Across the pond

Since, I’m fixing  a jolly party

In late April or in May

In Marriott’s pad in London,

I thought I’d better tell him

To make sure he could be there.

So I rang his house in Yorkshire

In case he hadn’t yet left,

For his first ever world cruise

On oceans far and wide.

The voice that answered told me

Was sure he’d already gone

But he did not know for certain

Which ocean he was on.

But he did know, that Oliver

Had his mobile phone

In one of the huge pockets,

Of his coat, so long and thick.

I could text him, he told me

At little cost to me.

And then he told me politely,

That I had rung his number old

And my dear friend, Ollie

Now lived in the house next door.

It was of course his son-in-law

Whose wife I had first met,

When I held her in my arms,

Just outside the ward’s big door.

So I rang off in shame.

And I heard a booming voice

Inside my very head.

‘Now, surely, you must admit

You always get it wrong.

You stupid twit.’

The voice, I’m sure was Captain Bob’s

Because it was followed by a chortle,

Louder, longer and more chortle like

Than ever I had heard before.

It took me back many years

To when I had lunches three

With the disgraced tycoon and would-be MP.

Always when we parted at the door

He warmly shook my hand, and said.

‘Now, Bob, I’m sure you must agree.

You got it wrong in chasing me.’

Speechless,  I would pat

His shoulder big and broad.

A friendly pat.

‘Cause, he was quite the most amazing bloke

I had ever  met, before, or since.

I am still not sure what made him tick.

But to know the facts, you must read

The book by Bower, Tom to me.

The world will  never ever see anyone,

Just like him.

Which makes me less fearful for my grand kids two.

I could have said three, which rhymes.

But decent journalists don’t lie, even if it makes a better story.