You tease a friendly smile
From the stranger behind on the bus
In every store that we visit
The shopkeepers can’t make enough fuss
You reach out and grip ladies’ fingers
Grown men coo in cashpoint queues
Even hardened young hoodies
Stop posing and exchange winks with you
People grin and wave
From inside their gridlocked cars
Twentysomethings raise their glasses
Outside of crowded bars
At the top of the platform steps
A tramp offers to help us along
We lift your pram down the stairs
Then he’s off with a chirpy ‘so long’
You light up the world around you
Make it show its much softer side
And I’m privileged to be there with you
My chest swelling with fatherly pride

Sunday evening, February fourth,
The calm before the storm
Our last moments of just the two of us
Before you were born
But we could sense a change coming
Something big about to start
Like the first ripples on the water
In the cup in Jurassic Park
Monday morning, six am,
And the first signs of contractions
Like a well-oiled baby machine
Together we spring into action
There’s a nursery to be finished
The front of our house to sweep
(Grand?)Parents to be phoned
And pizza for us to eat
I valet the car
(Only the best for my kid)
Chance my luck on a scratch card
And win seventy five quid
Then it’s back to the house
And on to stopwatch duty
They’re averaging five minutes apart
And the length is about fifty
By nine pm
It’s time to go in
So we drive to Kingston
Will you be a ‘her’ or a ‘him’?
We get to reception
But there’s a bit of a wait
It seems half of London’s
Having babies tonight
I’m sandwiched where I sit
As two labouring women puff
Like two steam trains
Ready for the off
Then through to the ward
And clearly you’re on the move
Your Mum is looking pained
But there’s not much I can do
At last around one
We move to a private room
I shift our backpacks in
And we make ourselves at home
It’s lovely and big
And warm and clean
(A huge improvement on the hotel rooms
We usually stay in)
Your Mum gets settled
I run my fingers through her hair
Which sort of helps, I think
But not as much as the gas and air
I’ll spare you all the details
But the next few hours were amazing
Needless to say there was lots
Of pushing and panting and wailing
Your Mum was extremely brave
In control, and dignified too
If it was me I’d have demanded drugs
And turned the air dark blue
Then sometime around six
The finishing line came into focus
And I remember getting very excited
I knew you would soon be with us
And when I first glimpsed your face
On Tuesday February 6th, 6:44
You looked so calm and collected
Like you’d done all this before
You had a shock of dark long hair
And beautifully rich smooth skin
And tiny pink little feet
And I’m sure I saw you grin
I felt a rush of happiness
As they weighed you at seven pound seven
And although I’m not a religious man
I could have sworn you were an angel fallen from heaven.

The rugby six nations is about to kick off, with Wales to face Ireland on Sunday. Therefore, I thought I’d publish this which was written via the text function of a mobile phone on the weekend that Wales last played Ireland in Cardiff in March 2005. On that occassion the two teams were competing for the Six Nations Championship crown, but only Wales could win the coveted Grand Slam. The verses were tapped out in the following sequence: on the night before; during the ill-fated car journey from London to Cardiff for the match; and in the bars in Cardiff afterwards. I was drunk by this point. It was sent by text to lots of English rugby fans at the time who all thought it was rubbish. Funny that.

A grand slam weekend

More than twenty years have passed,
Since we’ve had such a chance,
But tomorrow in Cardiff,
The Welsh players will dance,
Past the men in green,
An aging team,
And we’ll drink Brain’s SA for hours,
And the prize will be ours,
And we’ll sing Calon Lân,
As we take the hallowed Grand Slam.

All was going well,
We knew where we were heading,
But things started going wrong,
As we approached the town of Reading.
My knuckles began to whiten,
And my mouth began to foam,
As it slowly dawned on me,
That my ticket was still at home.
But now 100 miles later,
We’re once again heading west,
And if the traffic is good,
And my car does what it should
We will still see the great welsh conquest.

The sun shone bright,
The Irish put up a valiant fight,
But it was written in the stars,
That this day would be ours,
And with Henson’s golden boot,
The shamrock was made mute,
And with some magic from Shanklin,
We were crowned the champions.

Cymru am byth.

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