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The perfect Bivvi

The perfect bivvi will be level and flat

  • ssduncan3



Falling off the beachside rock

I clutched a tussock of sea whitened grass.

Magically, I ascended in a graceful parabola

Reaching the apex, my dad was far below.

‘That’s a long way to fall’ I thought.                                                                                           


But the grass let me down gently

Onto the glistening white sand.

‘See’ I said to my father, ‘it's alright’.

‘Well done’ he replied, despite being dead for almost 20 years.

He wasn't a ghost, just a normal dad walking along the beach with his son.


We reached the cliffs, white limestone, plunging vertically into the sea

Sharp and clean. `Some fine climbs there.’

More ancient cliffs stood and crumbled on a raised beach, just before.

Underneath, nettles, sea cabbage and thistle.

Our red and green ball lodged at the bottom.

‘Careful’ said my dad, ‘All that loose rock just waiting for this moment to arrive’.

Gingerly, I retrieved the ball, hugging it to my chest.

Suddenly I was the dad

as my son, Oscar, retrieved the ball.

‘Well done’ I said.

We walked back to our holiday cottage by the sea.


Waking gently from this parallel universe

My memory caressed the image of Ty Glan y Mor,

 Well-loved by these sons and fathers

The cottage by the sea, near Aberffraw.

And somewhere underneath remains of the palace

Where the Princes of Wales held court.

Totally extinguished by the conquering English, in 1301.

Simon Duncan April 2024



Think positive about getting old,

This is what we are always told.

Don’t fear the dark future, or dwell in the past,

Just do what you can, while life lasts.


So I’ll botox my lips, MIck Jagger style

Whiten my teeth, for a winning smile.

Complete the makeover, think big

Get yourself a curly wig.


Plaster on anti-ageing cream,

In dim light, those wrinkles won’t be seen.

Shave your chest, pull out nose hairs,

Then younger women won’t get scared.


Instead of sitting in real ale pubs

I would gyrate in city clubs.

Instead of drooping into old man’s slumber

I would brightly ask ‘What’s your number’.


But if you did come home with me

I would lose all dignity.

As you would soon discover

An old man under cover.


Simon Duncan March 2024




Simon Duncan April 2024

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