My Three Week Holiday

My Three Week Holiday

“Take the sugar bowl to the cup, you stupid great fuck!”
I was surprised, I had surmised that she was refined, she was not.
It was an irritation though, to see the flow of Tate & Lyle across the plastic table top,
Four spoonfuls for every cup, six times a day, it all adds up,
But then he was mad, this was an asylum, and we were all banged-up.

“How far did you get?” I enquired, politely, not expecting a reply.
This one never spoke, just stared, and ate and tried to escape.
Her nightly runs round the well clipped lawns, chased by nurses with jangling keys,
Our sad amusement after telly and tea and the eternal wait for the pill trolley.
“How far?” said she, with a smile, so carefree, “Not bleedin’ far enough!”

And then there was the screaming guest, a holiday maker, just like me,
She came at night, a terrible fight, “best avoided” we were advised by the wise.
So we hid well away or ignored her, trying hard not to stare at her ugly, black, glare.
But caught reading at lunch, I ran, she cried, “Ah, Kingsley Amis, I’m such a fan,
Would you mind, when you’re done, now they’ve lifted my ban?”

“You’ve not eaten enough” barked the food police, “Back and try some more”
Easier said than done for some, apparently, though not for me,
So, amazed, I watched the covert goings on, the secreting away of the lunch.
“Behind you Nurse!” said one with a wail, whilst hiding a sprout in her pony tail,
“Mustn’t get any fatter”, she settled the matter with a short and well-placed punch.

“It’s time to go now Rosemary, you’re not mad enough by far”
“Oh no!” I thought, “Reality, the real world where it’s not all about me”
“Collect up your stuff, say your goodbyes, the bed’s here if you come back.”
A last-chance glance round my holiday home, my time-share with a twist,
“Hurray! I’m out!” but I have no doubt, twas an experience not to be missed.

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