Greetings, bonjour, what’s happening?
Hope you’re all well out there in Lager Land. This latest ediiton of Lager Time is a Not Quite Live Editon, number 4. First one I’ve done this year. Been a busy boy aint I?!
In this episode I run through a new set of poems and stories plus a couple of tracks from a forthcoming EP More Bars of Boredom. It was a bit all over the gaff as I had to stop the recording twice, once because the music loaded in the wrong place then the other becuase my dogs decided to go nuts, barking, at the man trying to deliver an Amazon package.
Hope you all enjoy, the poems / stories / bars will be below. If you enjoy this, please recommend to someone who you think also maight enjoy it.
Stay tuned for details of the forthcoming Love Scripted Show at Marylebone Theatre on the 12th August.
Pease and taters
Paul
Love Scripted @ Marybone Theatre 12th August 2028
If you’re able to, these are ways you can support my work
BUY-ME-A-LAGER
THE SUBURBAN BOOK
My 1st book collection of stories and poems
Beats & Elements: A Hip Hop Theatre Trilogy
2 plays I co-wrote plus Denmarked by Conrad Murray
https://paulcree.co.uk/shop/beats-and-elements-a-hip-hop-theatre-trilogy
17.7.24
I’ve got unlimited
options on my pocket
dog for entertainment
every album I’ve ever known
is available on stream
countless films, programs
and documentaries, all
carefully noted by the robot
middleman, who
attempts to curate my choices
even tough I resist
perhaps someone should
cos here I am
back, staring at
the penny-sweet racks,
pocket money stacked
pound coin gripped, fretting that
I shouldn’t waste this
golden nugget
choose wisely
a voice says
just choose
a voice says
too many choices
a voice says
I’ve no idea
what too to
do, a voice says
so I just freeze
and exit, or I
buy what I
always buy
stuff my face and
walk home inevitably
disappointed
17.7.24
AI Woz ere
15th July
It’s there, all the time, ticking
away in the background like a
Taxi-meter. The dull
rhythm of a count-
Down clock.
Is that all
there is?
I pray
not
10.7.24
Yea, I’m getting
Old. Er. Don’t I
know It.
My ears
Do.
I bang
On the radio and
Tune in, then
Tune out
Fast.
Somewhere in that
mulch I hear, is
some drums, a
bassline, a melody and
a vocal.
It all slops
down the
lughole like
prison porridge.
I’ve done my time, mate
I’m out.
8.7.24
A wise-man once said to me:
‘When you’re playing football, always be wary of
old fat geezers. Don’t underestimate them.’
Thought he was talking bollox, we all
Knew types that fit the stereotype, there for the banter and the pints; but not much else.
So there I was, years later, a cold Wednesday evening under the lights, playing over in Shepard’s Bush, some organised kick-about on the Astro. There’s this larey fat guy, scraggy beard and gut bouncing over his belly whenever he took a couple of steps forward. He was at least in his mid 40’s. Spent most of the game sat in the-middle of the pitch, not moving a great
deal, gobbing off a lot, pointing in various directions. I thought I’ve got the run on this one. Easy.
I played in the middle too, with pretensions of some kind of difference maker. I was young enough to still run box to box, with a little trick or two.
For the life of me, I could not get anywhere near this geezer, nor could I get the ball off him. It was like the ball was a pinball and his feet were the pincers. Couple of touches and barley any movement, bar his belly flapping, he would send me one way, with him and the ball going the other, to quickly thread a killer pass to his attackers, or have pop on goal himself. Not once did I see him loose the ball or mis-place a pass. To make matters worse, whenever I got the ball, it’s like he could read my mind into exactly what I was going to do, either blocking me or directing someone into position. Three seconds ahead.
Story goes he was an ex-pro who never quite made it. One of them that liked the banter and the pints. One of them
that wise guy was warning me about. Apparently the leagues were full of them.
8.7.24
After many
Years of
Trying
I’ve finally
Come to
Terms with not
Understanding half of
what these writers
write about.
Maybe they
don’t know
either
5.7.24
We called him the Terminator. No idea what his real name was. He was a middle aged Asian guy with an accent that had probably been in England long enough to know the notes of a British born chancer. He was the ticket-inspector at Crawley station, defending his booth like a garrison. The troll on the bridge. The final boss for every wideboy in a 20 mile radius. Didn’t let anyone through without showing him a valid ticket. A one man border force with a look that could burn holes through your sternum, isolate and amplify your petit lies and make you reflect on your life.
