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Tommy’s Birthday

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When Tommy Ramsbottom turned eighteen
He said to his mum and his dad
"I don't want a present or nothing
I'm off for a drink with the lads."

The Ramsbottoms lived on the 'social'
And struggled to make both ends meet
But they stuck twenty quid in his pocket
And told him to, "Have a good neet."

He met all his mates round the corner
At a pub called the 'Satin and Lace'
Tom struggled to grow any whiskers
So he took some I.D, just in case.

Our young hero wasn't a drinker
He gen'ly just had one or two
But this was his birthday remember
And he managed to sink quite a few

With bravado he said to the barmaid
A lass wi' a lovely big smile
"Could I have one of those pickled eggs love?
I haven't had one for a while."

His hunger was partially sated
They started a mini pub-crawl
When 'clock on 'town 'all chimed out ten
Then,"Let's go and eat," was the call.

Our Tommy had never 'ad curry
And the menu was quite complicated
He was drunk, but not daft, was the lad
He sat, and he watched, and he waited.

Tommy's buddies had been here before
They all seemed to know what to do
And fair split their sides when he said
"I'll 'ave same as him, vindaloo."

Well, after a couple of mouthfuls
He were sweating and mopping his 'ed
And afraid he'd be poorly at 'table
He rushed to the lavvy instead.

It were there that our Tommy met Hughie
After which, he were feeling much better
Then off to the nightclub they went
A swish place, called 'La Vienetta.'

The drinks were expensive in there
It was almost ten bob for a beer
And with 'glitter ball spinning on 'ceiling
Tommy started to feel a bit queer.

Tommy spied a young lady in 'club
His mates said,"Yon girl is a cracker."
But with curry escaping his pores
He had no chance of getting a smacker.

His romantic intentions cut short
Tommy thought he would call it a night
And waving drunken tarrahs to his friends
He staggered home feeling 'not right.'

Once home his dad went ballistic
Because Tom had forgotten his key
"Sorry dad, I'm desperate for 'toilet,"
Tommy's attempt at quick repartee.

Following morning though, Tommy felt rotten
Met his pals for black coffee at Gregg's
His 'ed and his stomach protested
Never again, would he eat pickled eggs.



By Hobbo

A contemporary poet with a Yorkshire sense of humour

8 replies on “Tommy’s Birthday”

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