Duvet and mattress, porcelain loo -
Are absent from Greenbelt and its campers, who
Make do without, all weekend long.
They shiver by night, and by day: pong.

My tenth year attending was worth my while -
Jude Simpson’s wit made my face smile.
Milton Jones – the one-liner King.
Dave Walker’s scribbling kept me giggling.

Roger McGough – a poetry machine;
He once helped to write: Yellow Submarine!
That beat-boxing Shlomo, the epitome of cool.
Rev Gerald A. boldly broke every rule.

Remember from Blue Peter, Simon Thomas?
His main stage compering was fab, I promise.
Went with my hubbie to a ‘talk’ in Bethlehem:
“Affluenza’s what we’ve got!” declared Oliver James.

Zic Zazou – very… French – noisy too.
Beer and Hymns (overheard from nearby queue).
Free tea from Speakers’ Lounge – totally fantastic.
First visit to Blue Nun – four quid for wine in a cup of plastic!

Fried potato, wine gravy… sausage perched on top.
I tend to scoff this every year – I like it quite a lot.
But now it’s all over – Greenbelt ‘adieu’.
Back to duvet and mattress, porcelain loo.

 

Last year my GB poem won me a box of pies through the post!
As you can see, this year I’m expecting signed photos/t-shirts/CDs/books/all-inclusive holidays, etc, from all the ’stars’ that are named.
I’ve briefed the postman that his job will become that bit more demanding over the next couple of weeks. It’s just a matter of waiting now.

Some info/pics re my previous talks at GB here.

My GB 2010 pics here.

An ‘official’ GB pic of me here (typical – the photographer came to our talk, took lots of pics, and this is the one they choose… of me freaking out as Peter had just decided that it would be a clever idea to kiss me for a photo, which made me go bright red, naturally)!

PLEASE don’t think that I think that I can write poetry, as I’ve barely ever written any and it’s really not my thing.

But, was dead chuffed that someone has been able to use my ‘Burn’s Night’ poem (reply from the Lassies)…!

I had this comment on this blog just the other day:

Hello,
Just a line to thank you for putting your ‘Reply from the Lassies’ on-line. I was asked to do it for our Burns Night and was so relieved to find it! I changed it to make it relevant to us—
Once again thanks—you saved me hours of effort
Elsie Smith

and then this one:
thank GOD you posted this… it is the only useful reply from the lassies i could find anywhere. will happily plagerise parts if you don’t mind
from someone else.

Which now means that of the 2 poems I’ve ever written (well, since primary school)… one was rewarded with a box of pies (hurrah!) and the other was ‘used’ by at least 2 ‘lassies’ at a Burns Night. It’s nice to feel useful!

Don’t worry – have no plans to inflict any more ‘poetry’ on the world… at least, not until I’ve run out of pies…!

Yes, my writing career has reached the giddy heights of being… paid in pies. For some writing. A poem, in fact. A pie poem I posted on this blog after tasting some rather heavenly pies at Greenbelt this summer, here.

The pieminister people found it, put it in their winter newsletter and paid me by sending a box of their fine pies (worth about fifty quid!).

Poetry isn’t really my thing (which you’ll be nodding your head in agreement with if you’ve read the poem in question!) but now I’ve been paid for a poem, even paid in pies, I am going to consider myself a professional poet (as surely when one is paid for their craft they can be considered a professional?!).

Have jested with hubbie that although he may be the primary breadwinner of our family… I am now the pie-winner.
(It’s such rib-tickling humour that keeps our marriage alive, I’m sure.)

So, I’m a poet. A pie poet. A pie-ate.
Anyway, the aforementioned pies are now napping in my freezer, waiting to be re-awakened on some future occasion (xmas day breakie perhaps?).
Yum scrum.

Delivery of box of pies piccies here.

Greenbelt Ministry

I was ministered to at Greenbelt.
In an unexpected way
I had to queue to get it
Ye highlight of my day

My fellow queuers clearly
Had received such love before
It was painted on their faces;
Eager, smiling… wanting more

I knew I’d made the perfect choice
Joined this queue – this one alone
My happy fate approacheth
Secret fantasies finally known.

Heidi was my pie of choice
Goats cheese and potato sweet
(Pretentious and middle class)
Though Moo and Blue looked fab to eat

And how I loved the taste
Of the pretentious middle-class
It hugged my soul so very tight
My expectations were surpassed.

Lo, the pie was not alone
Yet adorned with a dollop of mash
Not as grim as at school meals
Miles advanced of that trash

To make it even more divine
Gravy was poured on top
Though they had named it ‘groovy’
How very quaint is this shop?

