Heatwave

August hols are here, and we’re hoping for some sun,
families have fled to foreign fields for some fun,
leaving us alone in our lovely Great Britain,
with half empty highways, and dull days in the rain.

Soon as they swanned off, the sun came out to play,
and it happened to get hotter here ev’ry day.
We hardly have rainfall ‘cept in a sudden storm,
during our heat wave, which we now know as the norm.

Dazzling dusty days spent in hot and humid heat,
as we walk our way to work down the stifling street.
Bodies barely breathe in our horrid hot office,
a faltering filtering fan just can’t suffice.

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Grantchester, Oh Grantchester

With apologies to Rupert Brooke

Just now the lilacs aren’t in bloom
all before his little room,
and from his flower beds I think
have gone the carnation, and the pink,
and in his borders well I know
poppies and pansies no longer blow.

Grantchester, oh Grantchester!
There should be peace and quiet there.
Rupert Brooke would have a fit
if he went back to visit it.
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A night in the cave

We were all alone in the cold and clammy darkness. There was an eerie drip, drip, drip from somewhere further into the cave, almost muffled by the crashing of the waves against the rocks below us.

Why on earth had I let Rob persuade me to go climbing over the rocks with him? Even worse, why hadn’t we turned back while we still could before the tide came in? But there was no point worrying about that. We had to get through the night, marooned halfway up the cliff, with no means of contacting anyone. Why is it that mobile phones never have any reception when needed?

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