For Dad

A poem about my dad.  The poem tells you what he was like.  He once coloured the black and white television in with felt pens because we asked him if we could have a colour TV.   He used to sing ridiculous songs (Nicky Nacky Noo) and do a dance he called his potato dance (it involved eating a cold roast potato left over from Sunday lunch). He also randomly substituted words for ‘wossname’.  He always took a ‘loony stick’ on country walks and his French was impeccable – ‘it’s pleuting’ (raining),  ‘murky blow through’  (thank you) and ‘silver plate’ (please).  Nothing except kindness, laughter and love mattered to my dad.  The rest of life (work, being important, behaving ‘properly’) was, for him, to be navigated with humour.  I learned the fine art of irreverence from him and I’m so grateful.  He made us laugh every day he was with us, sometimes to the point of not being able to breathe, and there were never enough days with him.


Nicky nacky noo

Snick snackety poo

There’s nothing to do except laugh

It’s a bit of a game

All this life wossname

Let’s not live any of our days by half


Let’s all walk in the woods

And roll in the leaves

And I’ll drive over bridges so fast

That your tummies will turn

And you giggle, we’ll learn

To make laughter and silliness last


Jellyfish, Chrimmy Barn

And Jonty-Barn too

The telly needs colouring in

Black and white is no good

If we can then we should

Colour all of the dull moments in 


It is pleuting outside

Got my loony stick here

All is well with the world, don’t you think?

My potato dance will

Stop the rain, and then fill

All the gaps in the world in with pink


Must go now – got to fly

Wave your Daddy bye-bye

I’m jetting off into the sun

I’ll bring back some impressions

And we’ll have more sessions

Of  naughtiness, laughter and fun.


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