I tried to look confident as I approached
Miss Veritable at the park cafe,
but stopped as I realised she was crying into her tea.

I called, only to be almost drowned out by the
band Massive Mouthful - tuning up for that afternoon’s concert, 
featuring a muscly rocker
with a voice like crunching gravel, 
who, according to the Acton Gazette,
well deserved his stage name of Mighty Marvel.

I also resolved to offered sympathy, but not to boast about my dad,
who'd played professional rugby league.

I stretched tight calf muscles, the result of a track training session,
then jogged over, hoping I didn’t smell of horse liniment,
something my father always said would reduce lactic acid.

On the last occasion I and Miss V had met,
I’d administered it rather too freely, receiving a funny look.

I also resolved not to bore her with my list of running times, 
or sport-science theories on how to ward off fatigue,
fearful of blotting my flirting copybook.

An aspiring fashion photographer, she'd once told me,
‘You need to forget your father’s success – I believe you’re a good singer,
and appeared in Gilbert and Sullivan’s comic opera, HMS Pinafore.'

‘That’s correct, I didn’t know you liked G and S!’

‘Indeed, and I also like G and T, that’s a gin and tonic.

'What’s more, you showed me your poems, which are quite comical,
like in Pinafore, which has the line, ‘ A very modern Major General’.’

Embarrassed to correct her, I said, ‘No, that’s from The Pirates of Penzance.’

Meanwhile, the band had started and I whirled her around.

She cried, ‘You’re full of surprises. I didn’t know you could dance.’

‘Yes, I went to ceilidhs when I worked on a farm near Devises.’

‘Oh, I thought you were only interested in running.

‘After that race last week, you babbled about splits and the pain barrier,
as you lay on the ground, shattered.’

I then ventured, ‘I was surprised to see you there,’
and wondered what to say next, encouraged by this burst of loquacity.

‘Oh, that Premiership footballer, Harold McIntyre was doing it,
and I was hoping for a photo opportunity.'

‘Did you get one?’

‘No, I was stopped by his bodyguard.’

I recalled finishing well ahead of the so-called ‘Premier athlete’.

Then I was suddenly struck by inspiration,
declaring, 'Be warned, celebrity status can hide an unperceived deceitfulness’.

‘Is that a quote?’ I could see her interest had been
stirred by a fellow she’d regarded as a nerd.

‘No, I made it up.’

‘Really? You do surprise me.’

‘Anyway, going back to our shared appreciation of G and S, 
I’ve often thought about turning my daft poems into songs.’

‘Oh yes, you read me one on the bus.
I’m afraid it didn’t go down well among my friends,
as it’s not politically correct – being about a chambermaid
and a wrestler called Gruesome Gus.’

Then Mighty Marvel announced they’d do his favourite song, 
and Veritable’s eyes lit up.

But her jaw dropped when he held hands with the bassist,
as we all sang along to Tom Robinson’s hit Glad To Be Gay.

Miss V looked at me, ‘I’ve only just found out – I should have
guessed when he didn’t like me bothering him at the sound check.

‘He’d seemed so interested when I stupidly said I could
get him on the front cover of Sounds Are Us, the leading rock magazine,
but, as he said, it seems I was just another rock chick.

'Well, I’ve always liked queer folk – oh, what’s that smell?’

‘Horse liniment.’

‘Really? It has a lustful aroma.

‘So why don’t you take me for a drink, you weird poet?’

Several years after this, London’s West End welcomed a new light opera,
featuring a guy from Acton playing a naval captain,
called HMS Steermyway, a camp homage to HMS Pinafore.

A critic wrote, ‘In the lead they have a voice that mixes pop with melody,
to produce a sound that is quite ‘operatical’.

To my surprise that footballer, Harold, turned up at the opening night
and asked if I could write him a training schedule,
saying, ‘I’m tired of shin splints and dodgy knees, so I’ve given up football.

‘By the way, I agree with you about celebrity status, it can be deceitful.

'All my mates take the Mickey, because I like Gilbert and Sullivan.

‘By the way, have you got any liniment?
A dose of that and I’ll beat you in the Barking Half Marathon.

‘I’m running it in disguise, for FA (Footballers Anonymous).

'It’s for footie stars who’ve seen the light and given all their money to charity,
but are being sued by their wives.

‘Oh, and I’ll let your friend the fashion photographer have a picture,
if she’s alright with me wearing a beard.

‘Anyway, who am I to be elitist?

'I was born in a Glasgow tenement, without a pot to pee in,
and, if you could dribble a ball better than the school bully,
you got a bunch of fives.

‘I bet he wouldn’t recognise me now,
that little kid he nicknamed Horrible Harold,
who back then was spotty faced and fat.’

‘Well, that’s enough of Memory Lane.
It says in the programme you wrote the lyrics.’

I was amazed at this from a guy I’d considered a twit, so answered.

'Yes, and in the spirit of hubris which you are demonstrating, 
I shall admit the music was written by a guy who’d once
sparked in me a fit of jealousy.'

Just then, the man himself appeared, asking, ‘Where’s Veritable?

'I wanted to thank her for coming to my wedding...’

But he broke off when he noticed Harold,
blurting, ‘Can I have your autograph?’

‘Sorry, but I’m no longer a celebrity.’

‘But I’ve a picture of you above my bath!’

‘Oh, that’s nice.’

I broke the embarrassed silence by declaring,
‘May I introduce that talented singer, Mighty Marvel?

‘Although I do say so myself, he’s glad he took my advice,
and gave up being a heavy rocker, to sing lightly operatical.’