Three attempts
To get to bed
Each time
A great tune on my radio
Gets into my head
Category: Poetry
Naked in
‘I need a wee’
Dripping out
Splashes on the floor
Sploshes back in again
Bubbles and toys
Grumpy sister in
Washing of hair
Grumpy sister out
Splashing and squirting
Scratching and sniffing
Trickling nose
Bath temperature falls
Time to rise
Clean as a whistle
And into bed clothes
Bath time boy
Is fit for repose
Wedding greetings
At St Paul’s Cathedral
Down to the crypt
A chapel revealed
Straight backed chairs
A monument to Luytens
Rows of anticipation
Music heightens
Here comes the bride
Hymns and rejoices
I pronounce you man and wife
Sermon endorses
Winning smiles
And out for the photos
On the front steps
Amidst the protesters
They give us a cheer
And take lots of photos
Onto red buses
a trip round the sights
HMS Belfast
Whitehall with horses
Fleet Street and onwards
To Smithfields Market
Speeches and champers
And onto main courses
Time passes nicely
As cake cut in slices
Then tired children’s faces
Mean time for goodbyes
A Great British wedding
Bridesmaids, bows and ties
A memorable day this
As the kids close their eyes.
Friends got married yesterday at St Paul’s despite the anti-capitalism protests and the Cathedral falling out with itself and its flock.
A lovely day made all the lovelier by a big cheer from the protesters as we gathered for photos on the front steps. You could have imagined boos, but there weren’t any. I think they recognised we were ordinary folk, as were they.
Each crowd briefly cheered the other before we headed off for a bus tour and the reception. A special moment on a special day.
In the car,
Forgot to check.
Which the way honey?
Anyone’s guess.
Whose job is it anyway?
Stereo thought.
Forever yours.
Agree to differ
And get lost
Again.
Suckered in to fronting up
It’s my job, but it’s other people’s too
It brings admin, stress and cortisol
But also profile, contacts and stories to tell
I feel shirty
But perhaps I should get over it
Writing this has helped, a bit.
Fronting-up at big events has never been my favourite occupation. I’ve got more sanguine with age and experience, but the worst part is the uncertainty: what’s the format, how many people, who’s talking first, speech Q&A or panel.
It all takes time to bottom out and you never really know what you’re going to get until you show up. Being lumbered makes me shirty, but I probably shouldn’t be. A poem helped – a bit.
Achilles & Aristotle 