ramblings and things

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On Cottingham Green



Cottingham, East Riding on the borders of Hull, supposedly the largest village in the UK.  The green no longer a green, but a concrete car park, half closed every Thursday for the village market.   Many happy memories as for nine months I stood there as a trader.  My wife rests in the Natural  Burial ground on the outskirts of the village, so I visit every Friday.
A large bus shelter with lots of seats is there.  As well as for the busses people sit just for a rest and a chat.  This happened yesterday, Friday 21st September 2012.


Twenty minutes to my bus,
Too wet to roam around
So I found the bus shelter
For the busses up town.
I could smell the drink
As I sat down on the seat.
A bottle of whiskey in a carrier
From which he swigged neat.
He asked if I'd a light for the
Hand rolled between his lips,
Which was just a little wet
From the frequent whiskey sips.
I said I didn't smoke
Which is quite true
And then we got chatting
The way I seem to do.
The whiskey and baccy
Kept him alive he said,
After such a varied life
He really should be dead.
A matelot and then fisherman
With many women in his life,
Though he said he never
Married, never had a wife.
He was owed a lot of money
And if he got it not too late
He'd buy a caravan in a field
And drink whiskey by the crate.
An interesting chap
Very easy to like
Though I was a bit worried
When he rode off on a byke,
Carrier dangling loosely from
The sit up and beg handlebars
As he wove his unconcerned way
Between busses, vans and cars.
Life has its little surprises
But sometimes you can't beat
Those wonderful conversations
With strangers  that you meet.


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On Cottingham Green