Showing posts with label 1994. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 1994. Show all posts

Wednesday, 12 April 2017

THE POST-IT NOTE SONG

Or is it?  A song, I mean. It was certainly written (in 1994) as a poem to be performed as fast as possible, taking the audience by surprise and battering them into submission.
But, while I was writing it, I did have the tune of  I Am The Very Model Of A Modern Major-General by Gilbert & Sullivan rattling around in my head. So, if you're feeling particularly brave, you might try to do it as a song. Just don't ask me to. 
'Post It Note Song' just sounds a little better than 'Post It Note Poem'.
I think so, anyway.
This piece was inspired, as is blindingly obvious, by the Post-It Note, that humble necessity of everyday life, which was developed by Dr Spencer Silver of the 3M Corporation in  1968.
My method of introducing this poem was thus: I would ask the members of  the audience what they thought the most important aid to communication in the modern world was. They were supposed to shout out answers like, 'the  space satellite', 'the computer', and so on. I would then say something like, 'you're all wrong - it's the Post It Note!'
That, at least, was the idea.
In practice all I got was a sea of blank, uncomprehending faces. It never worked. Not once. In fact I only went on introducing the poem in this manner through sheer cussedness.
Eventually I had the idea of telling the audience each time that the previous audience were the ones who had given me the blank looks, and that they (the members of the current audience) were obviously much more intelligent. Crawling to the audience is always a good idea, in my experience.
Those who know about such things will realise that the rhyme scheme is incomplete at the end of the last verse. I know it is, but it doesn't seem to work any other way, so there we are.*
And talking of the last verse, if you should decide to perform this as a song then it would be advisable to substitute the words 'song is' for the word 'poem's' in the second-to-last line  of said verse. 
We must have things right, after all.

And now....

THE POST IT NOTE SONG

by Dave Roberts

There are people sticking little bits of yellow paper everywhere,
You'll find them on your toilet seat, you'll find them in your underwear,
You'll find them on the tortoises that crawl around at Chester Zoo,
In television studios you'll find them on the autocue.
You will find them stuck on windscreen with a message saying, 'thanks a lot
'For dumping your old banger in my very favourite parking spot,
'I hope you rot in Hell, you creep, I hope your engine seizes up,
'I hope I'm here next winter when your radiator freezes up'.

Post It Notes are everywhere, you'll find them stuffed in shopping bags
Listing things like Jaffa Cakes and Coco Pops and twenty fags
And half a pound of margarine and PG Tips and Lucozade
And cotton wool and bags of crisps, spaghetti hoops and marmalade.
Everybody uses them, from doctors down to dustbinmen;
Solicitors and social workers gladly put their trust in them
To tell them who they ought to see, and who they've really got to see
And, obviously, sometimes, people who it's better not to see.

The 3M Corporation spent a fortune on the R and D
To make sure that their Post It Notes are relatively trouble-free.
They'll stick on almost anything, because they're made with special glue
Which sticks to things like billy-o, except when you don't want it to.
Magistrates make use of them for calculating traffic fines
And people who wear anoraks and hang around near railway lines
Will tell you that for writing numbers down the things are heaven sent;
They stick them on their bedroom walls and read them to their hearts' content.

There are HGVs with dashboards quite festooned with yellow Post It Notes
To tell their drivers where to pick up loads from Kent to John O'Groats;
In council houses Post It Notes are waiting, should the rent man call,
To tell him, 'sorry mate, but we have not got any cash at all''..
Young nursing mothers use the things to tell them all that Baby needs,
And how much he should weigh by now and when he wants his daily feeds.
You'll find one on the telephone to tell you who you ought to ring
And one stuck on your flowerpot which reads: This Plant Needs Watering.

I'n sure you will agree with me that Post It Notes are all the rage,
They're used in every walk of life by everyone of every age;
Writing little messages is how the nation gets its kicks;
They're used by politicians and they're used by raving lunatics
And people who write poetry are apt to use them all the time
For writing daft ideas down and sweating blood to make them rhyme.
Our poem's almost finished now but please remember, just like most
It started life in bits and pieces scribbled on a Post It Note.

© Dave  Roberts/Salt Town Productions 2011

Geraldine Williams has come up with this, much neater, ending:

 'Our poem's almost finished now - no need for further anecdote
And all from bits and pieces simply scribbled on a Post It Note!

