We have gazed at Temples and cruised the Nile,
Enjoyed this Land with a sun-kissed smile
We've been coaxed "Come to Mama, Mama's here"
By our wise and wired-up guide Abir.

But now we're told by those that know
Our journey home might well be slow.
It seems that Iceland, short of cash,
Has paid us back in smoke and ash!


Air-lines are confused, confounded,
As each and every plane is grounded.
But fellow tourists fret not nor fear
For Brown our hallowed Pharaoh's here.

With his Moral Compass held on high
and Mandy, Prince of Darkness nigh
He'll send us rafts, canoes and boats,
(But just for those with Labour votes!)
But when these futile efforts fail
Face Folkstone in the West and wail
Saaaaaaa....Gaaaaaa!!!

At this time of looming crisis
Place not your trust in Gods like Isis,
Nor heed the Siren songs of Brown,
For Saga's "Ash"* won't let you down!

Egypt, April 2010.
* "Ash" = Ashref.(tour manager).

Some would opt for the warmth of Devon
In which to spend their Seventh Heaven,
Or, failing that, the charms of Wales
But doughty Martyn chose the Dales!

With his precious Time he's been no Miser,
For, in familiar Hat and Visor,
He's mown with care our River's banks,
And justly earned our grateful Thanks.

The Memorial Site, the Village Hall,
And the Tidy-up in early Fall,
Have flourished under Martyn's steer
With little fuss and much good Cheer

High among Life's greatest Joys
Was to be one of Martyn's "River Boys,"
When, in the guise of culling Cress,
We'd splash around and make a Mess. *

To those concerned please rest assured,
The re-sited Martyn won't be bored,
This Hercules will find new Labours
To shock and awe his Yorkist Neighbours

We wish Him and His, the very best
As in the Dales they come to rest
That they'll be missed is all too plain
East Garston's Loss is Yorkshire's Gain

With our final Thanks an earnest Plea,
Please Martyn watch that Family Tree,
For more than once we've heard it said
"Yairkshire born, Yairkshire bred,
Thick in t'arm and thick in t'Head"


* Martyn excepted.

Yes the death of Baby P. was sad,
But things are not entirely bad.
Peoples' views are far too wild,
It wasn't us who killed that Child.
Though badly duped by those who killed
We ticked each box. All forms were filled

I step on the Scales and loudly groan, my previous Weight plus half a Stone!
A Quantum Leap from Fat to 'Thin requires I put some Gym-time in.
Once I'm there I feel quite keen and choose myself a sleek Machine.
With Sense I shun an early Slog and set the Speed at "Gentle Jog'"

Then in strides young "Mr Superfit", muscles rippling, superb Kit,
Designer Shorts and matching Vest. I pull in my Tum, puff out my Chest
Bulge the Biceps, flex the Pecs, salvage one of Nature's Wrecks.
But once he wires himself for sound his sun-tanned Legs begin to pound.

In vain I try to match his Pace, heart rate soaring, purpled Face,
Forget the Cough, ignore the Wheeze, play down the pain from creaking Knees
Copious sweat flows by the Litre as I traverse each tortured Metre.
I'm just a crusty OAP but this young Tyke won't better me.

But sadly Nature has it's way, the price of Pride's too high to pay.
For though the Willpowers not at fault my jellied Legs flop to a Halt.
"No Pain no Gain !" the "Regulars" cry and now I know the reason why
They push themselves until they drop. ....It's oh so lovely when You stop!

,

We are Amy's Army and We've marched around Beijing
Though greying at the Temples We're up for anything.

Early in the Morning she drags us from our Rooms
"Forget the Hair,
Let's hit the Square,
The Palace and the Tombs!".

We've seen Silk made, admired the Jade,
Had our Spirits rise and fall,
But when feet drag She'll raise that Flag
And drive Us up the Wall *

Up to date
We've been sedate
But Tomorrow We'll be Rotters.
For, if We can, We'll take Xian
And stuff the Terracottas!.

We are Amy's Army and We'll face down any Test.
When we leave this Shore,
They'll cry for more,
We simply are the Best!

* Great Chinese variety

When you had gone I began to wonder
How long my love would last.
Engendered by your presence
Would it die once you had passed,

Melt like a fragile Snowflake,
Drifting in the Winter Sun,
Or fade as the shimmering Butterfly
When Summer's golden days are done?

If finite would it endure the passing years
Or, un-sustained, with the flight of time
Be stretched and snap asunder
Like an over-tautened length of twine?

No. My love for you is like a gentle river
That Day by Day, unchallenged flows,
And steadfastly moves towards you.
Set on it's course it stronger grows.

Early Morning Mists Arise
Distorting distant Views
Drift like Wraiths through Glade and Wood
Softening Summer's vibrant Hues.

Then gently lay a Blanket down
On golden Fields of ripening Grains,
Wreathe empty Nests in russet Trees,
Find hidden Fruits down Country Lanes.

In the Dawning Hours the Mists held Sway,
But now their Day is done
For they fade as quickly as they came,
Vanquished by the waxing Sun.

Sometimes We’ll take to the open Fields,
And turn our Faces to the Sun,
The Old Folk amble stiffly,
Around them lively Children run.

Some stressful days We’ll argue
Act thoughtlessly as well,
But all these things we do in Freedom….
Thanks to Those who bravely fell.