A Gram Day Out
by
Ian Abbott (Blackpool & Fylde)

It’s five-fifteen the alarm goes off

Oh God! Sit up, a scratch, and a cough;

A shower, some breakfast then coffee “that’s nice”

Now out to the car to scrape off the ice.

It’s ‘six’ already, I’d better be going

The train is at seven and it’s started snowing.

The ‘seven-o-three’ from Preston’s on time.

That’s good, have a snooze, but the seats don’t recline.

I’ll catch up on reading my file for the GRAM

But Bolton puts paid to that little plan.

The ‘Mallet Head’ hoards are all drinking beer *

They’re off to the ‘footie’, they sing and they cheer.

“I’ll wait to change trains” (I think), “Piccadilly”

But thoughts of reprise turn out to be silly

“Sir Richard regrets” the announcement says

The ‘eight-twenty-three’ is somewhat delayed

It’s transpires we’ve joined a hundred-and-few

Who’re waiting; “They cancelled the previous too”.

But the eight-forty-five is just ten-minutes late

So three train-loads cram through that one train-loads gate.

I’m lucky, a seat, and I try not to see

The many who haven’t and watch enviously

For the four hour journey they shuffle and sigh

We’re packed like sardines and the fields just creep by.

At last we arrive but it’s now ten-to-one.

I think, “when I get there; will’ ‘sarnies’ be gone?

I’m just a bit late (and there’s still butties left)

I sit at the back, “I can’t eat them yet”

It’s an ill wind, they say, that blows nobody good

An illness, a recess, I rush . . . . . (to the food)

A medic arrives and the patient is cared for

“I’ll just have a ‘bickie’” (well that’s what they’re there for)

At last, I am sated and the Gram picks up steam

There’s Josh, John, & Hanne and Babu (supreme)

We ask about groups and what do they do?

And we’re left somewhat humbled by IHEU

Too soon it is over, there’s just time for a chat

Before I start thinking about my journey back.

The walk up to Euston is pleasant enough

And the train is on time there’s not much of a rush

“It’s not that bad really”, the train rushes North

I change trains for Preston, things start to get worse.

The ‘early-doors’ drunks are all out in force

There’s nowhere to sit and the journey “of course”

Is sluggishly slow with innumerable stops

There’s shouting and swearing and threats of The cops.

But somehow we get there, at ten-twenty-four

I head for may car, and “Just one hour more”

The drive back to Blackpool is calm and serene

The roads are quite quiet and every lights green

I pull on my drive at twenty-three-ten

I can’t quite believe that I’m back home again.

The house is all warm, she pours me a drink.

“Did you have a good meeting?” I sit and I think…….

(Mallet-Head - - - a derogatory term ‘someone from Bolton’)