Stef

Stef is a chap I have had the good fortune to work with and somebody who I regard as a firm friend. Nobody is more authoritative on 80s music (disco, soul, etc) than he. After going out with Ash and myself on Tuesday night, he returned home, only to be traumatised by poetry in his dreams. Here is the result, emailed to me the day after the night before.

'Awake and aware?'

I woke this morning, things in my head.
I wrote them down, and this is what they said:

A raindrop grows, a teardrop falls.
People living, in shopping malls,

A fresh cow pat, a garden rose.
Is that a peg, stuck on your nose?

Winter’s cold, heat by wire.
It’s not really, a mad bonfire

Wellies in the garden, stiletto's for a hoar,
Do you really know, what are these boots made for?

The rain is wet, the sun is high,
A nice big brolly, to keep you dry.

Big aircon cars, Soaps on the telly
I think I’d rather be, Gene Kelly,

The rainbow’s end, the journey start,
Are you scared, to take a part?

I wrote down, what you have read,
so now I’m going, back to bed


Here is Stef, with his magical performing eyebrows, doing their impersonation of Dennis Healey, or is it Leonid Brezhnev?