IÂ’ve had a very troubling few days. IÂ’ve been hanging onto life by the slightest of threads. IÂ’ve diced with death, discoed across the dance floor of deadly destiny and stayed alive. IÂ’ve played my hand and very nearly got a voided card in the great bingo game of life but have nevertheless emerged victorious and with only mild concussion and a little bruising.
I was unfortunate enough to get caught up in a coach hijacking. IÂ’ve been tied up, knocked unconsciousness and had my hair combed against my will. The police managed to stop the coach at their third roadblock; they shot out the tyres and Hansel surrendered. At first he tried to pin it all on me, told the police I was a Shropshirian Fundamentalist and wanted to make myself into a martyr for the holy cause. When all the police found in my bag were some bingo markers, post-it notes and unwashed clothes they decided I was no real threat. Mavis gave me back my palmtop before a tearful farewell, she had grown ferociously attached to me while I was tied up at the back of the coach.
Once again I had to explain to a smitten female that I must walk my path alone, though I must admit that making the sacrifice to remain unattached was a bit easier this time thanks to Mavis, her appearance, the fact that she smelled of wet dog and that she kept touching my hair - I hate that. The police gave me a lift to the nearest town, a place called Oberwesel that I think is near the River Rhein. After some difficulty making myself understood IÂ’ve booked into a hotel to gather my thoughts and keep a low profile. Mother rang and I had to explain about Mavis answering my phone and saying we were romantically involved, I tried to say it was all a simple misunderstanding and a stranger had picked up my phone, I didnÂ’t want her to worry.
Mother did not sound convinced so I told her that I had secretly got married to Mavis last week and we were on our honeymoon. Mother didnÂ’t believe that either so I told her due to the stress of constant travel I had developed a multiple personality disorder and I spent four hours every day as a female alter-ego with a split-end fixation and a thick German accent.
Mother was having none of it so I gave up and explained that Mavis was a delusional pet therapist that got hold of my phone while I was tied up on a coach that had been hijacked. Oddly she believed me. Despite her failings, my Mother still possesses that uncanny maternal ability to know when IÂ’m lying. She can also tell when IÂ’m biting my nails, not eating properly, wearing unsavoury underwear or staying up past 11 oÂ’clock, even if IÂ’m on the other side of the world. It worries me. My hotel in Oberwesel is, by a fortuitous turn of events, staging a European poetry convention, "The River Of Words" with competitions, readings, book signings and as much German sausage as you can eat. ItÂ’s multilingual so I have entered myself in the freeform expression category. I see this as an excellent opportunity to not only tell people about Shropshire, but also to display my prowess with the myriad subtleties of the English language, my dextrous wordplay and my uncanny usage of the mixed metaphor.IÂ’m going to try out a verse I wrote a few years ago called "Moreton Say, I love you", itÂ’s about Moreton Say and my love for it there. Staying at my hotel is another English poet called John Yeovil who looks not unlike Val "Iceman" Kilmer when he was in Top Gun, only less flying jump jets and more rhyming couplets.
John travels the world, much like myself, sharing his thoughts with the people he meets, the main difference between us is that John isnÂ’t so bothered about changing the world for the better, he just wants to be rich and famous. This self-centred outlook is probably due to his upbringing, he comes from Devon. He has my pity. I explained to John the double truth that money does not buy happiness and fame is a cage of fear. He wrote it down. John writes down a lot of what I say, he says itÂ’s for inspiration, I think itÂ’s so he can pretend he thought of it first. Tonight I do my first public reading.I went down a storm. IÂ’ve decided to spread my message through the medium of poetry and verse.MORETON SAY, I LOVE YOU
By MORRIS TELFORD "Tumbling hills of gentle good
Oswestry, Marchamley Wood
Simple fields of pure and calm
Market Drayton, Old Bill's Farm Moreton Say I love you so.
Why do I love you? I don't know.
So many things for me to choose.
So lucky to be of the few That live there. Will you be my Valentine?
I'll buy you flowers and some cheap wine
I'll always be true and loyal and I'll
think of you with a genuine smile. In the marvellous chocolate box of life
You are the soft centre, a whippy whirl.
And though perhaps initially disappointing to those who wanted a toffee
Turns out to be the favourite after all. I've lived in you, I was born in you
I climbed my first tree, you were there too.
