Toast Rack

Toast Rack

Breakfast’s the laziest meal of the day,

A quite casual repast as a rule -
It’s not something so organised

That you need to watch the toast cool.

No - straight from the toaster and onto the plate,

Horizontal and any which way -

Whack on the butter and marmalade:

A sloppy approach to the start of the day.

The idea of it all in a line,

All vertical and serried in ranks,

It’s just too orderly for my taste,

We don’t need it on parade – no thanks!

Life’s too regimented as it is,

Without starting the day so formal,

So keep the toast-rack in the cupboard,

Chill out, and carry on just as normal!

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2017

An Angel On The Bus

An Angel On The Bus

We were getting worried about Grandma,

A widow, she’d long been left all alone,

She was getting more and more forgetful,

She seemed to be in a world of her own.

But she was a determined old lady -

We didn’t want her being put out to grass.

Then one day a new vista opened up,

When she got hold of her first bus pass.

She took to it like a duck to the water,

She became known as the “Off-peak Rover”;

Soon she was a frequent traveller,

And used it to voyage about all over.

Her confidence picked up, we noticed,

And she became increasingly keen.

When we asked her to tell us about it,

Her features became calm and serene.

“You see,” she said, “I’ve had an encounter,

About which it’s not seemly to boast,

But on the Ninety-Seven last week,

I ran into one of the Heavenly Host.”

Now we thought this was pretty unlikely,

And knew that Grandma was liable

To be somewhat over-impressed,

By things she’d read in the Bible.

We asked her what she was talking about,

What on earth was making her so happy,

And, suspecting that we doubted her word,

She became all defensive and snappy.

She said she’d seen an Angel on the bus,

A Close Encounter, of the heavenly kind,

He was just sitting there all on his own,

And she’d been so near, on the seat just behind.

She could have reached out and touched him;

To his collar and the hairs on his neck,

And she trembled in her joy and elation,

As she sat there, high up on the top deck.

His figure was picked out in silhouette,

And about him there was a sunny aura,

At least that’s how it looked at the time,

As she’d remarked to her friend Dora.

  

He had a special and ghostly presence,

His aroma made her feel slightly faint,

But there was one further thing that clinched it,

The proof that he was truly a saint.

She was a woman of faith and belief,

She didn’t need to have her flames fanned,

But it was right there in front of her,

Truly this Angel sat at God’s right hand.

She knew that she would have missed this vision,

If she’d been travelling by cycle

But there it was clearly, on the label,

In bold, curly letters – “Saint Michael”.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2017

News From Bromham - Dateline Sunday 5th March 2017

Bulletin From Bromham: Dateline – Sunday 5^th March 2017

Here is our weekly round-up of events from Bromham:

                                                    

1.      Red faces all round at last Sunday’s BAFTA (Bromham Area Farming and Tractor Awards) ceremony when the name of the wrong vegetable was announced as the winner.  The crew of “Parsnip Pickers” were already half-way through their acceptance speeches before the error was discovered, and the award for Best Field Vegetable went to the “Carrot Collective”.  An investigation has been launched into how such an error could have been made by the firm of highly-paid consultants.  All seven votes that had been cast had to be subjected to a recount.  The awards for Best Small Vegetable went to “Sprout”, for Leading Legume to “Cauliflower” and for Best Foreign-Sounding Vegetable to “Courgette”.

2.      And in a shock result in a ward of the Parish Council, a chap who was expected to win didn’t.  Another chap who wasn’t expected to win did.  Two others who were in the middle did better than they thought they would, and two others were a bit disappointed.  The swing from one to the other candidate was not huge.  The winning majority was moderate.  The turn-out was fair-to-middling.  The press interest and analysis was enormous.  Voter apathy was absolutely vast.

3.      For details of these and all other Bromham stories, don’t forget to listen to local radio station Carrot FM.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2017

Beneath The Surface

Beneath The Surface

There! Near the reeds, on the far bank

A sinuous, slow movement

Languid and lazy

A suggestion of a dark shape, a shadow

Beneath the silvered surface

The shimmering pond-water

Implacable, cold, lily-covered

Under a slow-warming sun

Its midge-infested meniscus

Disturbed by the easy-rising minnows

Conceals a waiting presence

Snout, and focused steady eye

Belie the beating gills and waving tail

Needled fins and razored teeth

Lie in silent patient deadly wait

Inside a green and grassy cover

Until it is time to strike

To kill and eat

Before disappearing

Back into the depth

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2017

Birthday Boy

Birthday Boy (reflections on being yet another year older, otherwise known as my take on “existential angst”)

It’s funny how things can easily change,

How your view on life drops through the gears,

But your perspective can turn right around,

When you find yourself advancing in years.

I remember the early excitement,

When I was just a very young boy.

The anticipation of birthdays,

Would bring weeks of advancing joy.

How many cards and presents would there be?

When would my mother begin to bake?

How big and what kind of icing,

On top of my own birthday cake?

Would there be a party and some treats?

With games and plenty of laughter,

A day that would stick in the mind,

And provide memories for long after?

