So, it is two years since I blogged. It just seems like blogging in 2019 is rather.. well.. 2014. There are far easier ways to write and distribute words these days than a blog. Anyway - I wrote another poem, and as I published the last one here - The Fried Chicken Bus - it seems appropriate to dump this one here too.
The second my in (very) long-gestating poetry project, this one is firmly in my wheelhouse, the wheelhouse of a vessel that is middle-aged and white and not very well travelled. The poem itself isn't very good, but I like it, so piss off.
It documents my love for the Great British High Street, and one shop in particular. Here it is:
I ❤️ WH Smith
On every high street and railway station,
A nation agrees, without prorogation,
At airports, hospitals and motorway services
an oasis exists that exceeds all superlatives.
The plainest of logos, an ugly serif font,
a giant capital S standing above
a small WH, nonchalant.
A stalwart untouched by the downward momentum of progress
of the Great British High Street, in distress.
WH Smith
WH Smith
Stationary on the high street
Stationery on the high street
Still operational, still inspirational.
From magazines you can have a wank
or the Diary of Anne Frank.
Books post-apocalypse,
The feltest of tips.
Your Favourite Band: The Greatest Hits.
The Autobiography of Duncan Goodhew.
The Peppa Pig Annual, the Beano, Whizzer and Chips
The QI tie-in annual, with introduction by Sandi Toksvig,
only two for five pounds
at
WH Smith
WH Smith
The (exclusive!) Richard and Judy Book Club,
The middle-class housewife book club of choice,
tapping into national consciousness.
Richard and Judy know the score,
from ITV’s This Morning to your beloved bookstore
(Exclusively!) at
WH Smith
WH Smith
It has seen off Smiggle, garish schnizzle
A plastic pretender, a repeat offender.
Rymans can go fuck themselves
No Prue Leith on their paltry shelves.
Wait – there are two blue signs, standing side by side
Two old behemoths standing tall, astride
a high street, perhaps not as broken,
‘Exclusively at’,
still both their slogan.
Boots and WH Smith
Boots and WH Smith
Beauty and Hygiene, gotta keep clean.
It’s got the right cream for your self-esteem.
A pharmacy
for drugs to keep you in harmony.
An optician
for your cornea’s malnutrition.
A photo developer
To finally print off those memories,
the way you were before you needed these remedies.
Boots and WH Smith
Boots and WH Smith
Another blue sign, but with four orange dots
(For some reason)
A place that never cares about haves and have-nots,
Disposable incomes
spent on packs of five yum-yums
or a vegan sausage roll as you go round the shops.
Boots, Greggs, WH Smith
Boots, Greggs, WH Smith
A steak bake if you’re hungry,
It’s not gluten-free,
but years of expertise,
satisfaction guarantees, and
worth the risk of Coeliacs Disease.
Chicken sandwiches to suit every taste
(Mexican, Thai, Coronation, Chargrilled, BBQ, Peri-Peri, Southern Fried, Tandoori or Pesto)
Cheese, Onion, Steak, Sausage or Baked Bean Bakes
Heinz Tomato soup. Doughnuts. Walkers Crisps.
I could go on.
But you already know all this.
Boots, Greggs, WH Smith
Boots, Greggs, WH Smith
Tiger. Cashino. TK Maxx.
Fighting for consumer scraps.
Transient pretenders to the high street throne
on a high street that already knows its own.
That knows which side its bread is buttered,
truer words never uttered.
This is it.
I think this covers it.
The sacred, unstoppable blue-fronted triumvirate.
No need to panic, or shop online.
Head to the blue, you know the sign.
We’re doing just fine.
Boots, Greggs, WH Smith
Boots, Greggs, WH Smith
Boots, Greggs, WH Smith
BOOTS, GREGGS, WH SMITH!
The second my in (very) long-gestating poetry project, this one is firmly in my wheelhouse, the wheelhouse of a vessel that is middle-aged and white and not very well travelled. The poem itself isn't very good, but I like it, so piss off.
It documents my love for the Great British High Street, and one shop in particular. Here it is:
I ❤️ WH Smith
On every high street and railway station,
A nation agrees, without prorogation,
At airports, hospitals and motorway services
an oasis exists that exceeds all superlatives.
The plainest of logos, an ugly serif font,
a giant capital S standing above
a small WH, nonchalant.
A stalwart untouched by the downward momentum of progress
of the Great British High Street, in distress.
WH Smith
WH Smith
Stationary on the high street
Stationery on the high street
Still operational, still inspirational.
From magazines you can have a wank
or the Diary of Anne Frank.
Books post-apocalypse,
The feltest of tips.
Your Favourite Band: The Greatest Hits.
The Autobiography of Duncan Goodhew.
The Peppa Pig Annual, the Beano, Whizzer and Chips
The QI tie-in annual, with introduction by Sandi Toksvig,
only two for five pounds
at
WH Smith
WH Smith
The (exclusive!) Richard and Judy Book Club,
The middle-class housewife book club of choice,
tapping into national consciousness.
Richard and Judy know the score,
from ITV’s This Morning to your beloved bookstore
(Exclusively!) at
WH Smith
WH Smith
It has seen off Smiggle, garish schnizzle
A plastic pretender, a repeat offender.
Rymans can go fuck themselves
No Prue Leith on their paltry shelves.
Wait – there are two blue signs, standing side by side
Two old behemoths standing tall, astride
a high street, perhaps not as broken,
‘Exclusively at’,
still both their slogan.
Boots and WH Smith
Boots and WH Smith
Beauty and Hygiene, gotta keep clean.
It’s got the right cream for your self-esteem.
A pharmacy
for drugs to keep you in harmony.
An optician
for your cornea’s malnutrition.
A photo developer
To finally print off those memories,
the way you were before you needed these remedies.
Boots and WH Smith
Boots and WH Smith
Another blue sign, but with four orange dots
(For some reason)
A place that never cares about haves and have-nots,
Disposable incomes
spent on packs of five yum-yums
or a vegan sausage roll as you go round the shops.
Boots, Greggs, WH Smith
Boots, Greggs, WH Smith
A steak bake if you’re hungry,
It’s not gluten-free,
but years of expertise,
satisfaction guarantees, and
worth the risk of Coeliacs Disease.
Chicken sandwiches to suit every taste
(Mexican, Thai, Coronation, Chargrilled, BBQ, Peri-Peri, Southern Fried, Tandoori or Pesto)
Cheese, Onion, Steak, Sausage or Baked Bean Bakes
Heinz Tomato soup. Doughnuts. Walkers Crisps.
I could go on.
But you already know all this.
Boots, Greggs, WH Smith
Boots, Greggs, WH Smith
Tiger. Cashino. TK Maxx.
Fighting for consumer scraps.
Transient pretenders to the high street throne
on a high street that already knows its own.
That knows which side its bread is buttered,
truer words never uttered.
This is it.
I think this covers it.
The sacred, unstoppable blue-fronted triumvirate.
No need to panic, or shop online.
Head to the blue, you know the sign.
We’re doing just fine.
Boots, Greggs, WH Smith
Boots, Greggs, WH Smith
Boots, Greggs, WH Smith
BOOTS, GREGGS, WH SMITH!
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