Wrote this in Parc Monceau in Paris watching all the lovely French girls go by on a beautiful, sunny day. So many muses, so much inspiration. I think most people I know can relate to this.

A Day At The GGs(Gambling and Guinness)

My funds are low, my pockets dry,
I need to top them up,
I'll back a horse at a big price,
Then I can have a sup.

The plan it works, sixteen to one,
A pint of Guinness please,
And while I'm here, another bet,
I have them on their knees.

"I've got a tip in the next race",
Winks the auld lad at the bar,
"Worked in this yard for many years,
He's going to win by far."

He's put his last few quid on it,
The remnants of his pension,
I lump on too, still unconvinced,
Can barely stand the tension.

True to his word, the horse bolts in,
My pockets start to bulge,
A pint for me and my learned friend,
It's my turn to indulge.

By God, says I, I'm on a roll,
The bookies must be sick,
One more race and one more pint,
To stop now would be thick.

The evening meeting's underway,
The pints being drained at steady pace,
All reasoning becomes unclear,
The form guide spins before my face.

Barman, one more for the road,
It's high time that I went,
On second thoughts, postpone that pint,
I've all my money spent.

The robbers raped me of my riches,
They slipped in undetected,
And also Arth, he played his part,
His coffers well injected.

A few coins left, sure what the hell,
I'll put it on a horse,
The race starts off, they jump the first,
My fella falls of course.

"You haven't sheen the lasht of me",
I slur, stumbling from the shop,
Unlucky there in those last six,
They caught me on the hop.

They ran too free, they pulled too hard,
Were lame, or wouldn't settle,
The bookies smiling once again,
They have my precious metal.

I wrote this in Munich for an American guy called Rob that I was drinking with in Munich who said Ode to Bavarian Beer was too long. Written while well on my way so not my finest piece of work. Anyway, here it is.

The Other Sex

Some are black and some are brown,
Some range from yellow to white,
Some have twenty twenty vision,
Some are short of sight.

Their hair ranges from short to long,
From jet black to bright red,
They like to sleep and eat and drink,
And relax in their bed.

Some exercise and some let go,
Some vary in between,
They like to shop, with your money,
On this they're very keen.

But out of these varieties,
One thing, it can be said,
You can't live with them or without,
All women wreck your head!

I wrote this in the world famous Hofbrauhaus in Munich nursing a monstrous hangover. As Oscar Wilde once put nicely: "It's not whether the poet is a drunk, but whether the drunk is a poet." Enjoy!

Ode to Bavarian Beer

The sun bears down in all its might,
Dehydrating my soul,
No Wind or Water, just Earth and Fire,
The sweat begins to roll.

The heat has got the best of me,
The sights will have to wait,
I slip into a beer garden,
For my thirst to abate.

"Ein grossBier bitte", I address,
The waiter at my table,
Make it quick, my poor parched mouth,
Will drink till it's unable.

Lo behold, and there she blows,
A large Bavarian beer,
I quaff it down, my soul rejoice,
Down my cheek rolls a tear.

One beer, music to my mouth,
An enchanting sultry song,
I'm happy now, unwind, relax,
The beer doesn't last long.

Two beers, now no need to quaff,
Sit back, enjoy the show,
My taste buds dance with pure delight,
It's drinking time they know.

Three beers, first effects kick in,
A smile begins to form,
The thoughts they go a-wandering,
The calm before the storm.

Four beers, pace begins to slack,
The seal begins to break,
Toilet break the first has come,
And that I duly take.

Five beers, tongue starts to get loose,
It waits with apprehension,
For into roaring drunkenness,
Begins my slow descension.

Six beers, a random stranger,
Becomes an endearing friend,
Friends we'll be forever more,
I think not but pretend.

Seven, eight, and nine and ten,
Reality does wane,
We go forth seeking adventures,
Our spirit won't contain.

Another bar, our stomachs full,
Eleven takes a while,
I catch the eye of a fair maiden,
She returns a smile.

I take leave of my new found friend,
Who's passed out at the bar,
And stumble over brazenly,
The short walk seems so far.

Chat commences, beer the twelfth,
But for her number two,
So I get her a large vodka,
She's catching up to do.

Time elapses, all goes well,
Till I say something wrong,
My inexorable drunken tongue,
She leaves before too long.

The rest is only but a blur,
With glimpses here and there,
A state of desperate drunkenness,
My memories are rare.

A saving grace that in my state,
I made it it to my bed,
With nothing more than vague memories,
An empty wallet, spinning head.

The aftermath, it never is,
Or was a pretty sight,
You cannot sleep, yet can't awake,
Your brain is pierced by light.

The three options available,
They range from smart to dim,
The smart one is the painkillers,
Administered with vim.

The middle one is stick it out,
And wait for it to pass,
The dim one is to find a bar,
And refill your large glass.

A vicious cycle has occurred,
With irony, it's true,
From parched mouth back to even worse,
A blinding headache too.

Yet we continue in this vein,
Till life starts to mature,
They say you learn from your mistakes,
With beer, I'm not so sure!