Times

Times

There was a light at the end of the tunnel, I could see

passing through the court of earls and the sounds of down under

dreaming of curries, pretty girls and the man from the BBC

of summer rain and Stamford Bridge, crowds roar like thunder.

The road of Kings, of Westwood and the Worlds End

Chelsea boys and girls in a Sloane never quite square

guess who I had in my cab, he would pretend

as couriers weave past us with a package and a stare.

Strawberries and cream still complement the weather

in a fortnight of thrills and waves of emotion

our wonderful bobbies in uniformed heat at the end of their tether

only memories now as I stand here by the ocean.

Earthquakes and volcanoes in a far away land

remind me of the bombs and our resolve they keep testing

but as I catch the Wellington express, ticket in hand

it is this London of memories I am sadly missing.