Since, I’m fixing a jolly party
In late April or in May
In Marriott’s pad in London,
I thought I’d better tell him
To make sure he could be there.
So I rang his house in Yorkshire
In case he hadn’t yet left,
For his first ever world cruise
On oceans far and wide.
The voice that answered told me
Was sure he’d already gone
But he did not know for certain
Which ocean he was on.
But he did know, that Oliver
Had his mobile phone
In one of the huge pockets,
Of his coat, so long and thick.
I could text him, he told me
At little cost to me.
And then he told me politely,
That I had rung his number old
And my dear friend, Ollie
Now lived in the house next door.
It was of course his son-in-law
Whose wife I had first met,
When I held her in my arms,
Just outside the ward’s big door.
So I rang off in shame.
And I heard a booming voice
Inside my very head.
‘Now, surely, you must admit
You always get it wrong.
You stupid twit.’
The voice, I’m sure was Captain Bob’s
Because it was followed by a chortle,
Louder, longer and more chortle like
Than ever I had heard before.
It took me back many years
To when I had lunches three
With the disgraced tycoon and would-be MP.
Always when we parted at the door
He warmly shook my hand, and said.
‘Now, Bob, I’m sure you must agree.
You got it wrong in chasing me.’
Speechless, I would pat
His shoulder big and broad.
A friendly pat.
‘Cause, he was quite the most amazing bloke
I had ever met, before, or since.
I am still not sure what made him tick.
But to know the facts, you must read
The book by Bower, Tom to me.
The world will never ever see anyone,
Just like him.
Which makes me less fearful for my grand kids two.
I could have said three, which rhymes.
But decent journalists don’t lie, even if it makes a better story.