It was a glorious day in Padstow; <br />A real seaside bucket and spade day. <br />We strolled the little Cornish port in sunshine, <br />Wifey and girls in search of arty bargains <br />Me, amused by fat lady postcards. <br /> <br />“We’re just popping in here”, they said <br />“Where will you be? ”, wifey asked In that, <br /> “we don’t want you hanging around yawning <br />while we shop for girly stuff”, type way. <br />Me? , I reply innocently, <br />Me? , I’ll just take a look at the boats. <br /> <br />“Biggest ever “ and “buy one, get one free”, <br />The Cornish pasty shop sign teased. <br />“A super jumbo gut filler please”, I said, <br />lowering my head in shame. <br /> <br />So that I hadn’t lied, <br />I made my way to the harbour. <br />Sitting on a bench, I unwrapped the paper <br />and exposed the full meaty magnificence of that <br />Beautiful creation. <br />Mouth watering, <br />I could smell that savoury, oniony deliciousness. <br /> <br /> <br />A screech, <br />a flurry of grey and white, and then pain. <br />Blood poured from my now empty hand and, <br />Jonathon Livingston bloody seagull, <br /> flying heavy and low, disappeared with my pasty. <br />I swear I heard a voice from above say, <br />“People in glass houses….Fat boy, <br /> people in glass houses”<br /><br />Sailing to windward<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/glass-houses/
