There was an old police box down our way,
Wedged tightly on the corner of
Peter’s Café and Mario’s Chipper.
And I remember it shrouded in fog
On a Sunday night,
Coming home from visiting my Aunty Barbara,
If the planetary line-up was
The blue light on top would flash like a beacon
As we shuffled past
With out chips and Caramel Logs.
And I used to dream
That the Doctor was setting off
On one of his adventures
And maybe, just maybe,
If I was really good and didn’t complain about
Eating gristly mince,
This time he’d take me with him.
Who needs witches and wardrobes,
In this world of Tardis dreams.
The First Decade
Suburban gardens overrun with children
Are suddenly stilled,
Rows of little square lawns empty,
Like a wasteland,
Living room windows filled with nuclear test dummies
Huddled around the tiny screens
As entire avenues echo to the refrain of
Kiddillydac-Kiddillydac – Woooo-ooo,
A new religion sweeping the country,
As children with plungers on their heads
And wearing egg box skirts
To long-suffering mothers.
Ten years on we still watch on a Saturday night,
The televisions in colour now,
But bigger screens
Show up the warts and faults.
And cloth-draped boxes and
Monsters pulled by strings
Are no match for the pull of
The Old Grey Whistle Test
Local Odeons showing films full of the promise of