After a physically draining few days
of the great British summer heat,
I awoke on my sofa at seven a.m.
still in my clothes, shoes on my feet!

My T.V awoke me as it turned itself off –
one gets used to sleeping with noise
but silence penetrates the brain
more than the comforting sounds of a voice.

Was it to late to get into my bed?
I wondered as I staggered up,
perhaps I should make some coffee
to sup from my favourite cup.

I turned back on the TV just in case
there was some exciting news,
not that I wanted to hear of disasters
or of someone’s political views.

But I wanted to know when to record
our Olympics opening show,
I’ve missed most of our TV reports
and there’s still things I wanted to know.

Twenty twelve Olympics in London –
Big Ben’s ringing out his chimes
eight hours before for three minutes,
this has only ever happened two times.

The rest of the country was joining in,
with their mobile phones or keys
if they hadn’t a real bell to ring out loud
they’d be clapping or slapping their knees.

So I took out my best crystal bell,
I used to use to call folk to dinner,
and shook it in time with the crowds –
three minutes a patriotic winner.

Ring-a-ding, ring-a-ding, ring-a-ding,
Britain’s bells all rang out,
and those that hadn’t got a bell
would wave and cheer and shout.

But my dogs were wondering what was up
they’re not used to noise in the morn,
one was whinging about all the noise,
the other came in with a yawn.

But for three minutes at eight twelve
most of Britain was united
as we all joined in with our bells
as we had been invited.