November 18, 2007 | Ian Bland | Leave a comment This week’s poem I wrote for Jon’s JVG Radio Method on 3RRR is a ripper.The topic for today is “RIP”. I cant believe that in 10 years of doing the show that it hadn’t been used. Click to hear today’s poem… [audio:JVG_Poem20071118.mp3] Jon and I spent most of our chat “neither confirming nor denying” the rumours that are flying around regarding the upcoming TRIPLE R BBQ DAY – You might want to keep SUNDAY 2ND OF DECEMBER free. I have been busy composing ditties especially for the event. For the fans of “Rabbit” McGorry, he makes an appearance in today’s poem Ed Bates once again fulfilling the appropriately summery backing obligations on slide guitar today. Actually this week I want to feature a bit more Ed’s playing. Ed also plays slide for Dan Warner’s “Warner Corner” segment on the show. Today Dan did a great swing arrangement of Blondie’s “Rip Her To Shreds”. Ed ‘s playing really shines. Have a listen here – [audio:DanWarner_RipHerToShreds.mp3] RIP “the hottest day of summer” spruiked the front page of “the sun” one of the very rare occasions the bastards got it right “the city melts” declared “the age” not to be outdone the forecast from the bureau offered no hope of respite it was “piggy” mills suggestion, as most suggestions were while on a family outing, he claimed he’d found the perfect beach he was considered, on things aquatic, to be quite a connoisseur what “piggy”failed to mention, was it took three hours to reach a bus, two trains, another bus, and then fifty minutes walking the carriages like saunas, no air-con in those days the only sound was panting, even “piggy” wasn’t talking as we stumbled down the beach track like a band of castaways an unusually timid “piggy” muttered, ‘just beyond this sand dune” did his best at sounding cheerful, but we were having none of that that dune became another, then another, and another and another, then another, and another after that with hope all but extinguished, was this our final mad crusade? no other sign of life, not a single blade of grass our “sunny boys” had melted and almost out of lemonade when before us, like a postcard, appeared water, smooth as glass we tumbled down the dune and fairly sprinted to the shore competing for the honour to be the first to take a dip turned out our celebrations were a little premature more ominous than the dunes, a sign warned “danger rip” we nearly murdered “piggy”, had him grovelling in fear squashed jelly fish in his hair, while “rabbit” held his hands we wet our towels and flicked “piggy’s” more than ample rear then for maximum discomfort we filled his speedos up with sand all afternoon we lay there like snags upon a grill salty beads of sweat appeared, in an instant vaporized the water like a mirror, teased, a very bitter pill stranded on the beach, besieged by half a billion flies the water looked so calm, not a ripple, not a sound “rabbit” said that raisins were invisible to the eye we suggested he meant currents, but “rabbit” stood his ground his mother always said, “he was the orange of her eye” we promised we’d be home by six, it was going to be a squeeze as we trekked across the dunes we must have looked a sorry lot our mouths as dry as dust, like a cracker without cheese glowing red like lobsters, left boiling in the pot on the track we passed an old bloke, he was heading for a swim told him not to bother, he’d only waste his time he looked somewhat bemused, then gave a knowing grin then laughter as he told us the story of the sign “everyday at six am, tom bates, the co-op boss takes a swim down at this beach regardless of the weather for sixteen years beside him was his dog, a kelpie cross as game as he was loyal, but on the challenged side of clever” “last thursday as they climbed the dunes, the old dog fell and died the locals loved that mutt, and that he died close to the sea he was dead before he hit the sand, his heart gave out mid stride and the sign you read as “danger rip” says “danger (danga) r.i.p.” © Copyright 2007 Ian Bland Share this:TweetEmailMoreTelegram