When it comes to travel and music, look for that driving beat, something that doesn’t drive you crazy.

Hit It Off.

We’d take in a long road trip getting to our holiday destination
So we settled back after settling on the good old Oldies station,
On cruise control we hummed along, signal clear and loud and strong,
Golden oldies, transported back to the old days for which we long.

But on this long trip, something felt strange indeed,
Today our treasured songs sounded somewhat hackneyed,
Every song they played we’d heard many times before,
All too soon my partner in harmony started to snore.

I heard the Eagles reiterate their Californian lament
And just as I thought they’d never leave, they went,
Up until now I’d found them soothingly appealing,
Two songs later I’d lost that peaceful easy feeling.

On the hour I was treated to the best of Fleetwwod Mac,
Six of the best (and the rest) back to back to back,
Ten minutes later and again, the Eagles were checkin’ in,
Now those turkeys welcome was beginin’ to wear thin.

But so long as as my beloved lay a’lolling in her seat
I vowed to listen to whatever sins songs they’d repeat,
‘Tween that and the snoring from my sweet somnolent wife
I spent the most boring day I’ve ever heard in my life.

I swear I’d hand Mephistopheles my tarnished soul
To save me hearing another tinkling trill by Billy Joel,
I’m so over the tragedys of ‘Staying Alive’ and ‘Jive Talking’
-Anything in the catalogue of adenoidal Bee Gees squawking.

Back then, this guy was the most avid champion of Queen,
Now, let’s say this fan of flamboyant Freddie is a has-been,
All that Rhapsodic bombast- oh, and on that histrionic note
I’d love to cram Meatloaf’s every last word down his throat.

Let’s not forget the gals, like the countrified poppy Shania Twain
And her patented line-dancing toons that tap deep into your brain,
And once I loved the pitch and depth in that song by Celine Dione…
But now, couldn’t she just Jack it in, and not go on and on and on…

I drove on, the sun shone on, morning dragged into the afternoon,
Every familiar song had me hope my darling would wake up- soon,
As the miles and day wore on my sore eyes and ears began burning;
More Fleetwood Mac- or a dodgy Big Mac- set my stomach churning.

At sunset I heard a yawn and saw my sleeping beauty had awoken,
At last, along with her spell, my unwanted record could be broken,
Off went the radio, and to say the silence was awkward wasn’t wrong;
So much for happy trails, reminiscences, and a jolly good ol’ singalong

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A long put-off holiday can have its ups and downs. Sometimes you just don’t enjoy going out of your comfort zone.

A Spartan Holiday.

G and T visited the mythical mystical Island of Rhodes
Where old monuments abound and the vistas are stunning,
They stayed in historic abodes complete with crusty commodes,
Given the culture, the history
It’s more a tragedy than a mystery
That no-ones been civilized enough to get the water running.

Imagine settling down ones sensitive New Age derriere
On a vessel that’s been round since Homers homecoming?
Personally I find clean modern and convenient a breath of fresh air,
And I prefer to express, at leisure,
Unconstrained by time, or tide- or short measure;
I’d take any cheap plastic seat over this half-assed tin pot plumbing.

Savoring the Easter holidays, not hungering to return to work just yet. Yes, the sweet bliss of having time with the family. Such a treat!

Eggs Over Easy At Easter.

It’s our old and loved Easter family tradition,
It’s followed with an almost religious conviction,
We’ll gather round the table in a reverential hush
And look forward to a chocolate charged sugar rush.

There the eggs lay, dark, inviting;
Or the white rabbit, ready for biting.

Every member has an egg that suits them best,
Last year, I found my Reese’s egg too rich to digest,
This year I’m making heavy going of my marshmallow
Finding my annual sweet treat’s become a trial to swallow.

As it uneasily lies there, congealing
I’m bound to say I prefer a hollow feeling.

Having time off at Easter allows one to ponder the imponderables of this world. Time to get damn well creative!

Scintilla Of Truth.

There’s a tale to tell behind your Easter holiday,
So linger a moment, pull up a pew and listen, pray,
They say Jesus died for our sins, hung up on a cross-
But on the instructions of his Godfather boss?

Apparently, once a sinfully high price was paid
Into a stone cold cave the good Son was laid,
He was dead to rights, a good Roman doctor swore,
But wait- there’s more of this fantastical tale in store.

The script sure doesn’t tail off to the dead end one expects;
There’s life in the old crypt, according to the ancient texts;
Come Sunday, Christ’s up and kicking, would you believe?
Simply a bloody miracle, according to the blessedly naive.

So, thank God (and His offspring) for making the sacrifice
But can this damned fellow follow Your books good advice?
Well, again this Easter, back on a hard bench I’ll be found,
Down at the Crown, sinning, getting in another round.

Travel the world, broaden your horizons, but above all respect other countries customs.

Touch Down.

We deboarded blearily upon our belated arrival at LAX,
We wearily complied with Customs and Security checks,
I regret to say I might not have been at my diplomatic best
By asking the flunky why he treated me as an unwelcome guest?

He took much umbrage with my query, but that’s not all he took,
I lost my dignity when he gave me more than a searching look,
It’s been an uncomfortable welcome to the land of the free;
All that poking and probing don’t sit too easily with me.

Air New Zealand, venerated around the world, look at their own back yard. After years of sky-high pricing, NOW they’re slashing prices! Too many aircraft, too few bums on seats and suddenly Mike Tod the Munificent discovers they have the capacity to be caring?

Fickle And Flighty.

To our quiet, little visited and far flung town
Air New Zealand are back, bringing fares down.

What could have caused this touching turnaround?

As financial clouds darken Air New Zealand’s sky
The word comes down from Almighty Tod on high-

Tod’s pitch takes on that familiar whining sound-

‘Cute little destinations we’d dropped when it suited
Will be reviewed, revisited and profitably rerouted,

It’s past time to retread long forgotten fallow ground

And high time we gave Heartland New Zealand a fair fare.’
Odd, Tod, till profits went down you wouldn’t go there.

Who knew in his corporate chest a heart could be found?

Another time, another place. Music and photos bring you right back, don’t they?

Frank, David, Gabrielle And Rose, Et Al.

In a forgotten corner, discarded in dusty disarray
Lies a vast array of CDs I treasured back in the day,
Stacks of musty relics that don’t spin me any more
Since I transferred my allegiance to the iTunes store.

The living room expanded by two more precious feet
As I boxed up and labelled the old, odd and obsolete,
There were a few whimsical purchases to our collection
And so Shaggy went the same sad way as One Direction.

As I put Kylie and Right Said Fred in their rightful place
An old photo slipped out from ‘tween a plastic case,
And there I saw the face of my father, gone so long,
And in a trice ‘Too Sexy’ became a trite sad little song.

And I recall our holiday to Yosemite and that stop at Sonora,
Dad, me ‘n’ the kids packed in the back of the black Explorer,
Pouring out of the air-conditioned cool into the discomfiting heat,
The pool at the Gold Lodge offered a cool welcoming retreat.

Oh, I saw Dad in the shadows, sheltering from the sun and spray
As silly-ass sons numbers two and three and kids splashed away,
I only wonder now, as I look back on the best of Dads vacations
If I saw a twinkle in the eye of the oldest of three generations?