‘Tickets please.’
‘Na bruv I dropped
it on the track’
‘Go and get it then’
He feared no one. Took no gib. Ten-pin wideboys trying to bowl through got struck down in one move. X mark. Bust stats off the charts. We used to joke that he never left that booth, night and day, he was there, eyes wide open like a bird of pray. Until one day he weren’t there no more. Chancers of all Stripes most likely rejoiced into that night taking joy rides on those trains, all the way back to Crawley/.
TRACK - REVIEW - MORE 64’S OF BOREDOM
5.7.24
Woke up to the election result. Doggies needed a dump. Outside it was pissing it down. Little Princess didn’t
wonna go, shifting her weight to the back legs when I put the harness on. Listen girl, I said. We both know that you need to do your business, along with the little man who’s not complaining. So let’s just get out there and seize the day. It’s a new day. It’s a new dawn. It’s new era. So why not start it with a nice big dump. Poignant, I thought
I didn’t want to be out there either. I was knackered just wanted to go back to my D-Reams. I took them instead to
the small park, normally reserved for the quick walks when I’m running late. I was only in a rush to get back and stare out the window. Quick and easy was the order of the day. I was out there for over an hour, walking round and round. They made It as difficult as possible. Left it to the last minute to shit, repeatedly resisted the pull of the lead, squatting under trees, shifting their weight from back to front. Almost as if, despite the wet, they were exercising their very own protest vote, punishing me for both taking them out in the rain and then trying to mug them off with the short route, pretending it’s better than what it is, Just so they can take a shit. How fitting, I thought. It’s a new dawn.
2nd July
If the rug
Were to be
Pulled from
Under my
Feet
What
Would the
Fooorbaords
Look like?
or
Would I fall
Right through
To the ground
Below?
in fact
Why stop at
Concrete?
Just
How low
Could I
Go?
Hells
The
Limit.
1st July
I was getting a drink from
The kitchen
readying myself to
Do battle with the telly
England vs Slovakia
Euros 2nd round
Outside two WW2
Planes Roard over
Maidstone. A mighty
sight and sound.
Was it a sign?
Maybe.
England were shit.
But they
Won.
30.6.24
My brother Will would
Often say:
‘Always leave the
Ravers wanting
more’
What about when
They want
less?
28.6.24
Lizzy line, Whitechapel bound
I’m on the corner seat where
The carriages connect
A Couple get on
They sit on opposite seats
The female speaks
‘So you’re not gonna sit
Next to me then? Continuing
With today’s theme?!’
She pulls out her phone, tuts
looks down and starts scrolling.
The geezer just sits with his arms
Crossed and looks at the adverts
Above her head. Pensions, life
Insurance and online dating.
Silent, the whole
Journey.
23rd ? June
Woolwich station
Lizzy line
6 staff guard the luggage gate
5 rudeboys come up the stairs
Staff stare
Rudeboys casually forcre the
Barrier and bowl off, barley
Breaking a stride
Staff tut, I tut
Swipe on
27.6.24
Amoungst the patchy shelves in
Co-op, they only had low-
fat Greek yogurt.
Next morning, my
Porridge played like
That Euros when there
Was no fans
26.6.24
I’m having a meeting
With myself
He’s a cock
Hate these meetings
Waste of time
‘The money’s not coming in, mate’
I say
‘I know, I know’
I reply
‘So what’s going on?’
I say
‘ I’ve been working my arse Off’
I reply
‘No ones saying you haven’t mate, why
You being all defensive?’
I say
‘I’m not!’
I reply
‘I’m just trying to find out what you’re
Doing about it’s that’s all’
I say
‘Do you know how hard it is out there for artists?! I was killing it before Covid’
I reply
‘Oh here we go again’
I say
‘Why you gotta talk down to me?!’
I reply
‘This is pointless’
I say
‘You’re telling me! You never listen’
I reply
‘Fine, mate. Do your own thing.’
I say
‘Yea whatever, mate. I don’t need you
Putting me down’
I reply
Meeting over.
Told you.
Wanker.
I hate meetings
27.6.24
The arts
When good intentions
have terrible outcomes
At what point, do
You hold your hands up
And admit you got
It wrong?
Never.
TRACK - SIDE OF THE HOUSE - MORE 64’S OF BORDEOM
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