
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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