I'll never leave until I do, and even then, I'll bring you too. Part of Shropshire, part of me
Bingo at dinner, Countdown at tea
Better than ordering stationary
Moreton Say will you be My one true love? Moreton Say I love you.
Do you love me too?
I like to think so." I’m in the quarter-finals, my competition seems slight. I don’t like to blow my own trumpet, but in the next heat I am going on after a woman called Jessica who just grunts, screams and occasionally shouts "my boyfriend has left me" while she holds a balloon between her knees. She calls it – "a primal response to the systematic repression of womankind". I call it a mad woman with a balloon between her legs shouting about her boyfriend leaving her. She doesn’t stand a chance against my latest epic that I penned last night – "Bingo Markers Of The World"BINGO MARKERS OF THE WORLD
By MORRIS TELFORD "Bingo is a noble thing
With many advantages
Cash prizes you can win
by incremental stages. One of the best things about Bingo
And itÂ’s an aspect thatÂ’s often ignored
Is the special marker that you use
To cross numbers off your card Not just any old pen or pencil
Felt-tip or marker will do
It's important to choose a superior quality
Bingo marker to use. Some Bingo markers are angry
They flake and leak all the time
These are no good for bingo
As they draw an inferior line. Some Bingo markers are timid
They run out and donÂ’t mark anymore
They are just as bad as the angry ones
I mentioned the verse before. Other Bingo markers are weaklings
And can snap if submitted to strain
I had one like that once in 1992
It completely ruined my game.
Where your marker comes from
Can be important too
The notorious Singapore markers
Were made with inferior glue I once had one made in China
That only lasted a day
Though to be fair, Oriental markers
Are generally ok. The finest marker IÂ’ve ever had
I bought in Market Drayton
From Rosemary the newsagents
Next to the railway station. I called that marker Elvira
And loved her like a girl
She was stolen from me a few weeks ago
On my mission to save the world. I miss her tender grip
The way sheÂ’d hesitate
Before striking through the numbers
Two fat ladies, eighty-eight Her colour and her balance
Her simple, even line
The way I felt she looked at me
And said "Morris, youÂ’re mine" I never will forget her
Nestled at my side
My Whitely to her Voderman
Her Bonnie to my Clyde. I now tend to use the American
Twin nibbed fluorescent pen
TheyÂ’re not as good as Elvira
IÂ’d give them a six out of ten." I donÂ’t believe it. Jessica beat me in the quarter-final. The judges felt her "primal rage and innovative balloon use outweighed the more traditional verse".One woman in the audience was moved to tears by my Bingo Markers poem. IÂ’m absolutely stunned. IÂ’m very happy that Jessica will now have the opportunity to hold a balloon between her knees and scream in the semi-finals though; I congratulated her with a firm handshake and not the slightest twinge of bitterness. Art is a difficult animal to categorise, I always think the important thing is to be happy with your own work, so IÂ’m going to continue to write my epic poem "How many ways do I love Shropshire?" and send it to my Mother when itÂ’s finished, she always enjoys my work. I wrote this today- WHY I DIDNÂ’T WIN By MORRIS TELFORD "Instead of concentrating on the subtleties of language, where thought and mind harmonise. I should have just shouted a load of nonsense
with a balloon between my thighs."
Despite my defeat, an American publisher did approach me and express an interest in a book of Shropshire related verse; IÂ’ll let you know if itÂ’s published. A provisional title is "Morris TelfordÂ’s Shropshire Verse", and will include "Bingo Markers of The World", "Moreton Say I Love You", "Shropshire The Golden Land of Love, Joy and Gingerbread", "Why CanÂ’t Everyone Just Be Nice To Each Other Like They Are In Moreton Say?", "Things That Carol Voderman Reminds Me Of" and "Camilla Edwards Lies, Lies, Lies". I stayed up late last night, drinking at the bar with the poet John Yeovil. Despite being from Devon, John seems to have a great appreciation of beauty and told me about his world travels.He told me about the time he went swimming naked in the Amazon, and the time he lived with Eskimos during the four month night of Hari-Kancha.
Since beginning his travels he's played death poker in illegal Mexican gambling pits, sampled the thousand pleasures of Moroccan love dens, base jumped from the Hong Kong finance centre with his hair on fire, seen the hidden underground mirror temples of platinum in South America and the Art dungeons of Paris but is still seeking that ultimate experience, the Holy Grail of life events.
