‘Meringues’ – a poem by my boy, aged 9 & 3/4

Big fluffy meringues made from sugar and eggs

Have you ever seen a white meringue,

With the sugar and the egg and the whole shebang?

Well I made a bunch with my dad one day

After watching Bake-Off in the month of May.

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Viennetta at CHEZ BRUCE; Back to the ’80s [new version]

The multi-colored Viennetta at Chez Bruce takes me back the to 1980's

Wall Street traders. Space Invaders.
Arcade dreams. Custard creams.
Kylie and Jason. Thatcher and Reagan.
HP sauce. Inspector Morse.

Band Aid. Live Aid. Cherry-ade. Kwik Save.
HIV, MTV, TUC, SDP.
Del Boy and Rodney. Deirdre on Corrie.
Just Say No. Farmer Barleymow.

Striking miners. Flash designers.
Berlin wall. Maradona’s handball.
Virgin Atlantic. Sticky-backed plastic.
Baywatch beach. Papa Don’t Preach.

Big hair. Polo necks. BHS. VHS.
ET. BT. Mr T. Ford Capri.
Donkey Kong and Pac Man. Now it’s Captain Caveman!
Scooby Dooby Doo, Where are you?

 

*

 

Ahh, the ‘80s.. That deeply-troubled decade of social inequality and oversized shoulder pads. And what of it? Why is my mind suddenly cast there?

Because right now I’m looking at a menu at Chez Bruce – a well-regarded restaurant on the verge of Wandsworth Common – and standing out from the text like a flashing blue siren from an ’80’s police procedural, is a word that takes me right back to that very decade: “Viennetta”…

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KOYA BAR in 7 Haikus

Honouring Koya Bar in Soho London with seven haiku poems

Amid Soho’s din,

A pot is gently bubbling.

Steam slowly rises.

 

*

 

A radio plays.

Mushrooms jostle in water.

Chefs waltz like clockwork.

 

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What Shall We Do For a London Fish Supper?.. [sea shanty]

For a London fish restaurant, look no further than Parsons and it's creamy fish pie

Ahoy me hearties, shiver me timbers and splice the mainbrace! Now’s time for a hearty sea shanty, all in honour of a new London fish joint: Parsons. And if you’re in need of some instrumental accompaniment…

 

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Masterchef Poem, aka ‘Ode to Torode’ (feat. NANBAN Epilogue)

A Masterchef poem retelling the story of the 2017 competition.

Masterchef Poem – aka ‘Ode to Torode’

In a deeply secret red-and-silver kitchen,
Somewhere in London or possibly in Hitchin
( – in spite of sweeping skyscraper shots,
I’m guessing it’s filmed somewhere in Herts.)

The contestants listen with a sense of forebode
To cheeky-chappy Gregg and his mate John Torode.
It’s The Market Challenge!” they boldly disclose,
That’s a pimped-up version of (the Hitchin) Waitrose.

The clock starts ticking, contestants are aflutter.
It’s Supermarket Sweep with organically-made butter
That’s been churned from a cow, who’s been pampered to the hilt
With a daily massage on Egyptian-cotton quilt.  View Post