Did no one ever think to mention

the importance of paying attention

whilst mounted on your two wheeled steed?

And if not, would you feel aggrieved?

Do tell us, as we’re dying to know

did you really think it was the right way to go?

As you proceeded down the slip road

was the sign in hieroglyphics or perhaps in code?

Or had your mind drifted away?

Is that how you ended up on the motorway?

I don’t think you have to be really smart

or have a GCSE in Home Economics or Art

to appreciate it’s not the road for you

well before ending up on the M62.

“M” stands for “motorway” if you are unsure.

Riding your push iron is against the law

while you are located at said location.

I now wonder at your current situation

following PC Willis’ intervention,

no doubt focused on crime prevention.

He explained, in case anyone was mistaken,

that various conveyances cannot be taken

onto a motorway like the M62

(and then for those who haven’t a clue)

this gold plated, platinum coated gem:

“Bicycles are one of them.”

Which should not take a genius to work out

but unfortunately in West Yorkshire there’s not many about.

So if you think cycling on motorways is perhaps for you

remember the last person cycling on the M62

was a competitor from the Commonwealth

who cared about training but not his long term health.

I wonder if he was stopped on the M62

by PC Willis of the Boys In Blue?

So the moral of this worrying tale

is that even if you are a testosterone fuelled male,

there are many things you should not do

and one of them is ride a bike on the M62.

At this time of year meant for excitement and elation,

We take time to consider the state of the nation.

Some will view 2020 as a calamitous year,

It started with Trump spreading division and fear.

With Dominic Cummings former Brexiteer in Chief

And his pet chimp, BoJo, providing comic relief.

BoJo, a man of tremendous privilege and wedge,

With the appearance of one dragged through a hedge.

He waits for the crowd to move so he can see

Which way to jump, then shouts “follow me”.

Brexit negotiations took a back seat

When something else achieved the unbelievable feat

Of actually being worse than a nation apart

But a wretched pandemic which declines to depart

Did it’s best to ruin 2020 for many folk

And our NHS and economy may soon be broke.

The Brexit deal is as good as lost

No claims written on buses regarding the cost.

So is all lost? Is it time to despair? Throw in the towel or arms up in the air?

Well no, not quite or or at least not yet

While negatives loom large it’s easy to forget,

Kier Starmer seems more likely to provide

Leadership in opposition, to unite not divide.

Goodbye Mr Trump, we can bear you no more,

As the first black, Asian, female VP shows you the door.

And Black Lives Matter, as all lives should.

The NHS stood strong, a force for good.

Marcus Rashford showed rare appeal

Arguing even poor kids should get a meal.

Scientists strived to solve the blight

And now workable vaccines are in sight.

Same sex rights found new hope

In Northern Ireland and from the Pope.

So there’s more than just a glimmer of light.

Life is what you make it so try to do right.

Let’s leave division and hatred behind.

Try to be positive, thoughtful and kind.

You’ve got a whole twelve months until December 

So go on, make 2021 a year to remember. 

Karen Anne you are divine

Finer than The finest wine

In the bar did you think

When we met for that drink

In a scruffy Irish place

Where you wouldn’t normally show your face

That you had fallen very far

Maybe followed the wrong guiding star?

And from where you’d set out to be

Thinking of Brad Pitt and getting me

But you decided to stick around

Talking of family, sport and sounds

From there we accelerated things

Love’s eternal but we added wings

When I flew back from NY

You followed to a place you cannot deny

Is Gods Own County, HG2

Where you can only live if you earn a few

We sold our flats and bought West End

But the house had issues we couldn’t mend

Like a bathroom right at the top

By the time you got there you were ready to pop

But we were happy and gave things a go

When I got a rebate we went to Mexico

Then wedding bells were in the air

The finest party, you had to be there

The Cleaver performed the wedding vows

Swinton Park gave rise to “Wows”

