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SOCIOPOETRY

I have chosen to start my book with this, most relevant of themes. Sociopoetry. Sociopoetry has always fascinated me. In case you are ignorant I will briefly describe the concept of sociopoetry. It is – as you might expect – poetry, which concerns itself with socio. Things falling under the banner of socio would include guns and prisons, the state of hospitals, how much we should give to beggars, whether we should experiment on beggars/force them to become soldiers, her nibs the Queen, the plight of the ethnic and whether there should be a National Lottery – and, if there is, should it be easier to win. My father is a member of society so I have recently been bending his ear about what it is all about. I’ll drive to his boathouse and we’ll sit down, open a crate of Adnams and try and get to the bottom of things. He has some pretty extremist views, which only begin to make sense after about four Adnams. He believes that single people should be made to ring a heavy, town-crier-style bell when they walk into pubs and multi-millionaires should be forced to carry their first million with them in a large Karrimor rucksack at all times. In addition he doesn’t agree with hoodies and he is unsettled by sign language. He thinks that a lot of the ills in society can be traced back to the fact that everyone wears jeans these days. He refuses to even use the word – calling them ‘blue trousers’ – and can quote some amazing statistics about convicted murderers since the turn of the twentieth century and the colour of their trousers. In addition, he thinks that it would be good to have a president in charge of the whole world (he suggested Michel Platini), he thinks that rock should be easier to buy outside of seaside towns and he believes that he himself should be knighted. I enjoy having these discussions with my (bearded) old man. Once we’re good and stoked, and we’ve put the world to rights, he’ll sling his bottle against the wall, trudge over to the rowing machine, take off his blazer and slacks and get down to business. There’s no finer sight in sport than my old man, lashed off his skull, a blur of black swimming trunks and white vest, making that flywheel squeal. If I’ve got half of his appetite for giving a rowing machine a good seeing to when I hit his age I’ll be delighted. In truth, I’ll be delighted if I’m able to put away the amount of Adnams my old man does at that age, and discuss elements of socio the way he can. He is a very great man.

POEM#714

‘THE JOHNNY’

Chris darned his condom in front of his electric fire.

Then he slung it in the tin,

Popped it closed

And set off for Clara’s.

POEM#444

‘BATESY’S BANTER’

‘While you’re down there …’

Mike Bates said to Candy.

He’d vaguely thought people would laugh at this.

Unfortunately, the reason Candy was crouching near his groin was precisely to pick up a glass which Mike had broken.

And also she was his daughter-in-law.

So it didn’t get a laugh at all.

POEM#445

‘AM DRAM’

Maria sat sobbing in her cell at the all-women’s prison.

Why had she stabbed the old man from her drama club in Leicester?

And why wouldn’t the prison governess let her put on Shakers by John Godber?

POEM#1155

‘PR’

The Queen took a normal job so the public would hate her less.

She became a lollipop lady.

Some hoodlums soon found out about this.

They started goading her; calling her posh and firing ducklings at her through a homemade bazooka made out of catering-size cans of beans fastened together with gaffer tape.

It started to get to Her Majesty.

She would get home, throw her lollipop stick onto the couch and be a right cow to the D. of E.

He’d say things like, ‘If you don’t tell me what’s wrong I can’t help.’

She’d just fart and eat her crisps and carry on watching The Apprentice.

POEM#1004

‘ARNOLD’

Arnold was constantly unhappy

Because he was a maggot (the type of worm).

He knew he couldn’t do anything about it.

That he should just get on with it.

But he couldn’t help himself.

And so he dwelled on it.2

POEM#770

‘DERRECK WOODS’

Derreck dangled by the dunk-pot.

He caught me staring at his penis.

I quickly averted my stare and pretended I was interested in his hip.

And then I loped, awestruck, towards the Jacuzzi.3

POEM#1177

‘LOVELY STUFF’

A website was developed.

Homeless guys and people who had mansions they weren’t using were hooked up.

Suddenly tramps were living in luxury.

They were exultant!

Some of them had staff!

POEM#112

‘SIGHTS’⁴

I just found out

Someone’s trying to kill me!

It’s exciting, yes.

But also dangerous.

He’s a professional.

POEM#1070

UNTITLED

‘Can I have one more crumb please?’

Said the boy from the novel.

‘No,’

Said the mean character.

Then the author described the dreadful carpets and said how cold it was.

POEM#908

‘THE CRUCIBLE’⁵

Neil Robertson (the snooker player)

Made eyes at Michaela Tabb (the handsome referee).

Ultimately he lost patience and groped her.

She resisted his advances, fending him off with a rest.

He sloped back to his chair and started chugging down Highland Spring like it was going out of fashion.

She tucked her blouse back into her skirt

And awarded Graham Dott the frame.

POEM#615

UNTITLED

‘What am I doing here?’

This was Margaret Lowe.

‘We’re imprisoning you.’

This was the captain.

‘Please move your hand so I can shut the cell door.’

This was the captain’s assistant.

POEM#942

‘PUBLIC REACTION’

A pop star changed her hairstyle.

And everyone hated it.

Literally every single person in the country (UK)

Absolutely hated it.

It was long at the sides and on the top and short at the front and back.

But – to reiterate – everyone hated it.

In fact, when she came out and did her first song literally every single person in the O2 arena whistled and threw shit at this pop star.

She got them back on side by singing a couple of classics.

But then everyone remembered her hair and, ultimately, she was lynched and eaten.

POEM#994

‘SUSPICION’

Michael put 50p in his piggy bank every day for three years.

He smashed it open.

There was two pound fifty in there.

He frowned and looked up at his cellmate.

POEM#400

‘WRENCHED’⁶

POEM#520

‘PLANS’

Shawn watched the two black belts7 demonstrating.

He frowned.

It would take him ages to get that bloody good.

Then he smiled.

But once he was …

Well – Benjamin, Glass Derreck and the other one wouldn’t know what had hit ’em.