Poems
ON SPEAKING TO THE NHR in 1975
Not W.I. nor Women's Liberation;
This buttress of the Guardian's circulation,
These shareholders of Marks and Mothercare,
We thank them for this chance to show our flair.
This new experience sent to test us -
Addressing National Housewives Registers.
We sally forth with rapier wits to sting 'em
In Derby, East Leake, Yoxall, Grantham, Bingham.
We puncture with our sharpened repartees
Their follies, except when issues eccles-
-iastical are raised, against us like a rod.
("God's good," some say, but we're no good on God.)
Genesis, Deuteronomy, then St. Paul
Are quoted as we quietly climb the wall.
So hone your minds in case your brains grow flabby,
For next it's Mansfield, Burton, Darley Abbey.
The moral lunacies of Leviticus
Are used to flail us. What a pity! Cos'
It's not just gays and lezzies he can't take,
It's those who dine on lobsters, pork or steak.
We made our points and backed them with statistics,
While scoffing home-made cake and shortbread biscuits.
And multitudes of invitations kept on
Arriving from Uttoxeter and Repton.
With solidarity and with strategies well-planned,
We'll overwhelm this Chablis-and-Cortina land.
So here we come! To challenge and disturb ya'
Amid your weeping-willow fringed suburbia,
Where next will our campaigning forays be,
We ask ourselves? But suddenly we see
A messenger, who reads from a cartouche
And summons us to Ashby de la Zouch.
A Switchboard's lot IS a happy one!
(Some happy words from the Switchboard Fairy)
When The Switchboard's funds are growing ever weaker
(ever weaker)
And the bailiffs start to bang upon the door,
(pon the door)
When the prospects start out bleak and then turn bleaker
(then turn bleaker)
'Tis the Duncan that we turn to yet once more.
(yet once more)
This Establishment is notably Inn-spiring,
(bly inspiring)
And its Pub-lic spirit seems to know no bounds.
(know no bounds)
So again it saves us from perhaps expiring
(haps expiring)
By collecting many pence and many pounds.
(many pounds)
When a local hard up helpline needs a backer
(needs a backer),
And from Gatsbys all we get is sweet F.A.
(sweet F.A.)
It's the Admira(b)l(e) Duncan that's the cracker,
(that's the cracker)
Though De Luxe will take your money, then not pay.
(then not pay)
REMEMBRANCE OF TIMES PISSED
Nottingham, in former time,
Was just as queer and just as gay,
But venues of my youth and prime
Are fading memories today.
Without a list those names are blurred.
How will they all return to me?
The crystal ball becomes unfurred -
All hail the Muse Mnemosyne!
"Pavilion" is the first we greet
The "Handbag Club" its local name,
And "Mario's" (down on Stanford Street)
Which "Shades", then "Whispers" it became.
Those tasteful names upon club doors
La Chic, L' Amour - Club 69.
The Drag Acts dragged across their floors
Here, Mrs Shufflewick; there, Divine.
Most older pubs would hide a queer
In back bars or a "Private Party".
The Dog and Partridge at the rear,
The basement bar below the "Hearty".
That phoenix from La Chic - Part II -
Was spacious, modern, bright and clean.
But Kitsch was tatty and "bijoux"
(Some larger box rooms I have seen).
That feel of velvet trousers (flared);
In platform soles we clumped and thrashed.
The spotlights and the lasers glared,
Those epileptic strobe lights flashed.
That music over which we drooled -
"The sound of Philadelphia,"
That smell of toilets clogged and pooled.
(I'm sure that NG1 is healthier!)
SOMETHING LIES BEYOND THE SCENE
For those who crave a gay old thrill, or wish with ale their gut to fill
And possibly to pop a pill, you could do worse than try the Mill.
But calmer heads will cease to spin at Foresters, both Arms and Inn.
Perhaps one day you may determine to see Lord Roberts (robed in vermin).
