Six People And A Scotch Egg It Is Then

Notes on ‘Scotch Egg’ – ‘Six people outside and a scotch egg it is then.’ is a quote I stole (with permission)  from my friend Deborah’s Facebook feed as she tried to decide what she was actually allowed to do to celebrate her birthday in June 2021.

Six People And A Scotch Egg It Is Then

Can I go to a pub or should I just stay in? 

Can I go and get the hairs pulled out from my chin? 

Can I visit the park? Will that cause trouble? 

Can you explain who’s meant to be in my bubble? 

When can I see my mates for lunch or Sunday dinner?

When is that allowed? Or will that make me a sinner? 

When can I cuddle,hold, kiss, squish and maybe hand shake? 

When will you tell me what l can really undertake? 

Do I honour my birthday with a bloody scotch egg? 

Do I get to go abroad? Maybe to Winnipeg? 

Do I dance at a club, getting right down and dirty? 

Do I share a hot tub and become a bit flirty? 

What do I do about going to see those I cherish? 

What happens if I want to take lessons in Spanish? 

What distance can we navigate on the motorbike? 

What’s the legislation if I decide to hitchhike? 

Does getting the vaccine make me invincible? 

Does eating cakes outside become punishable?  

Does queuing for savouries mean an instant arrest? 

Does anyone envision putting that to the test?

How do I visit the dentist and protect my face? 

How do astronauts socially distance in space? 

How do I survive on my Universal Credit? 

How do I manage that without becoming a bandit? 

Because, government, we’re confused what to do

And quite frankly, it seems, nor the fuck do you.

So for my birthday I will be outside this year

With a bastard scotch egg and shed-loads of beer.

The Perplexing Peanut

I knew it was down there, stuck in the ravine 

I felt it hot and salty, wedged in between

I hitched up my shirt, started shaking and dancing,

I put fingers under my cups and tried exaggerated prancing.

I wiggled and waggled and jerked and jiggled,

I was being demeaned by something I’d nibbled,

I could not believe this nut was causing such strife

I endured not to carry it with me throughout my life.

I understood I must let go, save my day from being botched 

I sensed that I was losing time, just like a kettle watched 

I recognised to ignore it would be a new kind of low 

I determined to give it another good go.

I wiggled and waggled once more and what do you think?

I saw that peanut fly out and bounce off the damn sink

I need to assure you I am not a snob, but

I am still unsure why I took it off the floor and into my gob.

I acknowledge this was not the best thing to do,

I swallowed sweat, urine and dust like I’d just licked the loo,

I have to be grateful for mercies and the blessing 

I no longer have a peanut that is bloody perplexing.

March 30th 2020

love song

Notes for Love Song – Pre – lock down we used the bus almost daily and he would always say ‘It’s our turn’ when we neared our stop and he would stand up first and I would sneak a cuddle by pushing my face into his back  and try to record in my mind his smell and his feel and his voice forever.

Love Song

And soon he’ll say

‘It’s our turn’

And I will push myself upon his back

And inhale the smell from the tweed and the ointment

That calms his skin

Which then

In turn

Calms me

A Comfortable Silence

I am still working on this… I feel the last line sit’s uncomfortably … I’ll get there!

A Comfortable Silence

When I was younger I used to study couples.

Twosomes eating chips whilst watching the sea, 

Hands entwined through a turn round the park,

Feeding the ducks down there on the quay.

A bench together while reading a paper.

Shared restaurant meals In quiet harmony

But I used to think ‘my god, how boring’,

That will never, ever, ever be me.

At no time will I stop being absorbing

And my partner will completely agree

And listen enthralled, counting their blessings 

That I deigned them to be my devotee.

But instead we sit in a comfortable silence

More precious than empty words with my cohabitee,

He is my day so knows what has happened

He knows my news as my news is always he.

My Mother as Pandora

I imagine the vaccine sliding into my mother’s veins

Golden liquid made of hope 

Filling the arms that will hold me again 

With luscious, liquescent love.

Disease leaving before it comes,

Greed decreasing, crimes never committed

As worry leaves and alleviates,

Envy and pain dissipating before they hold deep.

Gold is a noble metal

My mother is auriferous

She alone holds the box within her heart

That will make me whole again. 

The Dance

I dance with the young woman in my small, local supermarket

Always elegant with her shining nails.

We shimmy around each other our distance metered

As she sets free my wine, 

Her looking calm, fabulous,

Me half crazed, unwashed,

Proving that self service is not something I can manage,

Not before, not now, and assumedly not ever.

The Sherry Adventure

When we get to the other side I will go on a Sherry adventure with Hassan and Claire.

I have planned a route – a  mini booze festival to take over a weekend,

Sherry and Tapas in every port as we play Russian roulette with gout.

Come join us for the whole, part, or tail of this exploit

We will start genteenly, discussing fragrance, mellowness and hue.

Is it dry and strong, or heavy and sweet? Or just extremely indifferent? 

On to the middle part, eyes blurred, words slurred,

But everything absolutely to the point, remarkable in context and depth of meaning

Here we will know more than the bodegas, producers of this amber fluid.

And now the final part of the experience in which we forget to eat, and lose our notes.

Everyone is our friend – they just don’t know it yet. Our teeth are on edge with sugar overdoses,

And kebab cravings transcend the warmth of Spanish delicacies we devoured before.

When we get to the other side I will go on a Sherry adventure with Hassan and Claire.

Until then I will reread the map and add to our plans.

Sherry and Tapas in every port as we play Russian roulette with gout.

Bring On The Bez

And now Bez is on the internet 

Helping us to shape up.

Famed for shaking maracas whilst dancing ecstatically 

He is now our 2021 vision of hope

The last thing left in Pandora’s box.

Can we send in The Bez to sort the virus out now?

To shake away the mutations?

To follow Boris about his business

Rattling maracas at him when he refuses to ensure adequate PPE

Or feed children,or when he allows Rees Mogg out of his coffin.

Like the ghost of Jacob Marley sent to reform Scrooge 

He could follow Pritti about 

Pointing his musical implements at her when she slags off refugees

And shouts at her staff

Can he make her find each of the lost 400,000 crime records?

When Hancock pretends to cry 

The Bez could rattle in his ears until he sobs

And learns what tears really are

And actually laments, realising that as Health Secretary 

He is paid to look after the nation’s health.

The Bez could recruit Witty to his cause

Twisting Chris’s melon while they talk so hip.

Gyrating around the podium 

Challenging the misquotes and lies

Through the power of dance. 

So you carry on Bez.

You be that shining light through this vitriolic virus.

You be our mascot

Whilst we get ready to buzz with you.

Let’s bring on The Bez.

Aly Smith  Jan. ‘20

My Neighbour Left Us Today

My neighbour left us today.

She left in a brown wooden box

The road partially blocked 

Whilst buses mounted pavements

To slip past at their own funereal pace.

My neighbour left us today.

A pocket of grief on our street 

A sad bubble around her door

Whilst normal life surrounds it,

Letters posted, coffees purchased.

My neighbour left us today.

I didn’t know her name until this morning

When the flowers spelt it out 

Whilst we had spoken we never exchanged much.

She was Iris.

Iris left us today.

A.Smith March 25th 2021