Wednesday, 12 April 2017

WE DON'T DO THINGS LIKE THAT


This poem, written in 1988, seems appropriate for the first official posting on 'The Odd Exception'. It's all about that feeling you get when living in a small town that no real harm can come to you and that, as Tanita Tikaram memorably put it: 'All the bad things happen far away'. Here are the original four verses  There are a few more, which can be found here. I've performed this piece more times than I care to remember and it always goes down well wherever I happen to be at the time. It's written, and designed to be performed, in the old music hall style. Imagine Norman Evans talking 'over the garden wall' or, a little more recently, Les Dawson's immortal 'Cissie and Ada' sketches. If you feel like pinching this, or any other of the pieces found here and performing it/them in public, all I ask is that you mention my name. More notes on this and the other poems to be featured here will be added as time allows. DGR.


WE DON'T DO THINGS LIKE THAT

You know that funny woman down the street? She's got those feet
And plays the piano in the pub on Friday nights?
Well, apparently, her mother has a most peculiar brother
Who is rather fond of wearing women's tights.
He was seen last night in Crewe at a most exclusive do,
In a floral cretonne frock and matching hat.
Well, I can't speak for you, but I think that's fine for Crewe 
- In Middlewich We Don't Do Things Like That.

And that rather dozy looking little man, who knows your Stan
Has lived in Winsford for a month and won't go home.
His wife is going spare, but he doesn't seem to care;
Well, they get that way when once they start to roam.
And he's shacked up, as they say, with a girl down Wharton way,
And she's only half his age and rents this flat...
Winsford is as Winsford does -  but it wouldn't do for us
And In Middlewich We Don't Do Things Like That.

And you must remember Edna's Uncle Fred who knocked his head
One Christmas Eve and fell downstairs when he was slewed?
And was never quite the same? Someone told me that his name
Was in The S*n last week for doing something rude,
It occurred in Stoke-On-Trent, and the judge said he was bent
And he should try to stop behaving like a prat.
Well I think the poor old bloke should have kept away from Stoke
And stayed in Middlewich. We Don't Do Things Like That.

And I've been told that poor old woman Mrs Miles - the one with piles
Who has a daughter who is Not Right In The Head,
Was going frantic yesterday, because the daughter's run away
And now she's living rough in Sandbach, in a shed.
And I think it's very sad. They say she's gone completely mad
And seems to think that she has turned into a cat;
But then that's Sandbach for you dear, and things are rather different here
In dear old Middlewich, We Don't Do Things Like That.

© Dave Roberts/Salt Town Productions 2011

See also: WE DON'T DO THINGS LIKE THAT II THE ADDITIONAL VERSES

This was the first ever posting on THE ODD EXCEPTION on 1st September 2011

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