To ponder on Infinity might lead you to some sort of blunder -
Its name is now Eternity, forever bopping at Rotunda.
There's no Potemkin or Bastille in Peter Martine's disco-ballet;
His Revolution's going still, but now it's moved on to the Palais.
No jaundiced view for you or me! What should we get without delay
To stop that Hepatitis B? A little prick from Project GAI.
Where is Pink Chalk? What is QB? I need a man! I've got the piles!!
The answer may be plain to see in Switchboard's multifarious files.
And we who're heard to say with Pride that Lace will always be bright Pink -
In Central sometimes we abide, or call at Jacey's for a drink.
A café known for its "Real Art" is where to quaff some lemon tea
A buttered scone, a fruity tart - (and who do you think that might be?)
If you think that Dykes that Hike are fine, or Kenric or the MCC,
You'll find them all through Lesbian Line, but phone at 7, not half-past three.
How can you brighten Tuesday nights? Just give yourself a weekly treat.
Indulge in Breakout's rare delights. It's at the Health Shop on Broad Street.
A journey up a Northern road may lead you to the doors of Zeus,
Where steam will make your pores explode and turn your buttocks brilliant puce.
Now as the night proceeds to darken, from @D2 they all move on
Like zombies all compelled to harken to siren calls from NG1.
But who is that? Why has he fainted? Why do the crowd look on aghast?
Is it as black as I have painted? No! Has Outhouse opened up at last?
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The Grand and Inspiring
LGB Community Centre Saga Hokey Cokey
First it's the TG WU
But is it right for you?
Yes! No! Yes! No! Will we ever know?
We find a place in Hockley and with joy we shout,
"That's what it's all about. Oi!"
Oh! The dear old Outhouse!
Oh! The dear old Outhouse!
Oh! The dear old Outhouse!
They'll get there in the end! Oi!
The place in Hockley's pants,
We're led a merry dance.
Oh, no! Oh, no! Where shall we all go!
The place is Chapel Bar - of that there is no doubt.
Let's spread the news about. Oi!
Oh! The dear old Outhouse! Etc, etc.
Inform the kin and kith
That we've got Jackie Frith.
Yahoo! Yahoo! Got the lott'ry too!
We've sent off our ideas to an architect,
That should earn some respect. Oi!
Oh! The dear old Outhouse! Etc, etc.
They tear our contract up.
We've all been sold a pup.
Scream! Gnash! Scream! Gnash! Everything's gone crash!
So we'll return to Hockley and have one more try.
We won't eat humble pie. Oi!
Oh! The dear old Outhouse! Etc, etc.
This building does impress.
We've got the Council's "Yes".
Hooray! Hooray! Let us all be gay!
We'll have our lovely centre and we'll have it soon.
We're all over the moon! Oi!
Oh! The dear old Outhouse!
Oh! The dear old Outhouse!
Oh! The dear old Outhouse!
They got there in the end! Oi!
(Unfortunately, they didn't)
LOW COUNTRY CUSTOMS
Now same-sex folk get wedding bands
In Belgium and the Netherlands,
Though red-faced clerics' voices swell
And Amsterdamn us all to Hell.
We gay men - whether camp or butch -
Can plight our troth thanks to the Dutch.
And women, should their thoughts turn Sapphic,
May join the Channel-crossing traffic.
So get on board that boat from Harwich
If you prefer a lesbian marrwich
As wedding vows for she and she
Have legal force on Zuider Zee.
Fairies who grow mutually fonder
Are linked by law in Dendermonde.
If matrimony's for you benders
Then join the pink throng of Ostenders.
Those men who like to shag a gent
Could do much worse than visit Ghent.
Men who take it up the bum
Can now get matched in Hilversum
There's union for the homosex
Amid the splendour that's Utrecht's.
If you're a dyke, a poof, a bugger,
Get spliced in Antwerp or Zeebrugge,
But Tory queers (let's not be vague)
At all costs should avoid The Hague.
(Written shortly before the 2001 Election)