Monday, 4 March 2013


holding hands
we look out of the picture window
across rolling warwickshire fields of sheep and pasture
we talk of cabbages and kings
and other silly things
who is this chap called henry?
and what is he doing in arden?
(henley-in-arden, get it?)
just outside the station
she picks up a funny lump of concrete
little stones held together by dusty cement
an unlikely treasure
to be taken home later
and smashed to pieces with a hammer
we stroll into town
mad fools among the throngs of earnest sightseers
the pub is crowded for sunday lunch
but we get lucky and audaciously nab a table
she tucks into her bangers and mash with gusto
and downs her happy monkey smoothie in one
while i happily quaff my pint of st davids ale
at the museum of mechanical art and design
we press buttons and set off movement sensors
setting in motion all manner of weird mechanisms
her favourite is an old-fashioned circus scene
where a cannonball is fired through a hoop held aloft by a dodo
into the mouth of an eagerly waiting crocodile
we make our way down to the river to see the swans
crossing the avon on mediaeval stone bridges
heavy with age
on the train home
we interrupt the silence of the crowded compartment
laughing and giggling at outlandish peppa pig plot lines
mr panda's head lopped off by a stray helicopter rotor blade
henry hamster electrocuted after sticking his paw in a socket
a mad day out indeed

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