First the wind, and then the frost
Now the leaves have all been lost

Charlbury Beer Festival Song

It’s here, it’s here, it’s just once a year
The day that we’ve all waited for
With anticipation and great dedication
The beer is all ready to pour, to pour
The beer is all ready to pour

Hey Ho for Charlbury, for cricket and for beer
Hey Ho for Charlbury, our festival is here

There’s cider and wine and the hope of sunshine
But the beer is the belle of the ball
From all round these isles, and hundreds of miles
They’re here for the joy of us all, us all
They’re here for the joy of us all

Hey Ho for Charlbury, for cricket and for beer
Hey Ho for Charlbury, our festival is here

There’s dozens to choose from, like old Cherry Bomb
Red Hunter might run out quite soon
And we in the choir quite like Twisted Spire
And also Dark Side of the Moon, the Moon
And also Dark Side of the Moon

Hey Ho for Charlbury, for cricket and for beer
Hey Ho for Charlbury, our festival is here

Out on the wicket there may still be cricket
In here it’s too soon to declare
We’re sharing a tale over Roman Black Ale
And we still have some tokens to spare, to spare
We still have some tokens to spare

Hey Ho for Charlbury, for cricket and for beer
Hey Ho for Charlbury, our festival is here

We’re making a list of those not to be missed
And checking what’s still left to try
There’s only a few of our favourite brew
As we’re drinking the barrels all dry, all dry
We’re drinking the barrels all dry

Hey Ho for Charlbury, for cricket and for beer
Hey Ho for Charlbury, our festival is here.

England V USA

Oh, poor Rob Green,
Your World Cup dream
Is hanging by a thread.

A spillage here,
A fumble there,
Capello's seeing red.

For James or Hart
Will take your part
And gladly end your spell.

If that comes true,
Let's say to you:
'Farewell, young Rob, farewell.'

Bat and ball

Climbing and arcing and into the sun
The man at the crease adds some more to his ton
The ball is retrieved and with catchers all round
There’s strangled appeals at some in-between sound.

A drive through the covers, the fielders are split
The next one’s a yorker but this too is hit
In comes a bouncer, which rises head high
And duly despatched into clear blue sky.

End of the over, the batsmen confer
Up on the hill they’re creating a stir
The bar’s getting empty with each shot that’s played
As all gather round to see history made.

On comes a spinner, who gives it some air
Coaxing the bat from his well-guarded lair
Dancing towards it our great padded swan
Lifts it majestically over long on.

The fielders are sweating, hungry for shade
Another sets off at the flash of a blade
He chases at first but is soon out of hope
And watches it gently pop over the rope.

It’s now round the wicket, a quick change of plan
But onto the back foot it’s cut to third man
It’s three more to win now – just one big hit more
The batsman is itching to settle the score.

With right arm and over the ball is in play
And met by an edge that runs safely away
The fielder pursues it; he’s closing in fast
Of all his exertions this could be the last.

There’s two easy runs but they go for a third
A run out right now would be quite absurd
The keeper is ready, gloves over the bails
As in from the boundary the cricket ball sails.

The batsman is panting, still out of his ground
With one desperate lunge can safety be found?
A stump is uprooted, the chalk and dust fly
And all turn their trust to the umpire’s eye.

‘Not out’ is the verdict; the bats are both raised
The crowd’s on its feet feeling thrilled and amazed
It’s one for the records, a game to recall
A fine summer’s day with the bat and the ball.

At the PM's Door

One, two, three, four
Cleggy at the PM's door;
Five, six, seven, eight
Eating cherries off his plate.

Leaving No. 10

Robin Hood, Robin Hood, leaving No. 10
Robin Hood, Robin Hood, won't be back again
Most rich and poor want him no more
Robin Hood, Robin Hood, Robin Hood.

The man with the beard in Evenlode Books

The man with the beard at the back of the shop
Is writing down numbers and adding them up
He turns to the screen to elicit a code
Then fires up a browser and watches it load.

Somewhere in cyberspace orders are placed
Into the post a new package is raced
To make good the promise of books the next day
The Rough Guide to China, a new Broadway play.

Meanwhile a customer stops at a shelf
Hoping to find some escape for himself
His head is half-cocked as he studies the spines
Alighting on one and then reading some lines.

It looks from the opening quite a good choice
An interesting setting, an authentic voice
The story’s narrator, a boy in his teens
Has Asperger’s Syndrome, or that’s how it seems.

The customer pays and heads off round the block
The man with the beard glances up at the clock
It’s time to shut shop and head off for some grub:
A Good Food Shop sarny, a bite down the pub.

With all of the stock he has, what has he read?
He’s writing a novel, so somebody said
It’s maybe not true, but it also makes sense
Surrounded by books the urge must be intense.

They say he’s descended from chippies of sorts
Whose trade was in timber, and not people’s thoughts
Today, when it’s knowledge that gets you ahead
He’s full of resources to put in your head.

Sometimes when I see his display of new books
I’m certain it’s me he’s been trying to hook
It’s rare I’m not tempted to add to that pile
Of things that I’ll read, but just not for a while

Is he pleased to see me when I go in there?
He’ll treat me politely, though won’t call me ‘sir’
I guess that’s his style, which is just fine by me
I’m sure there are others that he’d sooner see.

I still have to thank him, if only I could
For spending a weekend with Margaret Atwood
And also at Christmas, much stranger by far
I spent New Year’s Day with that nice Andrew Marr.

It must be rewarding to think of the homes
Where bookshelves are graced with his CDs and tomes
And then when finances are making things tough
There’s always that gesture of 10% off.

Just where would we be without Evenlode books?!
That Tardis of culture, the first place to look
For last minute presents, like new DVDs
Biographies, music, all waiting to please.

The next time you’re in there and squeezing around
Uncertain of what little gems will be found
Be glad of the pleasures that wait row by row
And grateful the man with the beard made it so.