The Waiting Room on Platform 3: a poem for rail travellers

Nestled twixt two platforms, Is the door to hell, A urine infused fox hole, Not worth your soul to sell.   The white paint is now yellow, It’s peeling off the walls, But there’s nowhere else to wait, Until the tannoy calls.   Samaritans helped the man, On the poster watching me, But his feeble smile’s still weaker than My brown-grey railway tea.   If there is a God, Then this is his waiting room, I’ve been sat here waiting ages, For that train which leaves at noon.  

Daydreaming of a family holiday to Jamaica:

  That’s it, it looks like the British heatwave is probably over. While I’m sure the rest of August will be pleasant, I am someone who loves sun. We haven’t had a beach holiday for a few years and while we’ve enjoyed our city breaks and UK holidays, my thoughts sometimes turn to somewhere more exotic.   When it comes to thinking of beach holidays, I always think of that Beach Boys song – Kokomo. I love the idea of Jamaica. I’m a child of the eighties and I always think of Cocktail with Tom Cruise.   I admit I’m…