Why Can’t My Life be a Musical ?

Artwork by the talented dog lover, Erik K

For Sophie, whose question this was

I wish my life was a musical
Or something even better
Some G and S would be the best
My life ? The Operetta.

I wish my life was a musical
Not this complicated thing
I don’t want to trudge this weary path
I want to dance and sing

In musicals no spots pop out
When the heroine’s had a snog,
The hero never farts at all
Or leaves the seat up on the bog.
When they’re looking for an answer
To a thorny problem-ette
They just sing and then a dancer
Does a lovely pirouette –
and before you know what’s happened
There’s no problem any more !
The thing that was wrong was solved in the song
Whilst swooshing across the floor

In a musical, the good bits
(& I’d like a few of these)
are repeated for you later
In a wonderful reprise.
The sad bit in the middle
The bit the makes you want to weep
Is cancelled out by lovely things
And the hunk you get to keep !

So You up there in heaven
Don’t you sit there being fickle
Get off your arse and help me fast
Create this new mu-sickle !
And I’m not just in the chorus
Singing Alto ‘cause I can …
I wanna be the leading lady,
I wanna pick my leading man

I wish my life was a musical
I want to live life, not just doze it
And through good or ill, I’ll remember still
It is my show – I composed it.


For George, the best godson in the very long history of godsons
On the occasion of Michael and Andrea’s wedding

I went to my auntie’s last weekend
‘cos my cousin got married you see
that isn’t as odd or as strange as it sounds
‘cos he’s quite a bit older than me

In the garden they had a contraption
for torturing boys of my size
It looked like a table with mats on
and springs all attached at the sides

In the middle the surface was rubber
It was flat and looked stable to me
I turned and I smiled to my brudder
His eyes glinted malevolently

“It’s a trampoline George” said my brother
but I couldn’t quite fathom his meaning
I knew perfectly well how to trample
but I’d never done trampling whilst leaning

Now let me put this in perspective
I’m one and a bit, nearly two
Imagine my horror when Mummy elected
to join in with torturing me too

She lifted me onto the surface
It seemed to be soft under bum
I stood up (I’m getting quite good at that now)
and I started to walk towards Mum

Imagine my shock when the rubber
Gave way when I started to walk
and then shot up and launched me right into the sky
like a blond haired blue eyed champagne cork

But gravity’s no laughing matter
It brought me back down to the mat
before flipping me up like a coin being tossed
I went base over apex and then Splat!

When the bouncing stopped I was erratic
I walked like Dad’s Wonston Arms friend
And the rubber had filled me with static
and my hair was all standing on end

Richard and The French Cow Crisis

An emergency happened one morning
And nobody seems to know how
A garden which should have been empty
Was suddenly filled up with cow
The cows were all eating the flowers
Bovine Petit Dejeuner
They must have been in there for hours
How they got there no-one could say
We sent for our own master herder
Who herded up all of the boys
(Well really he just screamed blue murder
and woke them up with all the noise)
Their present for Jacques that morning
Wasn’t gold, wasn’t silver or cash
Instead what they gave him that caused him to smile
Was a garden quite empty of vache

My Dad’s Job and Other Important Things

For George, the finest godson since the invention of godsons

My father’s an eminent sailor,
though I’m not sure what eminent means
I think it’s his work clothes are tailored
and he doesn’t commute wearing jeans

His hair’s short and straight, it’s not wavy
it’s not spiked up or permed, it’s not curled
‘cos you have to be smart in the Navy
when you’re travelling all ‘round the world.

My Dad says he’s sailed the ocean
But the ships these days haven’t got sails
There’s engines that give the ship motion
It isn’t reliant on gales

He once said he ‘steamed’ into port but
he wouldn’t explain it, he weaselled
I don’t think there’s steam engines now though
But it just sounds wrong when you say ‘dieselled’

I’ve sailed with my Dad – in a dinghy
It’s quite like a frigate, but smaller
I’d quite like to captain the warship
but my Dad says you have to be taller

My Dad says it’s war every Thursday
when they’re training the Captains at sea
In the city, Mum says, war is five days a week
Which sounds a lot harder to me

In the city though guns aren’t encouraged
The only shells you see come with your lunch
and I’d rather fire salvos of missiles and rockets
than worry about credit going ‘crunch’

For now though there are things more important
Affairs of great import to me
Like isn’t it time we got a puppy ?
And what am I having for tea ?

Four Young Boys

On the occasion of a family holiday

Four young gentlemen came to France
A holiday chateau awaited
Their mothers and fathers and uncles and aunts
Were all simply there to be baited
The gentlemen played in the fountain
They bombed and they dived in the pool
And probably learned far more naughty French words
Than they’ll ever get taught at school
So Timothy, Charlie, Georgie and Tink
Ces cadeaux sont pour vous
I forgot to tell you earlier I think …
“Caca” is French for poo …