The holidays are over and the weather’s turning grey,
but none of that mattered on Transfer Deadline Day.
No one in our office was working and the web connection slowed,
as we were all on the Football 365 blog and pressing ‘re-load’,
tense as we knew our clubs were running out of time
to bring in any players they wanted to sign.
We read all the gossip and the confirmed transfers
and discussed whether Modric would be staying at Spurs.
The Gunners fans hoped Arsene would improve their team,
but settled for the dregs after selling their cream.
There were a lot of players sealing moves to QPR
and updates on Cahill and Parker from the front of Harry’s car,
as Stoke signed some big lads for their long-ball games,
and Everton tried to hang on to all their big names.
After work there’s more news on medicals and Everton’s plight,
delivered to us by a shouting Jim White,
who’s giving us rumours that are mostly just tripe,
and getting excited by the Sky Sports hype,
before throwing to some poor reporter at a football ground,
who struggles to speak with all the chanting morons around.
As the deadline approaches there’s some breaking news,
that tells us Meireles has left for the blues,
but we’ve got Bellamy who’s trouble but an absolute steal,
replacing Joe Cole who will play in Europe for Lille.
And then it’s all over, no more rumours to hear,
until the window opens again in the new year.
It’s the middle of the day I need a break from the boss’s stare,
to get out for a walk, escape into the fresh air.
Past the car dealers where the White and Asian men work in sales
and the Black and Polish men work with sponges and pails.
In the other direction comes the girl with the ear phones and sour-looking face
who walks the same route each day at a rapid pace;
and the couple with matching coats, side by side ‘til lunchtime ends,
but showing no sign of being more than just friends.
Passing by the YMCA hostel where no one can stay,
since the council decided to take the funding away,
preferring an empty building on this bit of land,
to giving vulnerable kids a helping hand.
Here’s the man in the purple shirt with the combed back hair,
on his way to Morrison’s to get his lunch there.
I go up to the high street of this once thriving town,
where many of the shops have recently shut down,
replaced by stores where all the stock costs a pound,
the only places where queues at the tills can be found.
The youth who’s paid to hold an advertising sign
has his friends sitting around him to help pass the time.
The high street charity workers ignored by the parrers-by,
who quicken their step and won’t look them in the eye.
I take a short cut through the grounds where the empty church stands,
trying to avoid the sandwich wrappers and Special Brew cans,
left as a modern-day tribute to the people lying below
but a promising source of food for a lone foraging crow.
And as the time comes for me to head back to my work base,
I know I’ll see these strangers tomorrow in the same place.
So we’ve hung a bird feeder on our garden fences,
Providing birds with the seed it dispenses,
Attracting new life into our welcoming nest,
Relishing our chance to pass this test,
Re-stocking the supply when the birds need more,
Offering healthy food so we can be sure,
We’re doing what we can to keep sparrow secure.
It’s the end of another week and I’m feeling afraid
of two whole days in a soulless indoor shopping arcade,
where we’ll pay a small fortune to park the car
and get overpriced cake from the coffee bar.
We’ll start our trek through infinite stores,
all with moving stairways and automatic doors.
She’s seeking new shoes, new trousers and tops,
so we’ll have to struggle through the crowded shops,
battling feral women under fluorescent lighting,
sneering and pushing and almost fighting.
A new pair of jeans is this time her prize,
only to find they haven’t got her size.
But then she’ll find a pair in her style
and take them to the assistant with the insincere smile
and I’ll get that feeling of familiar doom
as she heads off towards the fitting room,
leaving me stranded in Dorothy Perkins alone,
reading the sports news on my mobile phone,
getting looks of pity from the other men nearby
who know they’re next when their wife has something to try.
With the new jeans bought there’ll be no rest,
we’ll be off to New Look for a summer vest
and to say “this is nice” about clothes she won’t wear
then on to BHS for whatever they sell there.
I’ll try to escape to the pub but there won’t be a chance,
we’ll have to go to Marks to look at the pants
and I’ll suggest the ones with smaller price tags
but she’ll think I’m only there to carry the bags.
Cuts in funding mean new bus routes being mapped
that will leave people isolated and feeling trapped,
not able to get to the bank or do their shopping
as the service that they rely on is scheduled for stopping.
One lady worries about her husband in a home, a loving wife
who rides two buses each way to stay part of his life.
There’s no other way she can get there, she has no car
and there’s no way she could ever walk that far.
There are older people needing two weekly trips to the store,
to buy small amounts as they can’t carry any more.
There are problems for people of working age
who won’t be able to get to work and earn their wage.
It’ll be difficult to get to the doctor or dentist,
trips out with friends will be sorely missed,
and how will people get to bank to pay their bills,
or get to the chemist for their medicines and pills?
The blind, the disabled and those who don’t drive
often rely on these buses to keep them alive
There’s a street in Manchester where it’s all going on,
there’s been laughing, some murders, the odd financial con,
People have been to the Kabin to buy their Gazette
into the Rovers for a pint pulled by Liz or by Bet
and then they fill up on one of Betty’s hotpots.
