Howdy there…. Poetry lovers.

Todays poetic instalment is a cracker from the master of the sublime Ian Dury. If you don’t know Ian, we’re delighted , as you can now re-live the delightful insights of a man who really did leave his mark. He was crippled as a child with Polio, an artist, a writer, a poet and a wonderful raconteur. His voice, was all beer and cigarettes before TomWaits popularised it, and an insightful Cockney delight in quietly taking the piss.

“My Old Man”, is worth listening to purely for the delight in which the images are created and  then merged with a soaringly evocative musical touch. It transports you from Londons’ grimy streets to somewhere just as grimy. There’s poetry in that.

So if you don’t like it, keep a battered old copy of Keats on hand, or worse still, try and remember all the verses to “Advance Australia fair”. Almost as hollowing as living there.

My old man wore three piece whistles
He was never home for long
Drove a bus for London Transport
He knew where he belonged
Number 18 down to Euston
Double decker move along
Double decker move along
My old man

Later on he drove a Roller
Chauffeuring for foreign men
Dropped his aitches on occasion
Said, “Cor blimey” now and then
Did the crossword in the Standard
At the airport in the rain
At the airport in the rain
My old man

Wouldn’t ever let his governers
Call him ‘Billy’, he was proud
Personal reasons make a difference
His last boss was allowed
Perhaps he had to keep his distance
Made a racket when he rowed
Made a racket when he rowed
My old man
My old man

My old man was fairly handsome
He smoked too many cigs
Lived in one room in Victoria
He was tidy in his digs
Had to have an operation
When his ulcer got too big
When his ulcer got too big
My old manMy old manSeven years went out the window
We met as one to one
Died before we’d done much talking
Relations had begun
All the while we thought about each other
All the best mate, from your son
All the best mate, from your son
My old man
My old man