Bonjour blog fans. It’s just done some rain in Bungay. The cat’s basket was drying on the line. It’s even wetter now. OH NO! Life, eh?
Anyway, that’s not why I’m writing, I’m just trying to add a bit of human colour to an otherwise promotional blog post.
I’m playing The Soho Theatre in May. That’s 2 – 5 May 2012. It’s the last chance to see Luke Wright’s Cynical Ballads in London. I know: both exciting and a wee bit sad.
Ok, so here it is in bold:
Luke Wright’s Cynical Ballads
2 – 5 May | 9.15pm
The Soho Theatre, Dean Street, London | 020 7478 0100 | Book online
Look, I done an asterisk to suggest a change of subject. Seeing as you read the promo stuff so well here is a short poem about service stations to MAKE YOUR DAY! I wrote it for BH on Radio 4. I’ve spent days living in service stations and even wrote a show about them once so it was the commission I’d spent my career working up to. It’ll probably mean that I NEVER WORK AGAIN. Anyway, here it is:
The tabloid headlines sing together:
Three-day weekend, lovely weather
in the motor, hell for leather
Pull into the services!
Hello Moto! Welcome Break!
Massive coffee, piece of cake
you’ll find us just off junction eight
Don’t wait! Pull into the services.
For what says Britain more accurately
than stopping off for milky tea
a lukewarm pasty and a wee
They’re free – pull into the services.
A bonding of our class diaspora
well-heeled Bentley, musty Astra
eyes meet over hot plate pasta.
It has to be the services.
The coach tours with their pac-a-macs
the chaps in powder-primrose slacks
the Mayfair mums who dole out smacks
through petrol strike and pasty tax
they come to queue for fatty snacks
the whole of Britain’s making tracks.
Howzat! Pull into the services.
Strange cities, neither here nor there
just catwalks for our leisurewear
a place where you don’t have to care.
Yeah? Pull into the services.
As British as the summer rain,
as queues and coughs and held-up trains
Gordano, Todhills, Clackett Lane.
Here again. Pull into the Services.