Some silly people can survive insurmountable odds. I was invited to climb an ornery mountain, I flat out refused. Here’s why.

No Up-side.

Ask any woolly-headed mountaineer
What drives them, up here
And they say, with their rareified air
While looking down on you, ‘coz it’s there.’

A friend told me of ascending delights,
I told her of my morbid fear of heights,
She told me my fears should be overcome;
Time to step up, not succumb.

In front of my supposed peers
I could put behind me all my fears,
Now I see those fears as well founded
And I wish I’d stayed better grounded.

At crack ‘o dawn the nightmare began,
After four hours in a jam-packed van
I stepped out to see Mount Aspiring,
A sight that left me coldly perspiring.

Twelve keen climbers looked out on yon hill,
Of no concern to climbers of moderate skill,
But I gazed up at that peak with trepidation
And made it my business to find a comfort station.

Then they showed me the ropes, and the carabiner,
This lash-up did nothing to cheer my demeanour,
Jokes about being in this all together
Left me literally at the end of my tether.

Then we set off on the epic trek,
Five minutes left me a wheezing wreck,
Then when the misty schist turned to snow
I glanced longingly at the land, far below.

My friend, so sweet, so kind
Seemed sick of dragging my sorry behind,
She frowned down as I was looking up,
I think she regretted us hooking up.

From above we heard someone stumble.
Our sure-footed leader had taken a tumble
And as far as as this learner climber could tell
Our chance to reach our peak drastically fell.

Flashing past us our leader flew
Followed by his ashen number two,
Then numbers three to nine…
And so on, down the line.

My ascent had been a slow tedious climb
Still, my descent could be in record time,
And I raised my eyes in the fervent hope
I wasn’t at the end of my bloody rope.

We had one chance at life-
I saw her sawing with her knife;
Such heartfelt prayers are said
When life is hanging by a thread.

As the rope grew taut
I felt our time grow short
She sliced and diced madly but
Sadly, we never made the final cut.

We felt our hopes begin to slide
As the trusty rope stayed firmly tied,
Her old social climbers became a drag
Till their declining friendship hit a snag.

We rushed towards the deadly drop
Only to be crushed against a rocky outcrop,
The pain of the impact one would not believe,
But the agony of the wedgie I could not conceive.

We’d stretched our luck, I’m afraid,
For though the rope was thin and frayed
We watched our future possibilities unravel
Both knowing we were highly sick of travel.

Came a sound, like a rifle shot
And we were free of that clinging lot,
Climbing down, a mutual passion was found,
Safely down, we fell together, kissed the ground.

So read and heed the morale. gentle reader,
Don’t fall in the footsteps of your leader,
And don’t get roped in with your friends.
Here their sad sob story stickily ends.

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Premier League letdowns; Tough times for the dogged, game but toothless Terriers of poor Huddersfield Town. Commiserations- of a kind- from a Crystal Palace fan.

Down In Hudddersfield Town.

Huddersfield Town’s future, so bright last June
Finally faded at Crystal Palace this dull afternoon,
It’s bound to be a silent, sad, sombre- and sober- coach trip
As the Terriers head back up North, down to the Championship.

By Xmas, Town knew it was gonna be tough at the top
But it’s a lot rougher when you’re the first team to drop,
To survive in the Premier League is a simple numbers game;
When Town tote up their losses all it amounts to is a crying shame.

If only Huddersfield’s brittle defence had been stronger
Or if their busy goalkeepers arms had been a little longer,
Or if they had a striker- or two- to pop in an occasional winner
The Terriers season mightn’t be finishing up a total dogs dinner.

The magical golden run of Crystal Palace Football Club in the FA Cup dries up at Watford. (Watford 2, Palace 1.)

Shake It Off.

I’m not saying I’m a religious man,
I’m more a godless Crystal Palace fan,
But trying to follow Hodgson’s odd squad
Leaves me believing there’s a devil, swear to God.

Off we went to Vicarage Road,
On the train up we drank- a load,
Arriving in a giddy state of inebriation,
But our loss meant ’twas premature celebration.

We’d gone into the Hornets nest and been sorely stung,
Now I stand, swaying, with heavy heart and head hung,
Thinking of how, again, our dreams of an FA Cup final
Swirl away, down the drain of a poxy Watford urinal.

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.

A free-wheeling but badly balanced tale of exercise, weight loss and loss of dignity.

All Downhill.

I’d been parked up slothfully on the couch
Hands comfortably folded on my spreading pouch
When my wife’s gaze went from the athletes on the telly
And settled reprovingly on my burgeoning belly.

So, I lay down my bottle of Bud and bowl of Lays
Vowing I would put behind me my couch potato days,
Out back in the garage lay my old bike, forgotten and dusty,
Abandoned, muddy, bespattered, cruddy and crusty.

Years ago I had enjoyed pedaling hell for leather
Braving life, limb and hypothermia whatever the weather,
Then I’d found myself out of luck, control and flying off course,
Now, after a decade of decadence, I was remountin’ the horse.

For hours I cleaned, checked, fussed and fettled,
Then back into the saddle I comfortably resettled,
The tyres gave a hiss of disapproval and began to deflate;
Time to pump the perishing tyres and lose some weight.

My old lycra shorts also fit a bit tighter
Than when I’d been fit and tons lighter,
But it takes a lot of guts to tighten and cinch
Pants that can fit, butt at a pinch.

Off I wobbled towards my happy trails,
Hoping to stay on the path, not go off the rails,
From atop the mount the way narrowly wound;
It’s impact on me would be most profound.

I looked down that slippery slope,
Offered up a prayer and the earnest hope
That the older wiser me had learnt from my mistakes-
Then simply prayer when I found I lacked brakes.

I found myself taking a high flying jump,
I scarcely missed landing on a sturdy stump,
How fortuitous my newfound Lord heard my heartfelt call
And had a handy bush of thorns to break my fall.

But it was not a happy landing,
I was left incapable of standing,
For a big boy’s mountain bike needs a stout brace,
And that brace struck me in my happy place.

Now I’m on my comfy sofa, laid back,
Hand uncomfortably cupping an ice pack,
Till I can stand and recover from the bars low blow,
No more a ‘mountain biking will this guy go.

In times of Emergency desperate times require desperate measures, even if it means fiddling for funds for pis- piddling away on a wall.

Insecurities.

Donald is off on his latest low-down undertaking,
He needs money to fix a crisis, of his own making,
The Army of law’n’order fans of his border wall
Will now see Don pillaging Peter to pay Paul.

Building walls up was easy to say in an election run
But getting Mexico to pay is easier said that done,
He keeps calling about the millions of dollars they owe,
Not one ‘Hola’ has he got from the President of Mexico.

It matters not to Don that the funds are misappropriated
Or that real Democracy has been truly desecrated,
What do you expect when the megalomaniac you elect
Injudiciously, sadly, madly must get his vanity project?

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?