For some inexplicable reason this morning I reeled off a poem in the style of Dylan Thomas's Under Milk Wood. I was remembering when we first met, and I used to pick Chris up to drive to work and I loved his cologne!
Boyo Chris coming to the car
In his tight, bright suit
And his neat white shirt.
All smelling of the ocean on a cool crisp summer's day.
Smelling of lemons straight from the garden.
Picked at sunset.
Stolen from Mrs Jones's lemon tree
Grown to make curd with...
This, of course, has to be declaimed in a Welsh accent; it doesn't work otherwise. I have no idea why this happened, but it did put me in mind of Ern and Fatty in Enid Blyton's wonderful The Mystery of the Hidden House.
The dark dire deeds upon the hill
Strike my heart with a deadly chill,” began Fatty.
“The robbers rob and the looters loot,
We’d better be careful they don’t all shoot,
They’re deadly men, they’re fearful foes,
What end they’ll come to, nobody knows!
Oooh, the dark dire deeds upon the hill
Strike my heart with a deadly chill
This poem was greeted with shrieks of delighted laughter by all the Find Outers, even Buster joining in the applause. Fatty had reeled it off without stopping. Only Ern didn’t laugh. He listened solemnly, with open mouth, to Fatty’s recitation, admiration literally pouring out of him. “Fatty! You’re a reel genius. Why, you took my first line and you made up the whole pome without stopping. I’d never have thought of all that, if I’d sat down the whole day long.” “Ah - that’s the secret,” said Fatty, wickedly. “You don’t sit down - you must stand up and it comes".
So, standing up and declaiming is the answer....maybe I could declaim some more...