiday at home? Exciting?
Two weeks in prison – more inviting.

Last year’s buzzword here again,
Bring along your ball and chain.

For that’s now this year’s buzzword too;
So much to dream, so little to do.

Shall I fly or book a cruise?
No longer is it mine to choose.

Stay at home or nearby?
Get me to the airport and let me fly.

A Covid passport will be needed,
All other options now conceded.

Escape From Lockdown

Where shall I go?
I await inspiration.
Don’t fancy The Broads,
Try a brand new location.

The Weald is too flat,
The Highlands too high,
The Lowlands too low,
I’ll put them on standby.

The Gower is too near,
The Wirral too far,
The Pennines too high,
And too hard on my car.

I like the Welsh Marches,
But they don’t like me;
Of the Wolds and the Marshes
I’m no devotee.

But I do need a break,
An escape from this lockdown.
I’ve a yen for new vistas –
Corfe, Pwllheli or Plockton.

Coast, country or town,
I won’t be prescriptive;
Just find me a bolt-hole
And I’ll get descriptive.

Not foreign this time,
The risk is too great.
To be locked in on return
Is something I’d hate.

So let it be England,
‘The home of the free’,
Though where we get that from
Is a mystery to me.

I haven’t felt FREE
Since restricted in Spring.
I must get away,
Break my bonds, have a fling.

I could try the Dales,
The Downs or The Lakes,
The Peaks or the Fens,
I’ve got just what it takes.

For adventure, for risk,
I’m up for them all
So just hide my face mask
I’m no more in its thrall.

Yes, I’m off to Bognor,
That ‘Bugger’ of a town,
The best place to be
To end my lockdown. 

“Bugger Bognor!” were the alleged last words of King George V in 1936, in response to being told that he would soon be well enough to visit the seaside resort Bognor Regis on the south coast of England.

 

Goodbye – Two Word Tale #12

Photo by Shawnna Donop from Pexels

GOODBYE

At last
It’s here
Stand fast
No fear

Ship ahoy
Let rip
En-joy
Your trip

Be-ware
Don’t dare
Take care
Play fair

Bon chance
Toodle-oo
Good luck
See you!

Pip pip
In-deed
You’re off
God speed!

 

The Guardian of Hell

In Norway for a holiday
I chose to take a train.
I found a railway manager
Standing in the rain.

I asked him how I’d get a train
From here to Tromso town.
He looked at me askantly,
Then put his flag and whistle down.

Pausing a while, he sighed a sigh,
“Just go to Hell ” he muttered.
I thought how rude, how quite uncouth,
Such harsh words to have uttered.

I didn’t like his acid tone
I felt so hurt, and, sadly,
Wondered what I’d done to him
That made him treat me badly.

But then he started telling me
About a town called ‘Hell’,
Sitting on the Tromso line
A place where many dwell.

How the long-suffering railway chief
Had laboured to dispel
The reputation he’d acquired –
‘the Stationmaster from Hell.’

So at last I understood
I repented feeling badly.
Now I’d love to go to Hell,
Pay respects quite gladly.

Then standing by the station sign
I’d take a snap as well,
To show how I admired him,
This Guardian of Hell.

A Summer HAIKU

Summer Garden … WHB – Sunbury 2019   ©

High Summer Season

The world is on holiday

While so many weep

 

 

 

To Titillate The Tourists

To be beside the sea
That is our nation’s fashion;
It’s obviously the place
For promulgating passion.

But how do seaside shoppers
Decide just what to buy?
Are they tempted by advertisements?
I often wonder why.

Well, once upon a summer,
On a hot and sunny day,
On holiday in Devon,
On a stroll around the bay.

I came across this advert
Along the promenade;
I must admit initially
I thought I’d have it barred.

A touch of seaside whimsy
That’s OK and I’m all for it,
But such immodest come-ons,
Who’d have ever thought it!

‘KNICKERS FOR A NICKER;
POUCHES FOR A POUND’,
To titillate the tourists,
Well, such ads are all around.

But on a seafront shop
I didn’t think it right;
I even thought that something
Was wrong with my eyesight.

I don’t know why it was
I was so overcome,
With thoughts of indignation
I really was struck dumb.

It was just a bit of fun,
Why was I so upset?
But when little George cried ‘Look Dad’
I broke out in a sweat.

“That’s what you and mum wore
When I spied you yesterday.
Can Sue and me have one each,
Like you?”, I heard him say.

NOTE:

‘Nicker’ is Cockney Slang for One Pound.  The OED says it’s origin is unknown, but suggests it could be originally horse racing slang.  The term … has …  London associations … and dates from the early 20th Century (it explains that terrible old joke: ‘Why can’t a one-legged woman change a pound note? Because she’s only got half a (k)nicker!’ and which nobody seems to know the origin of).