1. |
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Just a note to tell you I’m working
At the Rock Hotel Café,
Cliff the Boss has taken me off serving,
Says my adding takes his profits away.
Cliff as a class is obsolete.
It’s all Surplus Value anyway.
Sandy pays me thirty plus board,
A cupboard above the bar,
Says it’s all the Hotel can afford
With her swimming pool and caviar.
Sandy as a class is obsolete.
Come Morning they’ll be just one star.
Cliff was the local bad boy,
Sandy the owner’s daughter.
That gold-ringed nose has cost him
All the Born To Be Wild he taught her.
The Rebel as a class is obsolete,
They’re Black Sheep to the Altar.
Just a note to tell you I’m working
At the Rock Hotel Café,
Cliff the Boss has taken me off serving,
Says my adding takes his profits away.
Cliff as a class is obsolete.
It’s all Surplus Value anyway.
Still I’m eating well, mum, fried breakfasts,
The mushrooms are magic too,
The Gorbals kitchen porter eats Marxists,
The Chef just sneers at you.
The worker as a class is obsolete.
Meanwhile a good Union would do.
The girl in the snap is Sandy’s niece,
She’s as thick as clotted cream.
You don’t need degrees in Economics
To demolish her holiday Dream.
‘Love as a class is obsolete,
It’s not like we’re Just Seventeen.’
Pastrychef escapes with his girlfriend,
A chambermaid called Billy,
The day-release psychotic in the woodshed
Keeps trying to chop himself free.
The misfit as a class is obsolete.
I’m applying for a Ph. D.
Just a note to tell you I’m working
At the Rock Hotel Café,
Cliff the Boss has taken me off serving,
Says my adding takes his profits away.
Cliff as a class is obsolete.
It’s all Surplus Value anyway.
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2. |
The OM of Cromer
02:56
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Here’s the pier we saw Fairport Convention
Go down a storm in a blizzard
Here’s the pier we saw Fairport Convention
Go down a storm in a blizzard
Of Ghost Ship on ice, with an arctic air-con
Scarfing us in the gizzard
And here’s where the beach-blonde bikini’d housewives
Raise Calypso for a day
Here’s where the beach-blonde bikini’d housewives
Raise Calypso for a day
Beside that candy-flossed denture smile
Of permanent holiday.
C-R-O-M-E-R
C-R-O-M-E-R
C-R-O-M-E-R
C-R-O-M-E-R
A reel of Alpha Papa from the Multiplex a-piers,
Edwardian telescopes the man and boy
A reel of Alpha Papa from the Multiplex a-piers,
Edwardian telescopes the man and boy
Life meets art at the end of the bier,
White-hot gulls the viewing towers of Troy.
Here: between the rock and roll;
the EE-pics and the epic Homer;
Here: between the rock and roll;
the EE-pics and the epic Homer;
The beach-bum gold and the bottomless blue,
The beginning and the end - the OM of Cromer.
C-R-O-M-E-R
SEA AIR OH! M-E-R
SEA AIR OH! M-E-AHHHH!
SEA AIR OMMM M-E-AHHHH!!
OM...
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3. |
Weymouth Boy
03:42
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The white hot swans of summer
are melting out of the bitter glare
which I, a boy with iced dreams,
held them in.
I spray my eye with Right Guard
and promenade
upon the esplanade.
Bikini'd housewives
sun for their lives
The sand is seen
as pastry with too much margarine.
This girl on my arm
where she's been since October
buttons her pink heart forever away.
I am in a black hole
of this past still-winter
(supplementary benefit spent
on a Romantic education,
Chatterton-teethed heating
soul food, ghost rent)
so very far away from the thing I burn for,
I can almost touch it.
© Gareth Calway 1975, first published in his not so slim as it used to be volume Exile in His Own Country, Bluechrome 2006.
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4. |
Yarmouth Bingo
03:29
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There's No Waiting and no delay,
Jump right in and off we’ll play:
There's No Waiting and no delay,
Jump right in and off we’ll play:
On the blue and all alone....
you got my number, number one;
Money bags busting wind with sand
Weighing the rigs of glitter down,
Bags stuffed sick with golden sand
Weighing the rigs of glitter down.
A tide wheels in along tarmac lines;
On sandy fortunes the Gold Disc shines.
