Poets Day and Drink, now there's a healthy combination
Scrambled eggs and whisky
in the false-dawn light. the AB site
a sweet chatter town, bleak, God knows,
but sweet. Sometimes. And
weren't we fine tonight?
When McMouse set up that limping
treble roll behind me
my horn just growled and I
thought my liver would burst.
And Jogger J. pressing with the
soft stick and Tilly and chichi
singing low. Here we are now
in the White Hart, leaning
on one another, too tired
to go home. But don't say a word,
don't tell a soul, they wouldn't
understand, they couldn't, never
in a million years, how fine,
how magnificent we were
in that old AB club today.