The Windmills of My Mind

       Duncan Leigh
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The Windmills of My Mind
By Duncan Leigh
Copyright 2016 Duncan Leigh
Smashwords Edition
Smashwords Edition License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to or your favourite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
For Windy Miller

'Here is a box, a musical box, wound up and ready to play.
But this box can hide a secret inside.
Can you guess what is in it today?'
Table of Contents
A Day Out with Ken in Hastings
Bon Anniversaire!
Dippers' Rap (and The Hythe Bay Challenge)
Eating in Foster House
Everybody is a Genius?
Happy Birthday Annie
Joe's Leg
Loaf of Bread
Medallion Man
Mick's Tackle
My Nan
Rich Bitch
Square Peg, Round Hole
That Smile

Bon Anniversaire!
Bon Anniversaire!
To you, mon père.
You’re 68,
Your knees aren’t great, but
Still you help us, to update
Our leccy supply -
What a guy!

I hope I give
As much as you
When I’m old
And wonky too.
Dippers' Rap (and The Hythe Bay Challenge)
Even though we cannot feel our toes,
We got us some brown adipose,
To keep us warm out in the sea,
Even in the month of Jan-u-ar-y.
It's cold out there, but we don't care.
Even Carlton (who's got no hair),
Strips off his layers - all twelve of them -
And sets off on his back again.
He swims just three feet from the shore;
He doesn't like the deep no more.
And there goes Brian, with his ice-cream head.
The rest of the world is still in bed.
Feeling smug, he paddles about,
Knowing that, when he gets out,
A dry-robe is waiting in his bag;
The heater of his classic Jag.
Cameron is the spawn of Brian;
Unlike most teens, he's made of iron.
No lie-ins for him, on a Saturday morn.
On Sundays too, he's up at dawn.
Although he works late at the Sub,
He is the future of our club.
Filling each minute with seconds swum,
You too will be a man, my son!
Next to wade into the sea,
Is the ginger ninja, known as Leigh.
He wants the others to think he's tough
So he goes out when it's rather rough,
Or stays in when he's past his best
And needs his pals to get him dressed.
Last to dip is Mad Dog Jase,
Inane grin upon his face.
He keeps a bathtub in his yard
And likes to fill himself with lard.
He experiments with fancy lubes,
To keep the chafing from his moobs.
On chilly days, we can barely talk.
On bambi legs, we try to walk,
With stones in our socks and silted hair,
To find a car, to recover there.
The banter flows, it works like glue,
To bond us boys whose lips are blue.
We throw our cocoa on our thighs,
The unfelt medals of our highs.

Looking out, we see Hythe Bay,
The challenge (for another day),
Is Dungeness to Folkestone's Sands.
Slowly, surely, we draw our plans...

Eating in Foster House
Can you count from one to 4?
Will you leave bad manners at the door?
Come dine with us, if you are able
To sit down nicely at a table.
But if your language is quite poor,
Or you like to drop food on the floor,
Or shout out loud and stuff your face,
Then do please litter another place!
Thoughtful people are welcome here,
But if you like to burp and lear
Then do us a favour, stay away!
Go spoil someone else’s day...

Oh, and please don’t be a lazy loafer,
By trying to eat while on the sofa.
Even if at home it’s ‘OK’,
It simply isn’t the Foster way!

Staff, be sure, you’re welcome too,
To sit in here and have a chew,
But please, keep your mobiles out of sight,
And sit with the students, ‘coz they’re alright!

Everybody is a Genius?

Everybody is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid.
Albert Einstein?

The animals showed for selection.
With high hopes, they turned over the test.
You must climb to the top of that tree (it said);
The first one to the top is the best.

"That was so easy!" chattered Monkey
And he glanced down and waved at his chums.
"Why don't you climb up here and join me?
Just employ your opposable thumbs!"

Said Goldfish, "I feel such a failure!
That test I could not even begin.
I can swim and breathe underwater,
But for thumbs? Well, I've only got fins."

