Sunday, 19 March 2017



On a night when not one fuck was given
In an orange Mini being driven
By a mate who as far as I could tell
Was speeding and spaced out as well

I passed him a joint and he said to me
The road’s disappeared mate I can’t see
Then he without any hesitation
Drove over the central reservation

It was surreal like in a dream
Seeing a lorry with lights on full beam
Come hurling towards us at full pelt                                                 
Barely a trace of emotion was felt

We went back over the central line
Not a word came out of his mouth or mine
I skinned up a joint and thought Oh well
And we both laughed and said Fucking hell

The Psychedelic Furs had played that night
And we agreed they were well alright
As we pulled up outside my mate’s abode
Wide awake and still in gig mode

His wife was still up and so was their cat
We had cups of tea and then we sat
And watched Chloe in the living room
Pushing kittens out of her womb

We sat and watched he his wife and I
Till after a haze of time passed by
Eventually four kittens appeared
A Purrrfect ending to a night so weird

 It’s strange this story that sticks in my head
(And it was quite strange it has to be said)
But every now and then it makes me smile
To look back and ponder just for a while

That night (with a fuck really not given)
The old orange mini (long ago driven)
The cat and kittens (no longer alive)
And the Furs in London in ‘eighty five

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