But things are all different now,

And I find my trepidation mounting.

After I’d got as far as sixty,

That’s when I really stopped counting.

There’s no special cake I’m having today,

But if bought from a shop you’d need handles.

It would have to be a massive confection,

If there was to be room for all of the candles.

They’d make up a blazing conflagration,

Of that you should have very little doubt,

And I don’t think I’d have the breath these days,

To blow every one of them out.

I’m no longer sure that the day’s all that special.

Why make such a fuss of one single day?

Yesterday had no unique features,

And tomorrow’s just an ordinary day.

The few cards I get from those that remember,

Fall limply through my letter-box.

There isn’t enough of them to make up a pile,

And my birthday hopes are all mocked.

I don’t want to make any bother or fuss:

It would be good to get a nice present,

For I don’t want to be forgotten quite yet,

Or just seen as an ancient monument.

Once I hoped I’d die before I got old,

But you can see I’m not getting younger,

I’ve still got a great zest for life, though,

And for new things I continue to hunger.

And as I reflect on this anniversary,

And I head towards some veneration,

I begin to think about my own children,

Cos I’m talkin’ ‘bout my generation.

So don’t give up on me too soon,

Just because I’m advancing in years.

I shall still go down to the pub most nights,

Yes, I can still sink a few beers!

And as I enter my seventh decade,

I’ve vowed to remain healthy and fit,

I’ll annoy all my friends & family,

And just become a miserable old git.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2017

Pan Haggerty

Recipe for: PAN HAGGERTY

Ingredients:

• 900g maincrop potatoes (King Edward, Maris Piper, Desiree)
• 50g unsalted butter
• 2 onions, peeled & finely chopped
• 1 tblsp sunflower oil
• Sea salt & black pepper
• 100g gruyere or emmenthal, grated

 Method:

1. boil the potatoes in their skins for 20-25 minutes until tender
2. drain & leave to steam for a few minutes
3. peel whilst hot, then grate coarsely
4. heat the oven to 220C/ fan 200C/ gas 7
5. melt a third of the butter in a flame-proof non-stick frying pan, over a gentle heat & sweat the onions for 5 minutes until beginning to colour
6. tip the onions into the grated potato & mix gently
7. in the empty pan, melt another third of the butter & the oil
8. scatter half the onion/ potato mix into the pan & season
9. scatter over the grated cheese
10. finish with the rest of the onion/ potato mixture
11. season again, and gently press down
12. put the pan in the oven & bake for 10 minutes
13. loosen the haggerty, place a baking tray over the top of the pan and carefully invert the cake onto it
14. melt the remaining butter in the hot pan
15. carefully slide the haggerty back into the pan from the tray to brown the other side
16. return the haggerty to the oven for another 15-20 minutes until golden on top
17. slide onto a warm plate, cut into wedges & serve

One Way Ticket (To Mars)

One-Way Ticket (to Mars)

I was looking for a new challenge:

Something to banish senility’s fears,

When I spotted the advertisement,

A good way to spend my retirement years.

It said they were looking for astronauts,

To head on out into deep space,

So I signed myself up for the training,

And made my entry into the space race.

They had a great vision for mankind:

It was a mission to colonise Mars!

We’d be blasting off from the Earth,

And journeying towards the stars.

Yes, we were setting off for the Red Planet,

To establish a colony, or a base-camp,

Like the pioneers in the days of old,

I felt like Columbus as I mounted the ramp.

The blast-off was truly spectacular,

As our rocket rose towards the night sky,

And Mission Control raised a big cheer,

As they sadly waved us good-bye.

Then we pulled out of Earth’s gravity,

And, as we carefully avoided The Moon,

It hadn’t yet even occurred to me,

That I’d become a hostage to fortune.

You see, when a man settles down for a while,

And there’s no alcohol on board, no drinking,

His thoughts turn to existential matters,

And that’s when I got round to some thinking.

If we’ve dropped all of our boosters,

And we’re voyaging in this tin can,

How are we going to get back from Mars?

Won’t we be stuck there, to a man?

I voiced my concerns to the captain,

And mentioned it to the rest of the crew,

But they all just fell about in their laughter,

And said that they thought that I knew!

It turns out that this is a one-way journey!

I’ve been issued with a single ticket!

There’s no possible way to return -

Well – I mean – that’s simply not cricket!

  

I knew that it would take a long time,

If mankind was to make his mark,

But I didn’t realise just how final,

That day when I’d turned up to embark.

We’re to be the first of our species,

To land on Mars – that is our fate,

And if we survive our arrival,

Our next job will be to pro-create!

Now I’ve had a look round at the rest of the crew,

And there’s none I’d want go out with on a date,

So it could be a long, lonely existence,

If I’m the only one not taking a mate.

There’s one girl who’s been looking at me,

And paying me lots of attention,

I think I know what’s on her agenda,

I think I can spot her intention!

So here I am, trapped in this spaceship,

With only the Sun’s gravity to tow it,

Heading off to a fate worse than death –

It’s space, Jim, but not as we know it.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2017