"Although I can soar without effort,"
Tweeted Bird, sounding terribly meek,
"Climbing is tough; I've only got wings
And it isn't much fun with a beak."

"At least you can fly!" grumbled Penguin,
"I struggle to get off the ground.
Though I can survive, in minus five,
This test was impossible, I found."

Murmured fat Seal, "I like the cold too
And can balance a ball on my nose.
With flapping flippers, I catch kippers.
But to climb, I need fingers and toes."

"Dear Seal," pined up Dog, "I got nowhere.
Such a test, I was destined to fail.
But I'll be your friend, right to the end,
And I'll cheer you with my wagging tail."

"With this trunk, I can shell a peanut.
I am strong, with a great memory.
But for climbing," said Elephant sadly,
"I am simply too heavy, you see."

"Before I forget," said the goldfish,
As he glittered and flashed in the sun,
"I've spent my whole life feeling stupid;
Now I see, I'm not the only one."

"Good old Monkey can climb, oh so well,
But now he sits alone in the sky.
We have all of us something to offer,
And we'd make a great team, you and I!"
Happy Birthday Annie
Happy Birthday Annie!
You’re Mum and also Nannie,
To the Family On The Hill.
You write a witty letter,
As a chef, you’re even better,
And you can tell your parsley from your dill.
You can cook a mean curry
But still you seem to worry
About how much we have all been fed.
You’ll bake a super cake
And also might make,
Some loverly banana bread.
You like your rosé wine
And venture out to dine
At Gingers or The Ritz.
You’re 68!
We think you’re great.
In fact, you’re loved to bits.
The humming began as soon
As Old Jackarse entered the room.
To this day, I don't know why
The class sought to destroy this guy (or why we called him Jackarse, for that matter)
Who could list amongst his crimes:
Being somewhat behind the times,
Rather skeletal in his appearance,
Curs-ed with good manners and lenience.
Such attributes, as a rule,
Might be welcome in a school.
But we had little regard
For learning or trying hard.
Instead, our collective brains
Went to work derailing trains,
That otherwise may have wended
To places our parents intended:
Hobnobbing, Bigwigging, High Rolling;
Not Coasting, a-Cruising and a-Strolling.
Was it karma that took us to sticky ends?
BEWARE! - please - of following your friends...

It was Jenkin, so sarky,
Who began the anarchy
Of smiling and purring the note
That his peers adopted by rote.
Mackenzie and Stephens were next
And sir, he quickly became vexed.
"Stop it, please," he requested.
"Stop what, sir?" Jenkin jested.
By this time,
The next line,
Of boys had joined the harmonic.
We must have appeared demonic
To the science teacher at the front,
Who continued to wilt from the brunt
Of thirty boys colluding
In a teasing tone exuding
Arrogance and disrespect.
"Sorry sir; your lesson's wrecked!"
As if the poor man didn't know
But he slammed a ream down, just to show
That he had lost complete control
And every pupil on the role
Was instantly silenced and austere.
"IT'S IMPOSITION TIME!" came the inevitable jeer.
Crushed, sir scurried out of the room.
In the same moment, perhaps, we sealed our doom.
Being kids, we quickly forgot about,
Old Jackarse and his walking out,
The fact that he was just like us
Had feelings, a mum, and took the bus.
But to a man, we paid the price,
Of tormenting teachers and not being nice.

Jenkin drowned in a vat of cola.
Mackenzie (it's ironic) was driven over (he was a driving instructor).
Five were blown up, while serving in the army.
Stephens was claimed, by the Boxing Day tsunami.*
Carroll vanished, down a rather large hole.
Newton fell – splat! – from a telegraph pole.
Elson lost a fight, with an alligator.
Winter burnt his bum on a radiator.
Staveley, by a rotor blade, was tragically speared.
As for Colbourne, he simply… disappeared.
Weightman was unlucky, in a football wall;
Thompson choked on a ping pong ball.
In London, Brice was squashed on his bike.
Arnett was gulped by the Hythe Canal pike.
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