Category Archives: Depression

The Premier League Football Show! Drama, farce, heart-rending finales! Or a cheap slipshod Horror Show. Direct from Manchester, we present-

Dribbling On.

I’ve been reduced to tears with what I’ve just sadly seen,
A bad Shakespearean tragedy, played out on the big screen,
I saw a dull first act, then a direr second half, ay, but the rub
Was seeing City outperform United, down at our neutral pub.

How those happy blue-clad lads scoffed and laughed
As I sobbed in the shadows, hand clenched to my Draught,
To drown my sorrows it’s swig, swallow, belch- then repeat;
But not even Boddingtons can dull the pain of this bitter defeat.

I rewound the game in my mind, I compared the teams,
My United looked all clapped-out at the Theatre of Dreams,
Especially statuesque Pogba, devoid of emotion- or motion;
The only thing to get him goin’ would be some Sennapod potion.

Our offence seemed content to quietly sit back
Hoping indolence would be the best form of attack,
The City midfield were all fleet of foot and quick of mind,
Ours gave chase, ran all over the place, always two feet behind.

But our backline stood tall and strong, stout and true,
They and the keeper conspired to keep out all- but two;
So all I can do is put on a smile and say ‘the best team won,’
I love Old Trafford, but Gunnar, there’s rebuildin’ to be done.

Walking woozily to the bar I recall when we were Best,
Now the froth has gone, up at the top are teams I detest,
It’s with tears in my beer I cry ‘Christ, how can life be so cruel?’
God above, my choice for Champion is down to City or Liverpool.

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Seasons come and go, but winter is the only one that, depressingly, doesn’t go fast enough.

Things Are Picking Up At Walgreens.

We were out for a last Fall sunny Sunday drive-
The forecast says a Winter blast is due to arrive,
As around the picturesque river road we wended
It was plain to see our long Indian Summer had ended.

In the breeze the golden leaves were autumnally falling,
An ill wind was coming, a most unwelcome cold calling,
Soon it would be months of dark depressing grey days,
Soon my summery smile would be impossible to raise.

The chill of Winter, when good humour hibernates,
When goodwill towards ones good fellows dissipates,
Winter, the time of running noses and lingering coughs,
When there’s more downs than ups, less peaks than troughs.

But

On gloomy winter days when you cannot face yourself
Help is at hand, up in the medicine cabinet, top shelf,
Push aside the Vicks, the Sudafed, the razor, so keen,
And all is happiness and light, thanks to… Fluoxetine!

It is better to have loved and lost, some do say. I say, ‘yeah, right.’

Anniversary Blues.

Sometimes it’s the simple little things;
The way a new sprung sparrow witlessly sings,
Now, what a hollow feeling that birdsong brings
And dark thoughts of a sunny day and wedding rings.

…On the beach, on the sand,
A gleam of gold on her left hand,
A joyous time for our happy band,
And did we not say ‘ain’t love grand?’

Of one thing we two were sure,
Our love was unadulterated and pure,
For evermore she’d be my one amour,
Our love was truly bound to endure.

Winter came, left me chilled to the core,
The cold I hold in my heart has yet to thaw,
The view we’d shared, of that golden shore
Offers me not warmth nor comfort anymore.

It might be the sight of a gull wheeling on high,
A touch of white, up in a clear bright blue empty sky,
Down here I’m alone to hear its stupid senseless cry
Cruelly tail off in the wind, to drift, to fade, to die.

Crystal Palace play host to Brighton And Hove Albion. Old friends always find succor and comfort at Selhurst Park. (Palace 1, Brighton 2.)

Home Truths.

Oh, how the Crystal Palace fans love to roam-
They know there’s little joy in playing at home.

Eagles fans and players revel in their travelling ways
Since Selhurst Park offers ’em cold comfort these days.

The staff at Selhurst Park remain convivial and charming
But heaving out the welcome mat to Hove is most alarming.

And so goes the game, Deja vu, Palace do what we do best,
Letting Brighton Albion linger on, like an unwelcome guest.

Selhurst Park is becoming an Away teams Field of Dreams,
Surely we’re taking ‘charity begins at home’ to extremes.

So much for Hi Ho, off to work we joyously go… Guess I’ve got them post-holiday blues.

Workaday.

Oh, yes, it’s back to work I’ve gone,
Here I am, sat upon my sit-upon,

Gazing blankly at a blinking screen
Brooding on the good days just been,

Looking out at a bright bright sunshiny day
Thinking darkly ‘Christmas is 333 days away.’

Hi ho, hi ho, oh no! It’s off to work we go. Oh, woe is me.

No Holiday Camp.

Tomorrow is the day of reckoning,
The joy of gainful employment is beckoning.

Say, for anotherĀ year
‘I’m happy to be here.’

After my holidays my joyous job holds no allure,
From vacation to vocation, it’s my job to endure.

Not much help, being a blubber-mouth when a strong voice is required. Words can fail me sometimes, but my family never does.

In My Eye.

I sat misty eyed all through the eulogy,
Fine words heard makes it hard to see,
When my daughter rose I went to her side,
To stand strong, some comfort to provide.

If she faltered with her words I’d said
I’d take on the recitation in her stead,
But when I stood forth, as if to speak
Well, damn my eyes, they began to leak.

I had said I would speak up without a quaver
But on looking down the words began to waver,
So I stood by, mournfully manfully staunching my eye,
Ah, but my daughter spoke far more eloquently than I.