Did you see that show on the telly last night
I’ll have a cider or a lager, all-right.
The discussion and craik can go on and on,
then before you know it, the evening has gone
it’s one of the reasons we go to a pub,
no membership needed for this type of club.
In some may be music, in others none,
some even have pub-games, competitive fun
A pub-quiz one evening, refreshments half-way,
teams from the village, some from farther away.
There’s pool, perhaps skittles, some unusual ones too
nowadays though, you’re more likely to view
a TV in the corner and on each wall you can see,
no chance for conversation with good company.
So if you don’t like football or sports played by teams
you might as well stay home, with a takeout it seems,
comfortable seating and far cheaper beer,
only one thing is missing, the great atmosphere.
Mournful, I stood observing the once ornate merchant’s houses that looked out over the empty, deserted wharves, My sense of nostalgia rising as I remembered the times before, when with each rising tide the hustle and bustle would begin. The rasping breath of steam-powered cranes as they swung the heavy bales from ship to shore. The grunts of heaving stevedores manhandling the trucks, each piled high with sacks and bale, to the gaping wooden, warehouse doors. The squeal of the pulleys calling the unwary to the hooks plummeting to the ground, hungrily anticipating the next profit-making mouthful to be hoisted.
My first and instant reaction to the photo was a flashback to an amazing concert I was lucky enough to attend a few years ago. A Pogues annual tour where the band played their amazing Xmas hit, the wonderful, “Fairytale of New York,” which of course includes the melodic, lyrically masterful phrase, “You scumbag, you maggot, you cheap lousy faggot.” What else would you expect me to think of?
