Greetings, bonjour, what’s happening?
Basking in the sun, melting in the shade; it’s all got a bit blazing, mate. I’m at home today, in sunny Maidstone. Don’t know what it is about the current-bun coming out. It can seemingly bring out both the best and worst in people. Seen a few sun-soaked-punch-ups in my time, heard a fair few domestics and in my younger years; it always seemed a prime-time to get robbed.
Veering on the mostly good, though, I guess it makes people slow down and enjoy the finer things. I like a good afternoon cup of tea when it’s hot – seems counter-intuitive – but it’s strangely satisfying. Polished a lovely pint of San-Miguel last night at Victoria station, after a long day of workshops -which is fitting, considering the poem that follows this.
It’s taken from a nice little moment back in the early 00’s – when I worked at Gatwick Airport. With poems, or the sort-of poems I try and write, for me , it’s just about capturing small moments. I liken it to a postcard. On one side, you’ve got the picture of the beach – capturing the moment – which I treat as the poem – then on the other side you’ve got all the details of your lovely beach holiday. On Monday we ate Ice cream – On Tuesday I fell over etc which for me is the story bit. There you go, Paul’s my very own definition of the difference between a poem and story. Who cares? Answers on a postcard. See what I done there?
The piece I wanted to put up this week, was both, postcard-picture and postcard detail. An amusing memory from secondary school that I recent remembered, about classroom chairs. Started putting it together this week, looked at it today – and it’s a confused mess of the two postcard sides, not really sure what it is. In other words, it’s crap. So it’s back to the drawing board with that. So I had a butchers in the archives and pulled out this one. Pretty sure I’ve not put it up before. Hope you enjoy it.
In case you were wondering – my birthday shenanigans last week were excellent. A few lagers were consumed, along with some banging curry and some tasty Drum and bass. Needless to say, I felt disgusting when I awoke the next day – the first day of the last day of my thirties. Wouldn’t have it any other way, mate.
The-how-to-blogs-and-videos always say you’ve put in a call-to-action-, if you want more traction. So here it goes – if you like what I’m doing, give it a subscribe and you can get me direct into your inboxes every week – even though that strangely sounds very wrong. Just me? Alright.
I’m looking into getting Lager Time hosted on other podcast platforms. I don’t know what difference that will make, to anyone but you know. I’m also toying with doing some live streams. I have a bunch of these poems and some music as well. Not really gigging much these days, I miss it so doing that might help me sharpen up a new repertoire, about time as well.
Have a lovely weekend
Peas and taters
Paul
PREMIUM SPEED GHOST TRAIN
we were in the service lifts
on the way down to Gatwick’s underbelly
picking up a delivery, stretching time as long we could
Tom told me he’d gone shopping with his missus, up to Oxford Street
took the Gatwick express, flashed that staff-pass and got that
sexy 50 % discount, like I knew that was a thing
I never that was a thing
The Gatwick Express?!
Gatwick to London Victoria direct
Non-stop every 15 minutes
he went on the Gatwick express, mate
in 21 years I’d never once stepped foot on it
maybe as a kid, I’d wondered what it was like
on occasion as an adult, watched it bolt through
Horley, arms-length from the airport, fast up to London whilst I
waited for the stopper train, imagining the premium
passengers were all making wanker signs at us mugs,
looking all forlorn on the platform
awaiting the slow service
the price for speed made it out of reach and out of
reach became out of mind and despite
hearing and seeing this thing, several times a day,
on a daily basis, for only my whole life, I barely noticed
it was there, like a premium-speed ghost train that
was no longer scary, just another extra making
up the numbers in the background
I gave Tom a nod like it was nothing
meanwhile in the back of my mind I
was a plus-one at a dull wedding who’s just
realised it’s a free-bar
I designated my next day off as a
trip to Oxford Street
I didn’t even need anything
come that Monday, I flashed that staff pass at the ticket office and watched
that price drop on the till screen, like a bad day at the stock exchange
bopped down to platforms 1 and 2
didn’t even wait 15 minutes
hopped onto my waiting carriage
selected a spacious window seat and
enjoyed the vibration on the glass, as it bolted
through at speed, all the usual haunts like skipping the que
for the roller coaster, trying not to boast but
couldn’t help grinning, I wanted to tell
someone, I’m on the Gatwick Express, mate
making the most of the extra leg room
tourists wondering what on earth I was smiling about
in no time Surrey became Croydon and
Croydon became London Victoria
got off thinking that was sick
I can’t wait to go home
Next day back in the basement,
Pretending that the service lifts weren’t working again
Tom goes, what did you on your day off then?
I broke the mould mate
You what? He says
Nothing.
