Author: jim clayton

supersize me

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I can date my dread
of people laughing at the size of my head
from the Earls Court Motorcycle Show, 1975
here’s why:

I was thirteen
didn’t have a machine
but my eldest brother did
so I needed a lid
to go on the back
and anyway, I thought it’d be whack
if I walked around with a lid
so people would think I was hard and not just some kid

I went to the Lynx helmet stand
manned by a fierce, wildly bearded man
with a smile as welcoming as a bad case of trismus
a guy who dreamed big but knew it wasn’t this
Try one on he said
it wouldn’t remotely fit on my head
Hmm he said You need a bigger size
weighing me up with his whiskery eyes

he rummaged around then handed me another
but even though I struggled
the only way it would fit
was if I buttered my ears quite a bit
Hmm he said You need extra EXTRA large

I had a sudden urge
to run

but here he was handing me another one

He stared as I struggled to pull it down
I mean – it looked nice
he was selling them at a discount price
but it’d be like paying to put my head in a vice

the man gestured to the crowd
who’d gathered around
to see the spectacle
of the Helmet Clown at the motorcycle festival
That’s it said the man
I’ve done all I can
Your head is some kinda medical wonder
Have you considered trying a Kitchen Colander?

father, son and holy snooze function

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And Jesus said
Can’t I just get a few more minutes in bed
Don’t roll the rock back yet
I’m not quite ready for what’s ahead

And God didst spake
Lord give me a break
We’ve been over and over what’s at stake

And Jesus by way of replying
spaketh he only asketh for a tiny lie-in

And God didst grumble
and his Earthly realms did rumble
and many expensive artefacts did tumble
from miscellaneous shelves
and many people did busy themselves
with a great clearing up
whilst peering up
into the heavens
and coming out with choice expressions

Thou dost know what’s at stake
God mightily didst spake
the difficult decisions I have to make
so givest thou shroud a shake
and let’s gettest going for goodness sake

So Jesus did
as he was bid
but kept his face hid
which annoyeth God not a little bit

And suddenly Jesus flamed
You’re insane
he proclaimed
Mankind’s a pain
Why do we have to play these games?
I know you do floods
You do floods pretty good
If I could do floods right now I’m pretty sure I would

And God didst sigh
and was so long & drawn out with His reply
Jesus thought he could easily have had 5 minutes more shut-eye

At last God spaketh : Okay – I set a precedent
but I admit back then I was a touch Old Testament
I’ve done a lot of work on myself since then
Can we not drag all that up again

Just saying sayeth Jesus
But just between us
next time someone needs crucifying
YOU take the nails, I’ll take the lie-in

The 2022 Lurcholympics

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And it’s a very warm welcome to the 2022 Lurcholympics
Let me walk you through a few characteristics:
We’ve got 100, 200 and 1500 minute Snoozing
The Squeakathon with Annoying Toy of their choosing
We’ve got Questionable Slumping
Table Thumping
Head Bumping
Lead Grumping
We’ve got Chewdo
Tail-kwondo
Rope Wrestling
We’ve got Shallow Water Paddling
Snack Haggling
Artistic Scrabbling
Freestyle Limping
We’ve got Find Ball, Treat Lifting, Basketpaw
We’ve got Sprint Door
And the latest competition draw:
The What The Hell’s She Barking For
We’ve got Synchronised Sniffing
Athletic Rug Writhing
Moaning & Mithering
Sofa Sliding
And of course, the five events of the modern Petathlon:
The Sixty Metre Horribles
The Sly Jump, Try Jump, Why Jump
The Treat Put and the Eight Hungry Minutes
And new this year to test your pet’s limits?
Barktastic Gymnastics!
I do hope you enjoy our extensive programme
Ready for the day’s events? Hell – I know I am!

a short waltz on a beach at the end of the world

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wade naked in the water
lay dreaming by the lake
angels will blow the way to go
devils only know about snakes
so when the sun comes rolling in
and shadows steal the land

well c’mon take my hand
out on the sand
and we’ll dance our death away

I swear I’m never gonna run again
I swear I’m never gonna quit
life’s a big peach just outta reach
when you think of it
but if you say we’ll win someday
I’ll do my best, goddamn

so c’mon take my hand
out on the sand
and we’ll dance our death away

flying

~ jim clayton ~ 2 Comments

The celebrant asked for anecdotes
family memories to put in her notes
for the eulogy
But honestly?
it’s hard
like sorting through fading photographs