Our families and friends altogether

Everyone we loved; never felt better

Then married bliss nothing altered

But life as we knew it suddenly halted

The day our beautiful boys arrived

I’ve still no idea how we survived

Well actually we had fantastic Dads

And Mums so special we got them both iPads

Karen and a Mum did the night feed

I woke each morning and to God I’d plead

That the boys were still alive and OK

As I rose early for another day

But with the aforementioned help we made it through

A challenging time and something new

A dark and cruel addition to our family

Something which afflicted me

But with your love and companionship

We’re still moving forward despite that dip

With James and Harry, the Famous Four

France and Spain, Sewell’s on tour

We moved to Wheatlands for a song

One that’s expensive and very long

And when some bits were looking nice

You changed the lot for a significant price

The extension never came to pass

A good job really as I was out of gas

By the time the garden was done

But now we can football in rain, snow or sun

By this point you had left AG behind

With WSP providing an alternative grind

So when work is getting a drag

And your spirits are starting to sag

Think of the time you took a chance

And met a guy who refused to dance

And after the first bar we found one more

And negotiated with the bouncers on the door

And the following day we watched Marky Mark

In a hopeless American action lark

And you bought me chocolate Easter fun

You chased away the darkness and brought back the sun

It was way more than ten years ago

That we went together to see that show

And you still blow me away and bring back the sun

Chase away the darkness with cuddles and fun

So that’s it – how you ended up with me

Thank you

I love you

Happy anniversary

To our beautiful boys

Well done, you reached six,

With barely a hitch.

Well perhaps one or two,

Which is the number of you.

Passersby used to say

When we couldn’t get away

“Looks like double trouble there”.

Because not one; we had a pair.

“But were we trouble?” I hear you ask.

Well remembering is quite a task,

as when you’re tired you soon forget

The intermittent crying and the upset.

Like when Mummy picked up James

put him over her shoulder without careful aims

Smacked his face on the sink

(he took it quite well I seem to think).

Or the time Mummy cut his finger end

But we didn’t have to pretend

It’s really hard when cutting nails

(I’ll spare the gory details)

If the hand is getting waved about

and it’s owner screams and shouts.

Or every hour just before bed

when James’ crying would wake the dead.

Or how about evenings when it was time for a clean?

It has to be said, James wasn’t too keen

On getting in a lukewarm bath

He became Puceman and we felt his wrath.

So these challenges we left behind

And neither of you seem to mind

When we made the latest mistake

When mistakes were all we could make

And new challenges raise their head

But let’s focus on positives instead

You’re happy, healthy, talented and fun

Two is definitely better than one

So as I draw to a close

Wondering what the future holds

Your seventh birthday is being

Is

Life isn’t always a terribly fun place

When you’re a lap behind in the human race

The paucity of your life’s work you can clearly adduce

If monkeys with typewriters could reproduce

Whatever it was you thought you’d created

Only to find its been misappropriated

By a simian secretarial typing pool

Leaving you feeling like a fool

As the best you can do to stand out from the crowd

Is produce something of which an ape would be proud.

As the storm clouds encircle you

And people say “you look miserable, you really do”

It’s not always easy to explain

That you fear whether you will remain

Capable of parenting like others can.

Playing games, Dad the superman.

But never, ever, ever give up

There’s many a slip tween the lip and the cup

And I’m not done yet so let’s be clear

I’ll keep moving forward, crush the fear

Crush and squeeze it way down deep

Where the monster lies asleep

So onwards, upwards and if the inevitable darkness descends

At least the monkeys’ typing ends

When Mrs Donovan knocked on my door

I admit I expected a little more

Than the offensive tirade she let fly

Most of which passed me by

The genesis of which I was aghast to learn

Related to a serious looking carpet burn

Which spanned the area above her eyes

Resulting in a constant look of surprise

Where her eyebrows used to be

Was nothing and it seemed to me

That she appeared startled by an event

Or so my skewed logic went

As if someone had quietly crept

Up behind her and then leapt

Out in front of the old bird

But what she told me seemed absurd:

she reckoned she had been minding her own

When someone called her on the phone

Which she answered with an abrupt “hello”

But suddenly she really really had to go

Her stomach did not feel great

Presumably something bad she ate

So she rushed directly to the loo

And after she felt better she wondered who

Had called her before she rushed away

And what is was they wanted to say

By this point she had done a courtesy flush

But remained in situ, no need to rush

And as Mrs Donovan lived alone

The toilet door was open and she could see the phone

So she waddled across to wear it lay

Pants round ankles she returned with it to the bidet

The voice said “I’m from the water board

There’s a build up of pressure which is untoward

The pressurised water needs somewhere to go

So we’re warning residents there’s a risk it may blow.”

