It’s better for me

Friday November 5, 2004

“You’ll have to decide,” I said, pausing the car on the way out from the town dump on the outskirts of Skegness.

“How do you mean?”

“Shall we turn right and go visit the town, or left and go home for lunch?”

“Oh. Turn left, then.”

“Okey dokey,” I replied, and did so. Then, “No fish and chips today, then?”

“Nope. They’re not good for you.”

“You can’t say that.”

“I just did.”

And that was how we didn’t go into Skegness, didn’t have a fish and chip lunch, and I felt better for it. I hate to have to admit it but lovely crisp crusty French bread with a small chunk of English mature cheddar cheese and a smear of traditional English pickle is better for me than greasy fish and chips.

“Are you going to work on some poetry now?”

“Nope,” I said. “I think I’ll have a nap. It’s better for me.”

“And then shall you work on some poetry?”

“Depends. I might do that, or I might take an evening walk, or I might just watch some TV until dinner time.”

“You’d do better to take a walk. It’s good for you.”

And that was how I took a nap, had a gentle stroll along the lane, and didn’t watch TV until after dinner. I felt better for that, too.


No hurry
Along the lane the view grows wider
as trees shed their leaves. Over the fields
the church tower is plain to see, reaching
down to a slated roof. Inside, new plaster
dries slowly, waiting for fresh lime wash.
It may be done by Christmas, or perhaps
for the New Year. There’s no hurry.
John Bailey, Lincolnshire, 2004



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