But I vividly remember when I was six
sitting on the black metal child’s seat, fixed
to the back of her bike
holding a plastic plane that I liked
off to one side as we flew
like the plane was airborne and me & mum, too
but I dropped it
so mum hauled on the bike’s brakes and stopped it
slowly wheeled the bike back to get it
a silly thing, maybe, but I won’t forget it

I suppose some things are for keeping, some for showing;
I end up sending the celebrant the following:

My mate Gordon is the first of my crowd
to get a motorbike so he brings it round
Mum comes out, asked him how it works
Gordon swinging his helmet smirks
‘Jump on Mrs Clayton – if you’ve got the bottle!’
She drops the clutch, wraps the throttle,
Pops a wheelie and before he knows it
Flies head first into a bed of roses

dog heaven

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So… mum dies and goes to dog heaven
gets met at the gates by a St Bernard called Kevin
who takes her coat, asks how she is
(grimaces… says AWKS!…apologises)
then with a strum of his bone-shaped harp
the safety gates tremble and part
Kevin slips a harness on Mum
and leads her into the Canine Kingdom

and all the clouds are fluffy white baskets
and all the water bowls silver caskets
and all the waiters Bichon Frise pups
and the maitre D’s a Dobermann in a tux
and the angels are Pointers, Lurchers and Spaniels
with clip-on wings and golden sandals
and Paul O’Grady says hi how are ya
surrounded by crowds of adoring chihuahuas

‘This way,’ says Kevin, ‘No tour’s complete
without you getting a chance to meet
the owner of this awesome squad…’
and he leads her into the sight of DOG

significant others

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Not everyone can meet the funeral director
just my sisters
and an older brother
‘obviously you can’t all sit together’
she says, ‘so you need to decide, if you can,
some kind of meaningful seating plan’

There follows a rather snippy discussion
about who does or doesn’t
warrant a place on the front row
because as these things go
proximity to the coffin
is the funereal MacGuffin

There are so many of us it’s sticky
and a seating plan proves tricky
‘I could put a couple more chairs out – that’s fine
but there are just too many of you for one long line
especially when you consider significant others’
my older brother shudders
(always reliably fractious)
says his significant other’s a cactus

stanley or ralph

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Stanley has such a vocal range
you’d think it strange
a dog with no formal training
can find such sounds without straining
an appalling range of oral gimmicks
he conjures through his larynx
then stops and stares and blinks
inscrutable as the sphinx
and your heart sinks
as you struggle to think
what the SHIT can be happening
it’s mournful and maddening
in equal measure
the polar opposite of pleasure
like a tuxedoed lurcher
disguised as a tenor
loped onstage at the MET
to deliver their worst performance yet
and the crowd sit silently stunned
because they’ve just seen the depths of performance plumbed
and programmes are rudely and rapidly thumbed
and a queue backs-up in the foyer for a refund

all I mean to say
is that Stanley often likes to display
in a most emphatic & idiosyncratic way
whether or not he’s okay
and it’s truly a thing to behold
so wild, yet so controlled
like a wolf enrolled
in primal scream therapy
momentarily
forgetting it was a wolf
thinking instead it was a middle-aged guy called Ralph
suffering a crisis of mental health
and the group says Ralph – man – just let it out
till he stands, takes a breath, and opens his mouth

it certainly does

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

Mum’s choice for music
as the curtains close round her coffin?
‘You’ll never go to heaven’
by It Bites

It’s Shite
more like
some prog rawk group from the 1880s
muzak for the Tesco club crowd in Hades
scratchier and catchier than scabies
I mean – please
it’s about a million and eight minutes long
by the time it’s finished we’ll ALL have moved on

maybe I should call the celebrant and persuade her
to keep one hand handy on the PA fader
especially if she’s minded to swerve
the terrible guitar solos that occur
without number
three quarters of the way in
by which point you won’t be the only one praying
for an end to the torment and escape to heaven – just saying

but it’s her decision
and if that’s the soundtrack she wants for her transition
fair enough
we’ll be busy dealing with bigger stuff
like what happens to the family or whatever
now there aren’t any parents to hold us together