"The Question Is..."

Tonight
I've no need to quiz you
For I know
It was a job well done
Within reason...
I'm more than happy
To pat myself
On the back.
Plaudits from others
That's what I struggle with.
I done ok...
That's another monkey
Off my back
As we get a step
Closer to Hamburg.
Which is a weird feeling
Not knowing if...
We have a team to take there.

Dulwich Poet 29th November 2017

(Last night I ran a fundraising quiz night, to help the fund to take Dulwich Hamlet to Germany in July 2018...)

"Not So Spartan"

Sitting in a local boozer
This is where I should belong
Over fifteen years sober
Hope that doesn't sound wrong.
The Blythe Hill Tavern
It's won awards you know
The Catford pub with a Forest Hill postcode
It's the place to go.
A tidy little boozer
I can feel the warmth and it's clean
Not sure I would have appreciated that
When I was an 'apprentice pisshead' teen.
I'm here to read poetry
A lot on the Open Mic
undoubtedly I'll be back again
This is a venue I like.
Not shoved upstairs
A dingy room above a pub
We're right in the centre
Taking over a bar at the hub.
There's 'ordinary' punters here
Sitting round the side
Quietly taking in words heard
Or in the far corner to hide.
Can't see any fancy coffees
Or posh gastro dining list
People they just come here
To get merry and a bit pissed.
Clearly an Irish run local
And no worse for that
Genuinely homely
Not filled with 'Plastic Paddy' tat.
A bit of 'diddly-dah' fiddling
Not intrusive but a lovely sound
I'm sure to come back again
One of the most relaxed venues I've found.
So if you're ever going past
And see me popping in for a drink
I've not fallen off the waggon
It's not what you think.
I'm just doing poetry in a traditional boozer
21st Century in an old fashioned way
If all venues were like this
I'd read every fucking day!

Dulwich Poet 23rd November 2017

(I went to a poetry Open Mic, that was in a put called the Blythe Hill Tavern, and it was in the pub itself, which was a really nice little local boozer)

"Throwing In The Towel"

Alone I stay in hostels
Because they are so cheap
It's just a place to crash out
Late at night to sleep.
I don't really socialise
Sort of nod and chat
Often the room-mates are younger
So I leave it at that.
The downside is that it's always easy
To have a five-knuckle shuffle
In the darkness of the dorm
You can hear the quietest ruffle.
Other than that they suit me
Somewhere to rest my head
All I'm rally after
Is somewhere to crash with a bed.
I leave my towel on my pillow
So it marks it down as mine
As long as I've got a secure locker
Everything else is fine.
But this time I got annoyed
There was a tealeaf on the prowl
In the daytime when I was out
Some fucker nicked my towel!
I know I shouldn't have brought it
A North American ice hockey gift
Although if I'm slightly honest
I'm not sure why I'm miffed.
Because nice as it was
I'm not a Montreal Canadians fan
And I lose lots of things
Though try not to if I can.
For a little while I was gutted
Would've killed the fucker if I could
Making mountains out of a molehill
Getting more wound up than I should.
Rather than go mental
And attack the culprit with a proverbial cosh
It really wasn't the end of the world
As I could still shower and wash.
Still got more towels at home
While nicking mine was taking the piss
It's going to take a lot more to ruin my week away
Than something as minor as this.

Dulwich Poet 6th November 2017

(On my recent trip to Budapest, I stayed in a basic backpackers hostel...someone actually nicked my towel from my bed!)

"Lost"

The Metro I could cope with
Getting around without much fuss
But it was so confusing
Sorting a tram line from a bus.
Usually I'm fine
I can deal with this travelling lark
But Budapest left me baffled
Especially in the dark.
Street name were confusing
Weird Hungarian babble
If only real place were allowed
They'd be brilliant in Scrabble.
I gave up trying to find the ice hockey
I didn't know my 'utca' from my arse
It wasn't worth getting wound up about
Just had to let it pass.
I was partly to blame
My research wasn't rally thorough
To be totally honest
I could've been in a different area or borough.
But that's the beauty of 'Bill-no-Mates'
Getting lost only annoys myself
Winding yourself up on holiday
Isn't good for your health.
So I missed out on Hungarian hockey
Hardly what I'd call a crime
And it gives me something to look forward to
When I come back next time.

