Mrs Canning has a studio on Cheyne Walk She paints there every day I often watch her work from my bedroom window She mainly paints landscapes red and green Which I am told are very popular My father has a Bridget Riley on his library wall I like this work very much but I prefer…

If anything the rain is getting heavier I am witnessing a thousand theatres As the warmth of a thousand windows Illuminate the dark streets left and right The November shadows seem even more menacing now And I hold my keys tight in my generous pockets But I feel assured that I will be quite safe…

Your violet sheets are drying in the sun They can be seen clearly from the cliffs The sea winds are rather beautiful today  

I purchased you faded From a coastal market Your beautiful decorations Were almost hidden by time Colours that were once quite vivid Felt heavy dull battered and blind But I have plans to bring you back to life So that you might again reflect The smooth sharp silk sea light Of these lonely northern shores…

Our green guest house Is slowly coming into view But it will shortly be obscured By the grey hanging clouds

The trees in the low valley Are almost hidden By the descending clouds It will rain within the hour              

As we stroll around the gallery I notice that neither of you are wearing bras But your breasts are not a mystery to me as I have seen them on many occasions Yet not so often these days as we live at opposite ends of the city Occasionally I see men looking at your breasts…

As we stroll around the gallery I notice that neither of you are wearing bras But your breasts are not a mystery to me as I have seen them on many occasions Yet not so often these days as we live at opposite ends of the city I think that I prefer Mary’s tee shirt…

You have not yet written your astonishing poetry I am the only living person who knows of this strange fact My name is Pass the Cuthbert and I sell beautiful flowers In front of one of London’s busiest mainline railway stations

Adventures in Realism with Hot Harry Hotspur Was a song written by Nigel Pearce Patrick Of Rochester Kent This nineties group disbanded soon after this Their one and only hit record