I’m still trying to walk the tightrope (slack wire?) of outrageous optimism strung across the chasm of reality whilst keeping one eye on Nadal v Djokovic.


Oops! The twice in a lifetime chance has been and gone:

Croatia scored 2 goals; whilst England managed 1.

Off to the perfect start, we couldn’t keep it up.

It’s the Team’s coming home, not Football or World Cup.

One more match to play, though little consolation

for those who dreamed of football glory for the nation.


At first kick off, we’d all have settled for third place.

We hoped for more, but third (or fourth) would be no disgrace.

We’d have come home almost happy, ghosts laid to rest,

knowing we had striven and given of our best,

but Gareth’s young team shows promise now aplenty.

The talent’s there. Bring on Euro 2020.


England Expects…

A cautionary note: wild optimism may not necessarily prove to have been prescience all along

England Expects…

The quarter final’s over. We no longer fear

being flat-packed off home by the Land of IKEA.

Two more rounds to go before in the memory sticks

2018 alongside 1966.

For Harry, England and St. George and World Cup Sucker

I’ve not been writing much of late, but, unsurprisingly, here are a couple of poems related to the present obsession and which require posting before the 3 pm (BST)deadline! The one written today is first and they pretty much cover the options!

So, “Come on, my bonnies” (as one of the Mansfield Town supporters used to shout at Field Mill back in the 60s).

For Harry, England and St. George

The banners are flying, the pundits installed.

Could this be the year that the Lions don’t get mauled?

We’ve laid the old spectre of failure to rest:

those penalty shootouts with us second best.

We hover twixt gloom and wild optimism

Oh, for a clairvoyant’s crystal ball prism.

The vagaries of fortune, the chance of success,

seem stacked in our favour – well, more or less –

since Germany’s out and no Brazil or Spain.

Uruguay, Argentina can’t win again,

though “Old Enemy”, France, still lurks in the wings.

As long as Sweden don’t run round us in rings,

England’s boys will be men through History’s lens.

(Fingers George crossed it won’t end up with pens.)

The excitement is bubbling to fever pitch.

A bloke in the pub claimed there won’t be a hitch.

Here’s hoping we’ll all be glued to the screen

and dreaming of glory for 2018.


World Cup Sucker

Switch on the TV at the set or remote.

Whatever the channel, we’re in the same boat.

What have we in store and what will it usher?

It’s World Cup Football wall to wall from Russia.


The flags are out flying from roofs and high places.

They’re even painted on kids’ and grown-ups’ faces.

Whether cross of St. George or Union Jack;

bright French tricolore; (none of them is black);


a rising sun from Japan; Swiss cross white on red;

lots of other countries’ flags, I can’t get in my head.

We’ll wave them forever and loudly cheer, no doubt.

Well, maybe not forever, just until we’ve been knocked out!