Dulwich Poet 5th November 2017

(When I was in Budapest recently, I couldn't quite get to grips with the public transport system & street names & got lost several times)

"What's Magyar for Scum?"

I went to top flight football
Ujpest was their name
But after the match on Saturday
They'll never be the same.
At heart I'm an old romantic
Seventies European nights in black and white
Exotic sounding like Ujpest Dosza
Memories turned to shite.
You wouldn't have thought it was the 21st-Century
With so much monkey noise
Glad I wasn't stuck behind the goal
With the racist Ultra boys.
Not that I'd have said anything
My safety comes first
But on all my continental travels
This really was the worst.
Ujpest aren't my team
But I like to pick a side
Usually it's the home lot
But I've got some pride.
Videoton had two black players
Racism's more than taking the piss
And when Ujpest got a penalty in stoppage time
I was praying for them to miss.
My pleas to my God Edgar were answered
Unsurprising as Hegazi was his hero
The euphoria of the home scum
Plummeted to less than zero.
A great save by the keeper
A point each they'd have to share
Serves you right you racist fuckers
For polluting my football air.


Dulwich Poet 3rd November 2017

(This was about the racism at a Hungarian first division match between Ujpest and Videoton, which I went to on Saturday 28th October. My 'God Edgar' refers to Edgar Kail the great Dulwich Hamlet pre-War player, and Hegazi is the Egyptian international he would have watched playing before us, before the First World War), when he was a schoolboy)

"At the Pictures"

What an absolute bargain
When you've an hour at night to kill
Less than three quid to go to the cinema
Where you can sit down and chill.
The film might not be to your taste
As is says 'Sex Shop' on the door
And they're screening a gay one
Which makes me love it more.
Almost in darkness
Only one or two people around
Undo my belt and drop trousers
Practically without a sound.
Looking up at the big screen
Such beauty to watch
My handing won't be straying
Not moving from my crotch.
I don't speak Hungarian
But language is universal you'll find
The other blokes' in the room
seem to know what's on my mind.
We're all here for the same thing
Wanking in the dark
To me it seems much safer
Than trying to cruise in a park.
Some thing you can't hold off
It's time for mouths to open wide
There's nothing better than someone's cock
Filling up inside.
Don't get me wrong I'm not obsessed
I only went there twice
And at home when they ask how I'm holiday was
I'll coyly say it was nice!

Dulwich Poet 3rd November 2017

(This is, as you can see, about going to a sex cinema in Budapest!)

"Just My Luck"

What a fucking palarva
It could only happen to me
My left luggage locker won't open
Stuck in a strange country.
Couldn't remember which locker
But it had '40' on the key
There was no-one to help
As far as I could see.
Running round like a headless chicken
As I started to panic
There appeared a beautiful vision
Just as I was about to go manic.
A young Hungarian railway beauty
I wasn't even thinking 'Phwoar!'
But judging by his age I thought
He'd speak English and help me more.
He came round to the lockers
Seeing I was in distress
In truth close to tears of frustration
At getting in such a mess.
Taking my key he tried it
Having no luck at all
Taking his phone out of his pocket
He made that emergency call.
He told them the problem
Help would be half an hour
I was in a right old panic
This trip was going sour.
I had no real money left
And was sure I'd miss my flight
Thought I'd end up like Tom Hanks in 'Terminal'
Sleeping on the airport floor that night.
I had visions of me calling my brother
Pleading for an emergency fare
Otherwise the airport would become my home
A travel Groundhog Day nightmare.
My young knight in shining armour
He left me as I shook his hand
Should've taken his photo...laminated by my bed
But that was the last thing on my mind
I'd make do with a fading memory instead.
Not longer than half an hour
The locker company's man came to do the job
After he'd handed me 'my' bag
He must have thought me a knob!
Turns out my key said forty
And that's the locker he tried
But it wasn't my bag
That was stuck inside.
My key matched the one underneath
With a different number on the door
As if you remember where you dump your bag
I'm sure you know the score.
Now it was the mad dash
Before it was too late
Bypassing a last trip to the supermarket
Before they closed my boarding gate.
I just about managed it
With literally minutes to spare
And I'm chilling out writing poetry
Sat in my Ryanair chair!