It’s a place where we’ve seen Curly Watts,
who started as bin man then had frozen food to sell.
but there wasn’t a happy ending when he married Raquel.
Jack’s back yard was covered in feathers and pigeon muck,
those birds were hated by his beloved swamp-duck.
There’s been bad guys like Tony, whose plotting was unfurled
by Jed Stone and Maria, so he blew up Underworld.
There was Jon Lyndsay whose actions sent Deidre to jail
and Richard Hillman, who could’ve been a legend, if he’d only killed Gail.
Catch yourself on, Jim would have fought you given the chance,
and controlling Charlie Stubbs succumbed to Tracey’s lethal dance.
When the Battersbys moved in they gave the neighbours a fright,
Leanne’s been a bookie, a waitress and a lady of the night.
Her sister fell for a hippy, Spider his nickname,
who got his aunty involved in his eco-campaign.
Traders on the street included a butcher called Fred, I say Fred
and a strange man who romped on a water bed.
Alf ran the shop and was Weatherfield mayor,
but on New Years Eve he passed away in a chair.
Mavis worked with Rita in the paper shop
and her husband drove a car with a paperclip on top.
Roy’s got his shopping bag and his wife has a red anorak,
did you know that she was a man a while back?
Ken’s had to put up with Blanche’s sarcastic asides,
he’s been a teacher, a writer and been for canal boat rides.
He fell out with Baldwin when he took Ken’s daughter for a bride,
but he still held Mike in his arms on the street as he died.
There have been disasters, like Alma dying and that big tram crash,
Don Brennan’s breakdown and Kevin Webster’s moustache.
But it’s a street that our favourite characters have all called home,
cabbies, knicker stitchers and gossips, and a travelling garden gnome
Dear Lord, thank you for showing us that you care,
by getting your Methodist friends to ask us for a prayer,
They’re praying for our street and they’ve asked for requests,
seeking to increase their flock and attract more guests,
knowing more people through the entrance gate
means more donations put in the collection plate.
But I’m saving my money for my own daily bread
not giving it to imaginary beings instead,
like the people praying on Sunday with no question or doubt,
so, thanks for the offer, but this time I’m out
It’s been years since anyone even spoke your name,
now in retrospect that might seem a shame,
but you cut yourself off from your sister’s side,
not speaking again after your mother had died.
You and your wife thought yourselves too good
to contact these people, though related by blood.
My gran’s relationship with her brother stayed cold
over the years as they both grew old.
Now she thinks it’s gone on too long,
she wants to get in touch and right the wrong
so she sent a note to your address in the post
and received the reply that she feared the most:
a letter from a stranger saying you out-lived your wife
then, lonely and depressed, took your own life.
With no family left was that the best thing for you,
when picking up the phone was all you had to do?
I’m sure the future seemed bleak after your wife had died,
but you could have had support if you’d swallowed your pride.
Did you not give a thought to how your sister feels now,
thinking ending your life was better than ending the row?
We’ve got back from holiday and you’re walking like a fool,
because of an infection you picked up in the pool.
We’ve been to Tenerife for our trip this year
and we found a pub where it’s a dollar fifty a beer
so we drank that much that we can’t recall
the walk back to the hotel at all,
but we must have passed the trees that the camera shots showed
and some of the countless green bollards they have by the road.
Breakfast where we stayed was great, we were always well fed
with pastries and omelettes and bacon and cheese on my bread,
but up in the bedroom the beds were on wheels
and trouser Nazis made me wear jeans for our evening meals.
We saw lizards resting on the warm black rock
and boats swaying on the waves as they came into the dock.
We went on an outing to Mount Teide volcano,
where we went up in a lift to walk in the snow.
There was a couple on the bus who talked non-stop,
and within minutes of meeting we knew she liked it on top.
The guide on the bus was a wild man from the hills
who lives in a tent and hunts bears for his thrills.
Past experience made us nervous on the leaving date,
while we waited outside for the bus that came late
to take us to the airport to stand in a line
with screaming children, sending shivers down my spine.
Then we sat on a plane with no room for our knees
and they gave us sausage and mash and crackers and cheese.
Grateful actually, grateful indeed,
People’s forgiveness is something you need.
You’re chatting and laughing in a room on your own,
Is it OK to have a conversation alone?
Grateful actually, grateful indeed,
People’s forgiveness is something you need.
As you chat away to your favourite green pen,
your crazy score is ten out of ten.
Grateful actually, grateful indeed,
People’s forgiveness is something you need.
Meeting sincere people with honoured smiles,
People who’ve come from miles and miles.
Grateful actually, grateful indeed,
People’s forgiveness is something you need.
Is Dr Zoia Ali Khan the voice in your head?
Is your behaviour down to something she said?
Grateful actually, grateful indeed,
People’s forgiveness is something you need
You know. I know. As know,
And that’s it. Time to go.
