The Sensible One

'Picture the scene: The early sixties. It is late summer, after midnight and a group of us sit around fire on a beach drinking wine and cider, somebody strumming a guitar, when suddenly a girl strips and runs naked into the sea. Everybody follows suit and, not wanting to be last in, I unbutton my jeans. Then pause, somebody had better stay behind and keep an eye on the clothes, common sense. Listening to the screams and laughter, I throw another piece of driftwood on the fire and take a long untroubled swig of scrumpy.'
- from ‘Said and Done' by Roger McGough.


After many long hours
in the pub
(I’d consumed several
tonic waters)
one of our party suggested
it would be a good
‘Cool’ ‘Fantastic’ ‘Brilliant’
‘Count me in’ idea
to go for a spin
in one of those chairs
that twirl through the air
high above the onlookers below,
but I,
like a wallflower at a wedding,
like a dad watching his kids at the fair,
like two left feet at the village dance
being held on a Saturday night in the sixties
in the dilapidated Village Hall,
offer to take care of the bags and coats
and the sandwiches I'd insisted we bring.
I look on in awe,
and with some trepidation,
as the rest of the gang
charge off
to dip their toes
in the night sky.