Dulwich Poet 2nd November 2017

(Less than three hours before my check-in closes to come home from Budapest Airport, I am stuck at one of the main Budapest train stations, because the key in my left luggage won't work. It's key number 40, which I put in locker 40. Turns out my stuff was in locker 42!)

"All Too Brief"

I never thought I'd feel this sad
Sitting on a train
Just spent one day with family
Don't know when I'll see them again.
They say home is where the heart is
And I feel this for sure
The welcome from practical strangers
Was emotional and more.
My namesake uncle deceased
Putting flowers on his grave
Something I genuinely wanted to do 
Not just the right way to behave.
Paying my respects
To family I never knew
Seeing my surname on headstones
Made me Hungarian too.
I'm not usually 'touchy-feely'
But did the either cheek 'kiss,kiss'
For this was my distant family
What could be more natural than this?
What's more I'm no longer a 'virgin'
By that I mean I used Skype
I doubt I'll ever use it again
Back to 'Luddite' text and type!
My cousin was translating
Explaining every word
With me lacking all Hungarian
Not knowing a dickie bird.
There she was in Manchester
Me in her Szeged home town
At first I couldn't work out what was happening
Wearing a right old puzzled frown!
I saw so many photos
Trying to picture my family tree
Fascinated by that little English kid
Was it really me?
It's so long ago
Being only four or five
But an old black and white photo in a folder
Has brought part of my childhood alive.
And who's that little child...
My dad as a little boy
Looking at a fading picture
Brings me such joy.
This is part of where I come from
Indelibly making up my past
To say I'm happy is an understatement
Coming home to Szeged at last.

Dulwich Poet 1st November 2017

(I wrote this on the train back to Budapest, from my dad's home town of Szeged, having visited the place, and my family there for the first time...at the age of 51)

"Jobsworth"

The man's a total cretin
Complete imbecile
If ever he's on Death Row
Hope he half-chokes on his last meal.
I'd chop his fucking balls off
Serve them us as an In The Jungle dinner
And if he were a contestant
I'd make him eat the corpse of Michael Winner.
I hope you get your toes trapped
At the bottom of an escalator
And I'd chop your fucking cock off
So you'd still be a wanker but not a masturbator.
You'd never sleep at night
Cos I'd play you Big Ben on a loop
Then for breakfast I'd piss and shit in a bowl
And make you eat it for soup.
I'd brink back to life 'Mad' Frankie Frazer
Getting him to pull out your teeth
I'd tie you up naked hugging a tree
Deep into Hampstead Heath.
Sadly none of this will happen
They're just thoughts in my head
You'll go home oblivious tonight
Rather than maimed and dead.
In truth I just pity you
And the way you apply your role
When all I simply wanted to do
Was stand behind either goal.

Dulwich Poet 1st November 2017

(A steward at a Hungarian third division match didn't particularly enamour himself to me...this is for him!)

"Going Home"

The train's a bit of a boneshaker
But that's how I like it best
On the so-called Hungarian Inter-City
To Szeged from Budapest.
A relic from the Eighties
Maybe even older
Windows that pull halfway down
Sunny but bracingly colder.
Half an hour until I arrive
Don't know what the day holds for me
Being met my 'mystery' relatives
Just have to wait and see.
My old man left here in Fifty Six
Never to return
Now I'm on my way 'in his place'
It took so long to return.
I've never felt Hungarian
I'm English through and through
But I'm also proudly European
This is something I always wanted to do.
Not sure if it's 'spiritual'
In truth I'm shit scared
A family pilgrimage I need to make
No idea why I've never dared.
Scared of the unknown
I think they'll love me being here
Totally irrational
That I hold so much fear.
Even though I'm from London
Being Hungarian is in my DNA
And that's the genuine reason
Why I got up at six o'clock today.

Dulwich Poet 1st November 2017

(I wrote this on the train from Budapest to Szeged, when I was visiting relatives, who still live in the town where my old man came from)