A LONG WAY FROM HERE.

During those Greater London moonlit wood hunts,
When we strayed too far from our garden,
The music of Nirvana called us back:
“Penny Royal Tea” and “All Apologies” appealed
As we stumbled with our lumber;

And though we were far from home the weekly
Souls we entertained were more kindred than
Any family firm; chipping in for beer and
Ensuring we didn’t need to leave the house,
Save for the gardening of course.

We weren’t the noisiest of neighbours, but I
Guess that depends upon the neighbourhood,
And as we were in the middle of a
Terraced street it’s fair to assume we
Issued more decibels than most.

And camping clubs should really not be sited so
Close to residential areas, especially with
Our scouts; heaving condiment
Jars over fences and leaving a trail of
Russ shaped spaces in them.

The boys would turn up all hours; passing by the
Usual convenience stores and the ones that
Slipped you a porn mag when you asked
For a pork pie, or allowed you to run up a
Beer tab in the middle of the month.

And the electricity would fizzle out every time
Our wages did, and we were forced to burn
Other fuels found in the shed, or
Liberated saplings from the verges of
Neglect at the side of the road.

Consumption of home brew ensued but didn’t
Last long as our patience was more short
Term than memory, so me, Kev and
Moz stayed up all night playing computer
Games whilst straining the remains.

World Cup years are seldom as memorable for
Their football, and although that was on
Who could forget the use of two
Portables to view it when the grand old
Box blew before a whistle did.

And with a new romance and a mid summer’s
Dance we secured the year’s immortality,
And if looking back some facts
Appear displaced I’m damn sure the
June Christmas tree wasn’t.

And as the year progressed we fetched more
Timber, either found or purloined from
The fields beyond that weren’t fields
As such, which was used to illuminate our
Exit (in a moonlight flit).