Photo By Jools Thatcher

Photo By Jools Thatcher

The theme for this week’s JVG Radio Method poem is “Thomas – Tom – Tommy“.

Afternoon Jon
Back in Coventry this week after my Puffin spotting expedition to Wales.

I think you can guess how many puffins we spotted – zero of course.

I actually don’t believe they exist – I think David Attenborough shoved red noses on a flock of sparrows so he could flog more documentaries.

Enough on Puffins

As for the rest of the trip, I’ll let this week’s poem tell the story…

To play this poem directly in your browser – just click the “play” button below:
[audio:JVG_Poem20130506.mp3]

Also have a listen to the songs on the New Album “Angel In Reverse


Thomas – Tom – Tommy

Set off for the Welsh coast
A pleasant few days break
Four hours nineteen minutes
Google claimed the trip would take

Weaving through the midlands
Thinking “This will be a snap”
So confident was I
Didn’t even take a map

Instead, my new friend Tom Tom
With his wily Sat Nav brain
I’d take care of driving
While he wore all the pain

We sallied forth through Shrewley
Snitterfield, Kite Green
North Piddle, Upton Snodsbury
And a hundred more, between

Tom Tom took some tweaking
But seemed to have it mastered
Though I couldn’t fault his knowledge
He was a cocky little bastard

Social skills, clearly
Were outside his expertise
Turn this way, turn that way
Never once a “please”

But a few miles short of Gloucester
Tom Tom lost the plot
Either he got bored
Confused or just forgot

As we approached the Severn
He was out by just a smidge
He got us to the river
Sadly, nowhere near a bridge

But Tom Tom knew a shortcut
Just around the bend
Ten miles down a back lane
Took us straight to – a dead end

Now none of us are perfect
He deserved another chance
Then I saw a sign to Dover
He was taking us to France

I turned back North to Gloucester
Tom Tom didn’t want to go
Liked everything done his way
Put on a dreadful show

Screaming out directions
Followed by “Recalculating”
While I didn’t mind precocious
This was bloody irritating

When we hit a roundabout
That Tom Tom hadn’t found
The wanker just ignored us
While we went round and round

I tried to push his buttons
But it didn’t help things much
I finally got him talking
But he’d only speak in Dutch

That dummy spitting techno brat
Was itching for a fight
I told him he could go to hell
He told me to turn right

Finito – friendship over
I pulled out Tom Tom’s jack
As befits a back seat driver
I tossed him in the back

I soldiered on, unaided
Without my navigator
Finally made the border
Albeit nine hours later

I’d calmed down by the Beacons
And turned Tom Tom back on
He behaved himself till journey’s end
But the chemistry was gone

Alas I had to tell him
It was time we parted ways
I’d be heading back to Cov
It was best, for all, he stays

He retired to Little Haven
Ironic, I suppose
Only one road in and one road out
On the edge of all he knows

Still, I found the perfect digs
For someone so pedantic
In a hundred foot of water
On the floor of the Atlantic

In a bed of his own making
Forever Tom Tom lies
To recalculate his failings
Until his battery dies

© Copyright 2013 Ian Bland

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