There were no lies abounding
Groovy was at the core
‘Tis why I gave up six pounds fifty
And considered coming back for more

Heidi was now my one true love
(Hubby could have cause for concern
But then he’s never had a Heidi
Not as far as I’ve known)

The pies that they were out of
Were blessed with a little note
‘Gone to pie heaven’
A very groovy quote

It seems they’re Made in Banksy-land
Rather than Hong Kong
Formerly known as Bristol
Where queues are just as long

At the Belt that’s made of Green
A queue is so the norm
If Brits are fairly into queues
It’s for what Greenbelter’s are born

We queue to get in on day one
For talks and music too
We stand and wait, then waiteth some more
We even queue to poo

So if they tried to sell their pies
In lands far far from here
Would people queue up orderly?
Would anarchy appear?

A tiny prick of tears is formed
When one is forced to think
Of worried pies, of Heidi’s cries
With anarchy on the brink

When my body’s all queued out
And numbered are my days
Pie Heaven’s where I’m destined
My ticket is One Way

pieminister (the pie shop’s name)
Will dominate the place
Pies will be free; queues will be gone
Pie smiles on every face

They’ll be no tears nor pain nor fear
Due to pies for all the hours
Clouds made from mash will float on by
And rain down groovy showers

The Lord of the Pies will sort me out
Heidi greet me at the Pie-ly Gate
I will scoff and not grow weary
Munch pies, and not be faint

—————————————————

Please note, this poem is not sponsored by pieminister, and I live at least an hour away from Bristol.
Feel free to view my GB piccies here

Went to a tartan-tastic Burns Night – our 1st one ever!
My job was to do the ‘Reply from the Lassies’ speech, and here is what I came up with.
Writing and delivering it turned out to be less stressful than working out what to wear (ended up buying a strip of tartan material and making a sort of sash thing, which makes me sound like an accomplished seamstress, which is a lie as I used the iron-on hemming stuff that i use for the kids school trouser hems!)

Reply from the lassies

Please let me start with some info.
About my little… ‘reply’
So you know how things will go
And there won’t be an outcry

I lay all blame upon a man
Rarely is a woman to blame
He emailed to ask if I would oblige:
Colin is his name

I would be honoured, so it read
If you would do, the ‘Reply’
On behalf of the Lassies, so he said
So casual, by the by.

Thus, I swiftly emailed back
To say that would be fine
It’s a shame that I had no idea
Of the stress that would soon be mine

I’d thought this speech was something quick
that I could find online
And print off, just before I came
And read out, at this time.

Yet only a few days ago
To Mr Google I turned
He told me I had to write my own
None was supplied by Mr Burns

The ‘reply’ required a lot of thought
The speech was to be new each time
It wasn’t something he churned out
Not one of his five hundred and fifty-nine

Yikes, I cried – this isn’t right
This is an awful affair
Have they any idea how long it took
Just To work out what to wear?

And glancing back at that email
T’was with horror that I saw
That grace and charm and wit were required
Don’t you know me but at all?

When times are dark, and things are hard
T’is my hubby whom is my light
Help I yelled – I cannot cope
Ha! He said – now shut up and write.

I’d wondered if his Scottish roots
Would prompt him to assist
It turns out that his being an eighth of a Scot
Meant I was merely dismissed

But so I bravely battled on
Back to Google I turned
My ever present buddy in life
So much from him I have learned.

Reveal, he did, ‘Replies’ of lassies
From Burns nights of the past
Please picture the horror on my face
On reading: 15 minutes it should last.

Don’t panic tho, I quickly thought
That this I’d just dismiss
Fifteen minutes of me, I fear
Is surely not your idea of bliss

And furthermore it was revealed
I had to show men up as fools
Whilst also referring to Rob himself
Tell me – who makes up these rules?

And what to say to show men up
To make them sound less wise?
A man can be a useful thing
No woman will deny…s

They work so hard from dawn to dusk
And still put dinner on the table
And sort the kids and clean the house
Oh… whoops – that’s us lassies that are so able.

But men are… they can help round the house.
When from the TV they’re dragged
And they… can be good company
They’re handy… if you need a good nag.

OK, ok, it’s said in jest
I think men quite alright
Despite conning me into doing this
Or laughing at my plight

And as for Burns that famous Scot
A real one, not just in part
T’was two hundred n fifty years ago he was born (tomorrow)
And a bit later, he did depart

The bit in the middle, it seems to consist
Of flirting and being a tart
But he sought out some time to write lots a stuff down
Which now is considered pure art.

Well, my poem is done; it turned out to be fun
My panic was clearly in vain
But just so I’m clear, if you have one next year,
Please don’t make me do it again

So thanks to you Rich, your speech was quite fab
You were so very frank
On behalf of all the lassies here
I’d like to extend our thanks

piccies of the evening can be viewed here, if you’re interested!