Photo By Jools Thatcher

Photo By Jools Thatcher

The theme for this week’s JVG Radio Method poem is “ Happy “.

Good afternoon Jon, and once again greetings from Coventry.

You may recall I mentioned our kitchen was recently flooded by raw effluent when the local sewerage pumping station went into meltdown – happily the kitchen is currently being gutted and refitted, and without a kitchen you’re forced to become very resourceful.

Firstly, you can boil eggs in the kettle, but it does make your tea or coffee taste a bit like Ed’s socks.

Similarly, the clothes dryer is perfect for heating popcorn, chicken nuggets, and de-frosting garlic bread – but not, repeat, not lasagne.

The toilet makes a great coffee table – as long as you remember to put the seat down.

Under no circumstances attempt to grill a steak in the toaster – especially one with pepper sauce.

Finally, never, ever, try any of the above – well, except for maybe the toilet seat.

Happy Days.

To play this poem directly in your browser – just click the “play” button below:

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


Exiled in Cov: marooned on a farm
The holes in the roof drip bucolic charm

Talking of dripping: it’s bucketing rain
I’ve twisted my ankle, I’m wet and in pain

Combined with the flu, sure, I feel a bit rough
But miserable? Never! I’m happy enough

The sewerage pump failed, and flooded our kitchen
I’m knee deep in turds but you won’t hear me bitchin’

The odour, at meal times, is foul, I suppose
But I’m happy to eat with a peg on my nose

Stick my head out the window, if I’m in doubt
The pong from the silage almost cancels it out

My car threw a hose: seized without warning
Even wreckers won’t touch it. Do you reckon I’m mourning?

Six miles to the shops: not that far to go
I’m happy to walk – in two foot of snow

So I’m stranded, it stinks, I’m ill and it’s raining
The reason I’m happy, why I’m not complaining?

I’m happy because of the general election
That I’m twelve thousand miles in the other direction

I’ve escaped the campaign, accusation and bluster
All the devious scams the parties can muster

The terrible ads that repeat and repeat
The slander, the filth, the lies and deceit

The one man cartel that charades as the press
Are we so naïve? Or just couldn’t care less

Promises meted as tricks by a whore
Then dumped, as Howard once described, as non-core

Whatever it takes: power at all cost
Votes may be won, but integrity’s lost

Yet we know – or we should, when it’s all done and dusted
Whoever’s elected can’t really be trusted

The campaigning stench, like a rank fungal bloom
Makes my sewer filled kitchen smell like perfume

So I’m happy to wait till this circus is through
In exile, in pain, in the rain and the poo

© Copyright 2013 Ian Bland

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