Today is my birthday so my gift to myself,

Is a customised poem, not one off the shelf,

My darling and I’ll have a drink, or three,

And all of the toasts will be directed at me,

I dont want a present, but some good food will do,

To keep us both going, all the day through,

My darling’s a great cook, but she doesn’t bake,

So we’ll finish off with an ice cream cake!

Let me take you to our favourite spot,

To drink and eat food, cold or hot,

To sit and work on their free wi-fi,

To listen to music, watch the world go by,

To chat with friends, to joke, to laugh,

There’s a wonderful landlord,and friendly staff,

So if you’re up for a pub run with style and skill,

Then Westow House really fits the bill!

One William Owen, from Newcastle on Tyne,

Developed a  drink that he considered quite fine,

Designed to bring energy, succour and aid,

To those who were sick, whose nerves were quite frayed,

I was on the road to recovery, I had it made,

When my mum poured me my first Lucozade.

Driving to Heathrow, there was an iconic sign,

Of a Lucozade bottle pouring liquid sunshine,

It was a prominent ad board just by the M4,

And was in situ till 2004.

We all mourned its loss, bemoaned its lack,

So in 2010, the sign was put back.

The drink was rebranded, not now for the sick,

It’s for the sporty, it’s bright and it’s slick.

So if you want some sugars, some pep and some fizz,

Just grab one of these bottles, it’s really the biz!

With apologies to Gilbert & Sullivan for kind of cuckooing the first line…!

I am the very model of a modern girl,

I drink coffee for chutzpah, tea if I’m in a whirl,

So it’s Espresso when I need an adrenaline shot,

But Keemun or Darjeeling for calmness, as likely as not!

I’m a sucker for iced coffee, I’m in seventh heaven,

But peppermint tea is one of my top eleven,

So drain your cup reader, of coffee or tea,

And celebrate the cult of the cuppa along with me!

There isn’t a quick route to the south-west,
M4 and M5 is what’s quickest, so is it the best?
I do not think so, because the M4,
Is fast and it’s furious – it’s also a bore,
And it seems like Via Michelin agrees with me,
They say the best route is the A303.
It snakes through the country, it isn’t direct,
It’ll challenge your patience, your intellect,
At times it will narrow to one lane each way,
And you’re left in a queue for most of a day,
But catch it on days when the traffic’s sublime,
And you’ll reach your destination in the shortest of time,
For example, you travel on a Christmas Day,
And a four hour journey is 2 hours each way.
If your reason deserts you, your patience is spent,
You’ll catch sight of Stonehenge on a long, slow descent,
And your courage returns and your vigour renews,
The journey is then one that you feel you would choose,
So, traveling westward? I think you’ll agree,
The only way there is the A303!

These standing stones, these monoliths, that we all admire,
Were dragged here many moons ago, to marvel at, inspire.
The mystery of their provenance is hard to entertain,
But there they are, defiant, proud, on this vast and open plain.
Some monoliths lie two abreast, some just simply stand,
As if they were just scattered by some vast and cosmic hand.
The architect of this grand design knew of the effect,
That viewing these stones from miles around would have on heart and intellect.

Our little dog died yesterday, the grief we feel is deep,
But he died with grace and dignity; he was put to sleep.
We couldn’t bear to see him suffer, as indeed he would,
Because the stroke that floored him did not let him function as he should.
He filled our lives with love and joy, he cannot be replaced,
Our lives are emptier without him but that’s a fact that must be faced.
If you felt depressed or lonely, Macgregor would be there,
He’d make you laugh and sing again, a dog beyond compare.
If you were feeling uninspired, he’d get you out your rut,
He was a harum sacrum reprobate, a mischievous wee mutt.
He died on my mother’s birthday*, and I’d like to think,
That she’s now looking after him, giving him food and drink.
We loved you so Macgregor, your boots we cannot fill,
You graced our minds, our lives, our hearts, and you always will.

* My mother died several years ago. And she, like everyone else, adored Macgregor.