Dishwasher switches off his tyrants,
Takes a different wavelength;
Miss Radio resists insistent parents,
Takes a different wavelength;
Breakers crash on boundless feelings
Cashed on the rocks of mountainous nothings
Moments are grapes in a heart-crush wine,
Overflowing cups of detail and colour;
Time’s cleavage gapes for heart-crush wine,
Overflowing cups of detail and colour,
Infinity collides with the corners of events,
Kaleidoscopic shadows of the One beyond events....
I was in the pink, sweet twenty three,
When I first wrote these words to Thee,
Now I got the music I'm at the Styx,
On the great route to 66.
From Legs Eleven to Ninety Nine,
Love got no reason it just make it rhyme.
On the green....iced scream....sweet sixteen;
On the change....don’t be naughty....blind forty....
On the grey....pick up the Styx....sixty six....
At the Gate...eighty eight ...Heaven's Gate...
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5. |
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Standing at the dock in Hunstanton
Trying to get to Sheringham Sands
The man at the back said
You’ll need a big mac,
It’s hissing down with rain on the strands.
Crabs! You know it ain’t easy
You know how hard it can be,
The way things are going
We’re going to Chelsea on Sea.
Hired a boat to Burnham Upmarket
Kensington on Overy Staithe.
The nob with the beard said
‘Decidedly weird,
The Chablis here don’t make any waves.’
Crabs! You know it ain’t easy.
You know how hard it can be,
The way things are going,
We’re going to Chelsea on Sea.
Saving up your money for a Cromer crab,
Fish n chips au Hotel de Paris,
I don't like the toffs but they know how to nosh
It's the Wine and Duck at Stanner for me
Lads! You can't sup the barley.
(though you can in an exceptional year)
It's strictly for the birds and the beasts.
(good luck with the ghost village)
But what's sauce for the gander,
(down the bolt hole, what!)
We’re going to Chelsea on Sea.
(did you know that half of the people settled in Norfolk come from somewhere else)
What's sauce for the gander,
(Yeah and the other half are here on holiday)
We’re going to Chelsea on Sea.
(bye!)
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6. |
The Rock Hotel Café
03:22
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|
(try to remember that awful September... etc)
Just a note to tell you I’m working
At the Rock Hotel Café,
Cliff the Boss has taken me off serving,
Says my adding takes his profits away.
Cliff as a class is obsolete.
It’s all Surplus Value anyway.
Sandy pays me thirty plus board,
A cupboard above the bar,
Says it’s all the Hotel can afford
With her swimming pool and caviar.
Sandy as a class is obsolete.
Come Morning they’ll be just one star.
Cliff was the local bad boy,
Sandy the owner’s daughter.
That gold-ringed nose has cost him
All the Born To Be Wild he taught her.
The Rebel as a class is obsolete,
They’re Black Sheep to the Altar.
Just a note to tell you I’m working
At the Rock Hotel Café,
Cliff the Boss has taken me off serving,
Says my adding takes his profits away.
Cliff as a class is obsolete.
It’s all Surplus Value anyway.
Still I’m eating well, mum, fried breakfasts,
The mushrooms are magic too,
The Gorbals kitchen porter eats Marxists,
The Chef just sneers at you.
The worker as a class is obsolete.
Meanwhile a good Union would do.
The girl in the snap is Sandy’s niece,
She’s as thick as clotted cream.
You don’t need degrees in Economics
To demolish her holiday Dream.
‘Love as a class is obsolete,
It’s not like we’re Just Seventeen.’
Pastrychef escapes with his girlfriend,
A chambermaid called Billy,
The day-release psychotic in the woodshed
Keeps trying to chop himself free.
The misfit as a class is obsolete.
I’m applying for a Ph. D.
Just a note to tell you I’m working
At the Rock Hotel Café,
Cliff the Boss has taken me off serving,
Says my adding takes his profits away.
Cliff as a class is obsolete.
It’s all Surplus Value anyway.
|
||||
Peacock's Tale Musical Storytelling Sedgeford, UK
It's all right, folks, we're married. A marriage of melody and rhythm ( flirting with harmony & timbre.) Old married woke
folk, indie, Norfolk noir, beat poems, ghazals & Americana for the world from NW Norfolk. Maz lead & harmony vocals, acoustic guitar. Gaz lead & harmony vocals, drum & bass. Traditional tunes with contemporary beats.
garethcalway.blogspot.com/p/doin-different.html
... more
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