Attend the church summer fete;
tombola and a silver band,
lucky dip and discarded books.
Bike along the restored canal.
Nurture your own, make do and mend;
hark again to the vinyl.
Sell the car, return to Scarborough,
watch cricket on the green,
Wander aimlessly in the garden
as leaves swirl about in the wind.
For all the money is gone;
life won't be the same again.
Thanks for your comments, Graham and Ann. This one is based on an idea that struck me the other day, that with money tight for the forseeable everyone will have to settle for less ... but that might not be such a bad thing. Maybe it could do with another stanza in the middle. Don't get me started on TOTP re-runs, Graham!
Lovely poignancy attached to this one Greg. Cricket on the Green one of the nicest pastimes left I think (no-one to see you nod off).
Nostalgia is a cunning vixen though. I recently watched TOTP on a re-run channel and thought what a load of old codswallop. Memory is indeed selective.
Very best regards,
Graham
I like the peaceful adventure described here, with its tinge of sadness/regret maybe?
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David Cooke
Thu 13th Sep 2012 09:47
Apparently we were all dead poor in the 70s 60s and 50s. Thing is we didn't notice at the time. And as for the war don't get me started. In 1930s Ireland my parents reckon they didn't have shoes for school, but then they were the lucky ones. They only had to walk three miles. I once did some Russian lessons with an old Polish bloke who said his wartime years in a Soviet work camp were the happiest time of his life. They spent their evenings telling each other stories and playing the harmonica. Still, everyone's happier now with their iphones and all and the binfuls of food they can afford to chuck away.