“When is this likely to occur” Mrs Donovan enquired

And at that very moment she was fired

Like a rocket out of the WC

The pressure had built up and then was free

It shot Mrs Donovan out of the smallest room

Like a witch missing her broom

And onto the carpet face first

A victim of the water burst

And as she told me about this event

And how that she was sent

Onto the carpet with tremendous power

It dawned on me she looked like she’d had a shower

She was absolutely dripping wet

And from the way her jaw was set

Now was not the time to howl

So I invited her in and gave her a towel

But somehow she actually believed

I was the one who’d got her peeved

By some unspecified evil act

An allegation not supported by fact

Although I had done some DIY plumbing

Resulting in a constant humming

Whenever my toilet was flushed

Which may have result in Mrs Donovan being ambushed

As she sat on a pressure cooker

Which very rapidly took her

On an unscheduled flight

Resulting in her looking quite a sight

Should I come clean and reveal what occurred?

No way, that’s absurd

It’s bad enough Mrs Donovan accusing me

But if she had a confession the end would be

Imminent.

The knight sat on his horse and sighed

“Come out foul beast, you cannot hide

In your lair. So come and fight

If you have the appetite?”

From the cave there came a snort

“I say old chap” came the retort

“Why are you bothering me?

I’m a peaceful soul, can’t you see?”

The knight was suitably unimpressed

It had taken him ages to get dressed.

His suit of armour was a pain

And he didn’t fancy taking it off again.

His horse was starting to attract flies

And sweat was getting in his eyes.

“I say, you callow beast, come and fight.”

The knight was sweating, quite a sight.

“There’s no need to be rude” the dragon said.

“You’re the one whose face is all red.

“Let’s agree” said the dragon in a conciliatory tone

“That we resolve this by paper, scissors, stone?”

The knight sat and thought this through.

His options were decidedly few.

If the dragon wouldn’t come out

All he could do was hang about.

Which he didn’t want to do.

He had a dental appointment at half past two.

The knight looked down at his feet and sighed again.

His feet were a twelve, his armour a size ten.

“Oh bugger it” he muttered under his breath.

“If you’re not willing to fight to the death,

Rock, paper, scissors will have to do.”

Then the dragon popped out, right on cue.

It was decidedly smaller than the knight had thought.

The teenie, tiny, shrimpy sort.

“Bloody hell” the knight expleted

“There’s not much chance of me being defeated.

In the normal mortal hand to hand.”

“Well you agreed and the agreement stands”

Replied the midget dragon to the knight.

“But I came here for a proper fight.”

“Well if we keep on arguing we’ll be here all day.”

The knight at this point considered walking away.

“Oh alright” said the knight, clearly embarrassed.

He was starting to feel increasingly harassed.

And from such humble beginnings the legend grew

Of St George and the dragon he allegedly slew

Not be sword and shield and lance

But by a silly game of chance

And of course he didn’t slay

The tiny dragon, that or any other day.

So be careful if into a little cave you climb

And hear a tiny voice saying “Oi, that’s mine.”

The Donald would have been the first one to say

That he hadn’t had his very best start to the day.

His struggles with the sheets had left him gasping for air,

And it was only after Ivana adjusted his hair

That the mysterious curtain was lifted

(There really had been a curtain, The Donald insisted).

But now he really need to think

About the alleged Chinese link

To the Russian whack back attack

Which was somehow related to a hack.

A what? It sounded sports related,

Something that The Donald really hated.

It was so confusing this League of Nations

Monitored by CIA listening stations.

And from their embassy came the Chinese

Greeted by The President, apparently pleased.

“Hurrah” he exclaimed “let’s see what we’ve got

Something sweet, something sour, something spicy and hot.”

“No Mr President, I think you’re confused.”

The delegation were impassive despite being abused.

“Mr President, these allegations we fiercely reject.

They’re entirely unfounded, you’ve lost our respect.

And as for the suggestion we’ve brought you a treat,

We’d ask you kindly not to repeat

The expletive filled rant that went on for so long

When you phoned the wrong number, and who’s Mr Wong?

And why were you screeching things not very nice?

And ranting about spare ribs and special fried rice?

You were talking to our Premier, Mr Zedong.

Not some takeaway shopkeeper, you’ve got it all wrong.

So you owe an apology, nothing less will do.”

Th Donald was struggling, trying to think it through.

A Premier? A what? A Mr Ze-who?

Was this fictitious or factitious? Who knew?

The Donald smiled his smile and sank to the ground.

As he slowly turned his wig back around.

Until it covered his face as before,

And he swiftly fell asleep curled up on the floor.