Originally published on THE ODD EXCEPTION 13th September 2011

FUN PUBS


'Fun Pubs', written in 1994, continues the theme of It Used To Be A Pub by having a good old rant at the way breweries and pub owners in the 80s and 90s slavishly followed the trend of converting traditional old-fashioned pubs into playrooms for the younger element.
The phenomenon hit Middlewich in the early 90s when the Red Lion was wrecked and turned into the hideous Cat's Whiskers.
The generic name for such dumbed-down establishments, now thankfully passed into history, was 'Fun Pubs', a term which gives you the same feeling of foreboding as 'Fun Run', 'Fun Size', 'Fun For All The Family' and all the other not much fun Fun Stuff.
Because the simple truth of the matter is that fun can't be manufactured. You know when you're having fun, but nothing and nobody can make you have fun. And sticking the word 'fun' in front of anything makes it less and not more likely to have the desired effect.
The most grotesque use of the 'fun' motif came from former Signal Radio DJ Lee Finan whose 'fun show' we used to listen to when I worked at ERF (and before you ask, I would have preferred Radio Four but was out-voted - a grave miscarriage of justice, since it was my radio).
Lee Finan's broadcasting style at that time made me want to shove my hand through the radio speaker and grab him by the throat. 
'Hey! Good afternoon! We're all having fun!' he'd shout, along with other inanities and, sitting in front of the computer (some things don't change), I would try to resist the urge to phone him and shout back at him  something like: 
'Listen! We're not having fun. I'm not having fun. I've got a stinking cold. I've got tons of work to get through and I've got parts distributers, parts managers, foremen and all kinds of other idiots on my back. I'm NOT having fun. I want to go home...'
Words to that effect, at any rate.
Lee's still on the radio, I believe, and we can only hope that advancing age has...er... softened his style. That's me being diplomatic.
Fun Pubs was picked up by no less a body than the Campaign For Real Ale. Their Blackpool, Fylde and Wyre branch asked me if they could re-publish it in a little publication called Piers & Pints.
I readily agreed, of course. The original idea was that I would go along to some kind of reception in Blackpool to recite the poem, but it never happened.
A pity really, because everyone knows that a more fitting name for Blackpool would be Middlewich-On-Sea.
When you go there and take a stroll along the prom, every other person you meet is from Middlewich, their all having got there 'on Niddries' (or whatever coach operator has now taken on the Niddries mantle).
Fun Pubs has dated a little bit, with its references to 'baseball caps worn backwards for some reason' (a 'mind-virus' identified by psychologists. Someone, somewhere, decided to wear his baseball cap back to front, and in no time nearly everyone was doing it, giving them all the opportunity to look like total pillocks). 
Baseball caps are now more the preserve of middle-aged men trying to keep the sun and rain off their thinning locks. I've got one.

The lines

I don't object to scruffy pubs
I've even been in stuffy pubs
Where Councillors keep going on
About the Chairman's Ball

were substituted for the original, wildly politically incorrect, wording at the insistence of the editor of the T&G Record who first published the poem.
On a technical note, I do realise that 'where the clientele are from from sane', should read '...is far from sane', but this is another one of those instances, which occur frequently in poetry, where the incorrect version sounds better than the correct one.

FUN PUBS
by Dave Roberts

I DO like bright and breezy pubs
And friendly free and easy pubs
And run-down slightly sleazy pubs
And other pubs beside.

I'm fond of ornate City pubs
And spit and sawdust gritty pubs
And crossword-cracking witty pubs
But what I can't abide
Is what they call a Fun Pub,
A Take-The-Cash-And-Run Pub,
A We're-All-Cool-And-Trendy
Drinking-Lager-In-The-Sun Pub
Where gormless looking crew-cut chaps
In trainers, jeans and baseball caps
(Worn backwards for some reason)
Sport their suntans from the Med.,
Drink German beer and act the fool,
Play never-ending games of pool
And wouldn't know a real pub
If it hit them on the head.

I don't object to scruffy pubs,
I've even been in stuffy pubs
Where Councillors keep going on
About the Chairman's Ball.

I've drunk in pubs with clever-dicks
And psychopathic lunatics
And talked appalling nonsense,
But what makes no sense at all
Is drinking in a Fun Pub,
A We're-All-Out-To-Stun-Pub,
A Drinks-here-Cost-A-Fortune
And-We're-Sure-We're-Being-Done Pub
Where karaoke singers wail
And knock the top right off your ale,
And fruit machines and arcade-games
Pollute the air with sound,
And TV screens show videos
of boring songs that no one knows
And everyone keeps shouting
That It's Someone Else's Round.

I must admit that some pubs
Are best described as rum pubs,
Where the clientele are far from sane
And should be put away;
Some pubs are far from polished
And ought to be demolished,
But any one is better
Than a Fun Pub any day.

© Dave Roberts/Salt Town Productions 2011

First published on THE ODD EXCEPTION 4th December 2011