Walking through Towcester on a sunny afternoon with a Beach Boys vinyl album under my arm today. Now that, apart from it being a Music For Pleasure one, was cool. Found it in the charity shop where I had gone looking for a pair of sunglasses. They didn't have any sunglasses but, as well as the vinyl, they had a reasonably loud shirt which I bought too. Now, you may be thinking that the burst of sun had affected my brain but this was all part of preparation for a party this evening to celebrate Adrian Pinckard reaching 50. One shouldn't really mention people's ages in public places like this but he really doesn't look any older than over ten years ago when I landed up living next to him in the village. I can only conclude that his years are shorter than most of ours. He is a bit shorter than the rest of the Paddock Party Committee so maybe that's what it is.
And, of course, to mark such a notable event, there has to be a poem:
The Artist In Residence
Quite flirty at thirty and bold,
And naughty at forty, I’m told,
All I can recall
Is that we’ve had a ball -
And guys like you just don’t get old.
Always bright and ever cheery
Cool and smart and gay
(That’s not the first part of query –
Whatever they say, by the way).
You daily drove your little Polo;
Inside you sat so low
I had to peer across to see
If there, indeed, a driver be.
Then one day in the morning,
Just as the light was dawning,
I saw the car but no-one there
Seems like you must have got out somewhere…
Somewhere on the straight A5
You’d shouted out “Screw this life!”
“I’m leaving! Get stuffed!”
“That’s it! Had enough!”
You’d held out your thumb
Like a hitchhiker bum
To get a ride home
Where no-one’ll moan
About lesson plans, SARS,
Or some silly arse
Wanting ECM themes
In all of your schemes,
And Equality embedded
(Not to mention the dreaded
About black and white pictures).
“Hooray!” You cry, as some chap stops,
He offers a lift – but your face drops
As he opens the door and there inside
Is one of those students you could never abide.
He goes away and you seem quite forlorn,
Until you hear the sound of a familiar horn.
“Drunk again?” I ask as I open the door,
“Nudge nudge, wink wink, I’ll say no more?”
“No. I’m free. On the dole!”
“What, you’ve left that old hole?”
“Yes. Oh, what a great day –
No more MK!”
“So, where shall we go?
“To the movies, a show?”
“I could do with a beer
“But no money, I fear.”
“Perhaps they’ll make me an offer I can’t refuse:
“Get out and we’ll give you a big box of booze.”
“That would be good -
“Yes, really they should -
“All in all it that’s quite a good ruse.”
“Now I can do all the PPC signs
“The minutes, too, and the funny lines
“I’ll be Chairman, Chief Saladeer too
“Quorate with relish, yes, that’ll do.”
“I’ll build my own trains
“Mow grass when it rains
“And I can whiz around the garden
“Even fart , get a hard on, without saying ‘Pardon’”
“I’ll be king of erections
“Give you astronomical directions
“A Ph. D in Gazebos
“And bad innuendos.”
Oh boy, won’t it be great -
For Paddock Party 8
To have AP in the tents:
Our Artist In Residence.