When Do I Get to Sing My Way?
(With thanks to ‘
I read ‘The Book of Dave’
and its messages stayed
with me a long time,
couldn’t put it down,
but ‘Great Apes’ left me
cold
and I wondered if that was
it –
do you only have one good
idea
and the rest of them?
Shit.
And Will Self was no Mark
Lamarr
when Vic and Bob had him
fronting ‘Shooting Stars’,
that much is true. Emma
Raducanu,
there’s another one –
stormed the US Open, as
you do,
then managed Jack, after
that.
You see, not everyone can
be Beckham,
Andy Murray – Shakespeare,
even –
most of us have to be
content
with a life more ordinary.
Take today – having
screwed up my
quadriceps well and truly
by missing the one stair;
flat foot
landing – that’s all it
took –
I was bombing round Sainsbury’s
on one of their electric
invalid cars,
thinking, well, hey, I got
this far
and look, it’s pretty
neat.
Which, I think, proves my
point
about onrushing age and
buggered joints,
so, perhaps that’s all I’ve
got to say
about when I get to sing
‘My Way’.
No comments:
Post a Comment