Standing Stones of Callanish

Oh standing stones of Callanish
I long to be within your reach
On Lewis Isle;
The thought of you it makes me smile!
The old weaver of the Harris Tweed
Seemed one hundred when we met;
Sitting in his stone white croft
The woollen thread so strong but soft.
Expect he sat at the weaving loom
An age ago a time entombed,
The warp and weft of the herring bone
The cloth the finest he sat alone
Creating his life's tapestry
Enriched by its simplicity!
Expect that he's still sitting there,
Breathing in the Lewis air.
Peat burning fire the warming scent
That welcomed in and honoured guests.

The naked shore,  clifftop gaping space,
Watching sea meet sheer rock face;
The silence broken by the crashing waves,
A slap from the sea oh cliffs behave!
Gulls drifted on the mild sea breeze,
Swirling lazily eyes peeled to tease.
Watching down from heaven's sake,
In search of one thing, Colin's cake!
A while ago to those standing stones,
Beneath the bridge the waters flow
But stones unchanged remaining so,
Oh Callanish stones,  again I'd go!

Chamois Cream

Yorkshire Lass Sportive few days to go
Lycra legs supple, subtle on show.
7 days and counting, tension mounting...
On hide toughened backside I am counting!

Come on ladies get ready for the roar,
But be prepared for the saddle sore.
Soothing words from your Doctor uttered,
Make sure you've packed your bottom butter!

Rasping, chaffing on softest skin;
This is the place where it does begin.
Start at the bottom, helps you rise to the top,
Firm foundations, makes sure you won't stop.

Don't want you falling, flat on your face
Having to pull out of this magnificent race.
Turning your training into one big farce
Because you forgot to look after your arse!

Left cheek, right cheek you could turn the other
But come on sisters, come on mothers,
A word of advice, it doesn't get easier
Look after your asset, your prized posterior

Here's to the ladies preparation done
Yorkshire beckons riding miles in the sun
Banter and hard work - now live your dream
But don't forget the Chamois Cream!

Hill Climbs

Steep sierras, these mountains treat them with disdain,
Incline, hill sides, why this choice of bloody pain?
Piles, peaks, humps; grumpy, I'll call them what I like.
I'll climb them on my trusty bike;
No escape from these escarpments.
These peaks, their precipice, the valleys steep,
The ridges, ascending how I'll creep;
Seeming never ending.
Review approach, at altitude add attitude, 
Remember, meander use the camber!
Perspire, rise higher, gruelling, Mountain Fuel refueling, 
Energy in abundance, most gears are now redundant.
No let up, no respite, as I fight tired respiration.
Fired legs, fired belly makes for perspiration,

But with essential rehydration, dedication to elevations,
Elation!  Another peak conquest.
No time for rest, another battle beckons!
Remember Yorkshire Lasses. Best!

Afternoon Tea Conundrum

I consulted my phone.
Is it a scone, or is it a scone?
Siri's tone scone:
Alexa's gone scone!

Am I out on on my own,
If I say it's a scone?
Or part of the throng,
If I say it's a scone?

Will they leave me alone,
Because I said it's a scone?
When they've left, and they've gone
Because I said it's a scone.

Did I say in wrong tone,
I think it's a scone?
Will they sigh, will they groan,
If I ask for a scone?

Am I right, am I wrong
For deciding on scone?
Will red card be shown
If I say it's a scone!

If I'd have known,
I wouldn't have said scone.
But then again if I settled on,
Saying it's a scone,

Would it be right, and will I be long,
There's a long queue forming along!
I'd better ask for a scone,
And be gone,
Or should I go home,
And just eat my scone?
Oh whatever this tea etiquette,
I'll ask Siobhan and see what I get!

First hurdle over that's some fun done
Before the sultana, raisin conundrum
Then there's the challenge of the cream or the jam?
Am I a mouse or am I a man?

Milk in the cup first, followed by tea,
Or tea then the milk the way it should be?
Afternoon tea! Complicated if you lets it
Negotiation points now added to Brexit!

Dalmatian Coast

Rugged rocks, the whitened stone,
Amongst the beauty of the olive groves:
Croation coast, oh you can boast:
Dalmatia you are the perfect host!
Adriatic blue, so crystal too;
Amid the mountain vistas true.
Flotillas sail, Dubrovnik bound,
Or find Hvar, the idyll harbour sound;
Brac, with Zlatni Rac, to stroll around,
Paradise in the islands found!
Nestled in Pogdora old, is the
Villa in Krzanici.
Shutters green, this utter scene,
Of bliss, a blessed dream.
With terraced pool for relaxation;
Or endless paths and bikes for exploration!
Swallows flit and dance, as in a trance:
Dip and dive to drink and prance,
Til blown by Bora wind off course,
In search of purest water source!
Luxurious space, to rest unwind.
Leaves Croatian love entwined:
A visit to this coast a must
A toast: In Croatia trust!

Motor Home

Scent of adventure in aroma home
Add sense to go way wind is blown
Taste buds tingle at this travelling tryst
Feeling of freedom as off you whist

Two troubles packed in this new kit bag
All the toys, tools in this swag
Stealing moments together in tow
Escape is beckoning now off you go

Rome wasn't coach built in a day
Home of leisure wills you on your way
Luxurious lounging lies ahead
Skippering voyages with your own bed

Take your time meanader dont race
Marathon spirit in your own space
Head off to solace in your personal sun
But don't forget you need class one!