HeÂ’s searching for the one single crystal clear moment of joy and fulfilment where he knows his travels are at an end and he has seen the true face of creation. I, of course, told him he must visit Moreton Say, all he wants is waiting for him there. What a shame we didnÂ’t meet years ago, I could have saved him so much trouble. One thing John did say that intrigued me were his experiences of China, he said the regime there is in some ways very oppressive, but the people are eager for new ideas and there is a strong underground current of change. Bingo is also very popular. I decided to travel to China, from what John says it sounds right up my street. I donÂ’t really know much about China; they seem to make a lot of the colourful plastic toys for the Market Drayton stalls so I imagine they know all about Shropshire. Getting a flight to China has proved more difficult than I imagined, the Chinese authorities arenÂ’t overly keen on admitting people whose stated reason for travel is "to turn over the current regime and get the populous to move to Shropshire". I changed the reason to "holiday and cultural exchange" and that seemed to do the trick, I fly from Frankfurt airport next week.IÂ’ve been checking the BBC message board and notice Melvin Bone has taken the time to write again.
"I am amazed by the response to my last posting. I have been informed by the Devon Tourist Board that visits by Dutch people have trebled since my last posting inviting the Dutch to come and visit. Apparently in Holland they are living in fear of a Northener wandering their country extolling the virtues of the barren north of England. I have heard many have taken up jobs in Devon as they recognise it as a truly glorious place to live."
This is clearly not true. I myself called the Devon Tourist Board, after about five minutes someone picked up the phone and thanked me for calling, it was the first query they have had in seventeen years.
"Morris: I'm sure that Shropshire was indeed once an idyllic place and Devon a backward backwater. But as the Country Life survey highlighted Devon has been able to move on and flourish to achieve greatness as a county, meanwhile Shropshire has unfortunately stagnated. I looked up the last crime you mentioned in Shropshire. You are right in one aspect, the last crime in Shropshire of the 19th century took place in 1898. I fear however you textbook may cover only the 19th Century as crime has escalated throughout he 20th Century and into the 21st. The 'Most Wanted' at the moment is a self styled "Stationary Bandit" who has fled the country. If you meet such a fellow on your travels watch out as Police have him listed as armed with industrial staplers and dangerous."
At first I was very worried about this information and called my Mother to warn her not to open the door to anyone brandishing a stapler. Then I realised you are making some sort of connection to me and this fictional "Stationary Bandit", though of course anyone who knows me will tell you I always adhere to and take very seriously the Health and Safety regulations when using Industrial Staplers. Even the XS-119, the self-proclaimed bad boy of the industrial stapling world has never tempted me to stray from the regulations.
"By contrast Devon in the 20th Century is a relative crime free zone, with only occasional bouts of crime brought on by holidaying Northeners and Cornish smuggling sheep over the border. Both after the riches of Devon. Devon is Gods own country and Cider gods own drink as the apple is the first fruit mentioned in the Bible. Mel. Resident of the No.1 County.
PS:good luck in Germany, I'd recommend Braunschweig as a place to visit. Best not to mention the war though." Mel – In my mission to spread a bit of Shropshire goodness around the planet, I always want to keep the emphasis on being pro-Shropshire and not anti- Devon or anti any other county, country or continent. In saying that, it is obvious to me that any county that has "drinking apple juice" as it’s main attraction need to have a good long hard look at itself in the mirror. Mailman Joe has also been in touch, thanks for taking the time Joe. Jo had an excellent idea- "Have you thought of campaigning for the expansion of the boundaries of Shropshire so that neighbouring counties can enjoy the benefits of being under the care of Shropshire"? This is an inspired idea. I’m looking into the possibility of making a start on it. We could phase out Devon altogether and just have one big happy English county - Shropshire. Thank you also for congratulating me on stopping the Iraq war, though it would be remiss of me to take full credit. Before the war started, I did leave a message with Tony Blair offering to sort the whole thing out and if he got in touch all I had to do was pack my Bingo markers and I could be ready within three quarters of an hour. I think the message got a bit garbled though. I just heard Jessica came second in the "River of Words" freeform expression category. A man called Rufus who looked a bit like Greg Dyke just sat on a stuffed Otter and chattered his teeth won first prize.
Poetry isnÂ’t what it used to be. | 
