THAT'S ENTERTAINMENT

a hot summer's day and sticky black tarmac
feeding ducks in the park and wishing you were far away

corner of old compton street & frith street, soho
sunday 1 am

heat rises from the streets of old soho
tricycle rickshaws jostle for position
an international crowd of drivers brandish pocket a-z's
but they don't seem to be getting much custom
this place is like heathrow airport
a melting pot of cultures, races and languages
gypsy women forage in restaurant bin bags for leftover sarnies
or thrust wilting roses in the faces of late-nite revellers
a sign in a seedy doorway advertises 'models' up on the 1st floor
meanwhile in caffe nero
an eagle-eyed bouncer catches a dodgy customer
shoplifting bars of chocolate while his mate orders a latte
this bruiser's tough but the two blokes are real nasty
they stand their ground and in the end
our man has to be content with just getting rid of em
across the street
twenty years on bar italia is teeming
but there's no sign of jarvis
male couples promenade past the window holding hands
i suddenly look to my left
and notice i'm sitting beside a fella stirring a cappucino
dressed in a bra, skirt, tights n heels
don't get me wrong
i'm all for diversity
but i like my men to be men
and my women to be women
if you know what i mean...
so what am i doing here?
well, after my meal at the black friar
i get a bit carried away
swept up by the allure of london
a city so foreign to brum
that it might as well be a different country
so near and yet so far
i take a stroll with the courting couples
down by the dirty old river
where terry and julie felt safe and sound
a gentle breeze blows making it cooler here
i clock the city skyline
the smooth newly-landed 21st century gherkin
vies for attention
with the baroque extravagance of st pauls
i cross embankment gardens
replete with flowers and the fluted calls of birds
and get caught up in the jostling crowds
around tra-vulgar square n pick-a-dilly circus
as twilight falls
i vainly try to find my way back to marry-the-bone
jumping on all the wrong buses
finally i trot into the station concourse
just in time to watch the last train home pull out of the platform
the bargain hotels of bloomsberry are chock full
so there's nothing for it
but to head for the bars of soho...
the procession goes on
it's all here
the spivs in their blazers n slacks
the hustlers
the hashish sellers
the freaks
the regulars and the tourists
skinny grey-haired caucasian men
escorting muscular tattooed chinese boys
crowds of young women
venturing out in nothing but their nighties
huge muscle-bound black dudes
bursting out of their t-shirts
tubby middle-aged blokes in checked shorts
their beer bellies hanging out
glamorous mediterranean women straight out of la dolce vita
doctors n paramedics in their strange orange jumpsuits
the petty criminals
the well-heeled rubbing shoulders with the destitute
twenty years ago i found all this exciting
now it's just...bizarre...
far away
far from this madding crowd
the chaos and the shennanigans
in a small quiet room
my wife and childe lie peacefully sleeping